“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said with such conviction I almost let myself believe it.
I turned slowly, deliberately. He was right there, staring at me, this big man with his fiercely protective streak. I was so close I could see the tension in his jaw, the lines etched deep around his eyes. I inhaled and caught that same scent—oil and metal, the grounding weight of the garage, and underneath it, something distinctly him.
His dark eyes locked on mine, lashes thick enough to cast shadows. There was nothing soft in his gaze, but it wasn’t cruel either—just a quiet, stubborn kind of worry.
“I’m not weak,” I said firmly. “I have experience in digital counter-surveillance and evasion now. Self-taught, because I’m in a fucked-up game of hide and seek. Iknowhow to cover my tracks,howto disappear. I’ve lived years with a target on my back and stayed ahead of every bastard who came for me. I’ve killed people.”
To prove it, I shifted again, rolled my shoulders, pushed into another stretch—but my balance faltered. Just a flicker. A wobble that betrayed the not-weak part and made me grit my teeth.
Rio didn’t say a word. But I felt his gaze sharpen, steady and cutting, seeing everything I didn’t want to admit.
“Nine contracts,” I continued, “but that doesn’t mean I only fought off nine people. It was more—way more. Each contract brought dozens crawling out of the woodwork. People who didn’t even know my name, just saw the zeros and got greedy. Knives. Guns. Fists and desperation, and every one of them wanted to find me for a payday, and the contracts were only cancelled when the AI assumed I’d stopped trying to hack into LyricNight.”
“You’re a victim?—”
“I was a target, and now I’m a survivor.”
Rio winced, barely perceptible, but it was there. His jaw clenched tighter, the muscle ticcing. His eyesdarkened, flint-hard. “You have me now,” he said, and I couldn’t help but snort in disbelief.
“I don’t need anyone in my corner. I don’t need big, bad muscles or rage on my behalf. I’m not looking for someone like you to throw punches for me—I’m strong enough to handle things myself. This isn’t about brute force. This is about staying hidden, slipping past traps, using my brain to survive. It’s a different kind of escaping, one that requires planning, nerve, and endurance. And I’ve got that. I’ve proved it.”
I wobbled again, gripping the chair, pain radiating from my side. His jaw tensed. I stepped close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.
“You’re vulnerable,” he warned.
It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. More as if he was giving a name to something he’d just noticed, as if the word had caught in his throat before it made it out. His eyes scanned me—my unsteady stance, the pale skin, the way I clutched the chair—and his expression shifted. Calmer, yes. But harder too. As if he hated saying it out loud because it made it real.
I hated how true that was right now, and I straightened, even if my body protested.
“I could pin you here in an instant,” he continued, voice low—not a threat, but a statement. His fingerssettled around my neck, not squeezing, but resting there. It wasn’t pain, not even pressure, but a warning all the same. His expression was more controlled now. He wasn’t hurting me, but the knowledge of what hecoulddo, said everything.
“But you won’t,” I murmured, not backing down. I leaned into the space between us, into the cradle of his hand at my throat—not in defiance, but in something closer to trust. My voice dropped, steady despite the trembling in my legs. “If you wanted to hurt me, you’d have done it by now. But you know I’m one of the good guys now, so you can’t scare me.”
Rio didn’t move. He was only a breath away, concern creasing his forehead, his lips pressed in a hard line. It seemed as if he wanted to argue—but knew I wasn’t wrong.
“I want you back in bed where you’re safe,” he said, the words firm, his tone wrapped in steel and something dangerously close to pleading.
His jaw was set, eyes shadowed with the weight of too many things left unsaid. It wasn’t stubbornness—it was fear. The kind that dressed itself in control, that showed up in orders instead of admissions.
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but the expression on his face stopped me for a second. I’dspent so long learning to survive alone that the idea of someone else standing guard felt foreign. I didn’t want protection. Never had. I was a lone wolf, forged in isolation, shaped by necessity. But Rio? He was standing there like an immovable wall, stuck in full papa bear mode, ready to take on the world for me, whether I wanted him to or not.
That was dangerous—him, this closeness, the way his protectiveness made me want to lean instead of run. I stepped back from him, needing space to breathe, to think clearly.
“I need a shower,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “And I’m doing it on my own.”
My legs didn’t quite agree, but I set my jaw and turned anyway, every step a test of my resolve and balance. I didn’t check to see if he followed.
I knew he would.
He didn’t.
The ten or so steps between me and the bathroom stretched like a damn marathon. Each one jarred something deep in my side, sent sparks of pain ricocheting up my spine. By the time I reached the door, my legs were trembling, my breath short and shallow.
I shut the door behind me with more force than necessary—mostly, so I wouldn’t fall over. Myfingers shook against the handle as I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the cool wood. I was sweating, my heart racing, the unsteady feeling turning to a full-body shiver that wouldn’t quit.
Alone now, there was no one to pretend for.
And God, I was wrecked.
