"I'll handle it," I say, already swinging my legs out of bed. "Give me five minutes."
"Copy that."
I drop the phone and scrub my hands over my face. We didn't give Victoria the house tour last night. Didn't introduce her to staff or explain protocols or show her which doors need codes and which ones will trigger alarms if she goes wandering.
Hell, we barely got her inside before exhaustion and shock took over.
She stood in the entrance, staring at exposed steel beams and concrete floors like she'd been expecting something else. A mansion, probably. Something that looked like money instead of this repurposed fortress.
I pull on gym clothes. Black shorts, sleeveless shirt, the uniform I wear every morning before training.
Bare feet on cold concrete wake me up the rest of the way as I head toward the observation deck on the upper floor. The warehouse has that particular echo that comes from high ceilings and hard surfaces, every sound amplified, nothing soft to absorb it.
I step out into pale morning light.
And stop breathing.
Victoria stands in the center of the glass room, arms stretched overhead, face tilted toward the sun streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. She's wearing tiny silk shorts that barely cover her ass and a thin camisole that leaves nothing to imagination. The light turns her into something ethereal. Skin glowing warm, dark hair loose down her back, every curve and line of her body on display like an offering.
Rage burns through me first. Mike saw this through the cameras. Watched her stretch and breathe and exist in this private moment, watched the silk cling to her body.
I'm going to gouge his eyes out.
Slowly.
Then the rage shifts. Transforms into hunger so acute it borders on pain. Want and possession and something fiercer I don't have a name for, all tangled together until I can't separate them.
I watch her take deep breaths, chest rising and falling in rhythm with something internal. There's ritual in the way she moves. Something sacred.
She lowers her arms, rolls her shoulders, turns.
Sees me.
Freezes.
I raise both hands, trying to look harmless even though I've never looked harmless in my life. "Didn't mean to scare you. Security got an intruder alert. I came to check it out."
Her hand flies to her throat, and I watch her pulse hammer in the hollow there. Fast. Visible.
"I didn't know I wasn't allowed to walk around the house."
"You are," I say quickly, taking a step forward. Need to fix this, need her to understand she's not a prisoner. "But certain areas need special codes. Otherwise, alarms trigger. Security gets jumpy." I let my mouth curve into something apologetic. "Didn't expect you to be an early riser. Would've given you the tour yesterday if I'd known."
Her shoulders relax slightly. "I like starting the day early. Preferably with sunlight." She gestures at the glass walls, the river beyond cutting through the city. "It's a way to tackle the day with energy. Make the most of it. Each day is precious."
The words land harder than she probably means them to.
I understand that philosophy. Maybe from different scars, born from different survival, but I understand it. Every day you wake up breathing is one more middle finger to the universe that tried to kill you.
Every moment you're alive is stolen time.
"We can do the tour now if you want," I offer. "Show you the codes, the protocols. Where everything is."
I move closer, and her scent hits me, expensive and deliberate. My hand lifts before I can stop it, index finger hooking under the thin strap of her camisole.
The silk is cool against my skin.
Her skin beneath is warm.
