The presiding judge drones on about procedural integrity and evidentiary sanctity, but I’m not listening. My eyes are locked on him, and his on mine. There’s a curl at the corner of his mouth—half amusement, half threat. I want to claw it off and kiss it at the same time.
The gavel slams. “Aebon Rexx is hereby entered into the Ministry’s High-Value Witness Protection Initiative,” Judge Torma declares, “effective immediately.”
And just like that, the devil is on a leash. My leash.
Later, in the prep room—a windowless space with brushed aluminum furniture and the scent of recycled air—I sit across from him, legs crossed, datapad in hand.
“We’re going to start with your statement,” I say crisply. “What you saw. Names. Dates. Specifics. Leave out the dramatics.”
Aebon leans forward, arms on the table, chin cocked to the side. “But the dramatics are the best part.”
“You’re not giving a monologue. You’re giving testimony.” I grind my teeth. “You want to live through this? Then you stick to the facts. Not the theatrics.”
“Come now, Counselor,” he says, voice like melted shadows. “This isn’t your first dance. You know damn well the facts don’t move people. Fear does.”
“You’re not on the street anymore.”
His eyes gleam. “Aren’t I?”
I lean in, close enough to smell that mix of smoke, weapon oil, and whatever hell-made cologne he uses. “No threats. No slang. No blood-soaked metaphors. If you try to ‘make an example’ out of someone, I’ll make one out ofyou.”
His laugh is low and dangerous. “You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
My fingers curl tight around the stylus. I hate the way my body reacts to his voice—tight in the chest, heat coiling low in my belly. I clench every muscle to keep it invisible.
“Start talking, Rexx.”
He does. But not like I want.
“I saw Oth Varaxx step out of the grav-car, his little rat-lieutenant in tow. They thought they’d surprise me. Instead, they got turned into a warning. You know what a pulse katana does to a pelvis? It doesn’t just cut—it melts. Fuses bone and steel. Beautiful.”
I slam the stylus down. “This isn’t a campfire story. Give mefacts.”
Aebon leans back, hands spread. “I’m giving you the truth. Just dressed in something sexy.”
I glare. “Try naked honesty for once.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Naked, huh?”
I groan. “This isn’t flirtation, you egomaniacal lizard.”
“You sure? Because your pupils say otherwise.”
I stand so fast my chair screeches across the floor. “We’re done for today.”
He doesn’t stop me. Just watches, eyes burning with something that isn’t quite mockery. Or maybe it’s too much of it.
And I walk out wondering if I’ve just lost control of the most dangerous client the Ministry has ever assigned.
Or if he’s just started to unwrap mine.
The compad hits my desk with a clatter loud enough to startle the cleaning drone. Its automated chirp of protest echoes through the empty corridor, but I don’t apologize. I’m too busy fuming.
My heart hasn’t stopped its erratic beat since the prep session. Since he leaned in close, lips parted just enough to let that voice roll over me like smoke, hot and heavy with implication.
I hate him.
I do.
