I’m surprised when Damon laughs. That’s new. I like how the three of them operate together.
They carry bags inside, Zane taking the lead, clearing the house with practiced ease while Asher trails the twins—who are still clinging to me.
“Emma, Ella,” Asher crouches low, voice soft. “Wanna help me check for secret passages?”
Emma blinks, wide-eyed. “Really?”
“Really,” Asher grins. “It’s an agent thing. Classified.”
Zane snorts from across the room. “You’re the worst influence.”
“And you’re jealous the girls like me better.” Asher fires back, smirking.
Damon shakes his head but there’s no heat in his voice. “Stop corrupting the client’s kids, Ash. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“You kidding?” Zane grins. “That’s me.”
I roll my eyes but… I’m smiling. “God help me, I feel safer already.”
The creak of the floorboards underfoot reminds me just how old this house is. It’s too creaky and drafty for my liking, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I help the girls settle into their room.
“Check the closet, Secret Agent Asher!” Emma declares, bouncing on her toes as Asher theatrically throws open the door, pretending to clear it like he’s in a spy movie.
“Room secure, Agent Emma,” he says with a wink, his serious tone drawing giggles from both of them.
Zane claps his hands once. “Right. Who wants first pick of rooms? Loser gets stuck on the couch.”
“You’re on,” Asher grins.
Damon smirks. “Hope you like the couch, Ash.”
Ella, ever the planner, has been arranging her stuffed animals in a semicircle around her bed. “It’s a security perimeter,” she explains when I ask what she’s doing. Her little voice mimics Zane’s grave tone so perfectly that I have to bite back a laugh. The girls are coping in their own way, turning this nightmare into an adventure.
But holding it together feels harder than ever.
Damon’s reflection catches my eye as he leans over the windowsill, securing another lock. His movements are purposeful, protective. For a moment, he looks like he belongs here, safeguarding my girls in a way no one else ever has. I don’t know if he realizes it, but I see him in them—in Emma’s fierce little chin, in Ella’s curious stare. I wonder if he sees it, too.
And just like that, the guilt creeps in.
I should be thinking about the girls. About their safety, about keeping us ahead of Jason. But all I can think about is the heat of Damon’s mouth on me earlier, the way his hands gripped my thighs like he couldn’t bear to let me go. He was the last man to touch me, and it feels like my body hasn’t forgotten. My brain certainly hasn’t, either.
God, what was I thinking? Letting myself get lost in him like that when my daughters’ lives are hanging in the balance? I’m supposed to be focused, supposed to be putting every ounce of energy into keeping us safe. Not giving in to past fantasies I’ve had of Damon. I can’t lie to myself anymore. It took everything in me not to contact him in the last six years, but now that he has touched me again, that part of me has reawakened.
The years apart haven’t dulled my hunger for him. It’s the way he looks at me, like he’s seeing every part of me I’ve tried to hide. Like he knows exactly what I need and can’t help but offer it.
And I let him. I let him touch me, let him taste me, let myself dissolve in the heat of it. For a little while, I forgot abouteverything else. Forgot about Jason, forgot about the fear, forgot about the walls I’ve had to keep up just to survive.
And it was good. Too good. Now, I’m left feeling split in two: a scared mother, and a desperate woman.
“Mama?” Emma’s voice pulls me back to the present. She’s holding up her unicorn, its beady little eyes staring at me like it knows my secrets. “Can I sleep with all my stuffies tonight?”
“Of course, baby,” I say, brushing her hair back and kissing her forehead.
Asher moves to the doorway, calling out something about checking the perimeter again. I force a smile for the girls, my chest tight with the knowledge that I need to stay strong for them. But as I glance at Damon one last time, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the window, I can’t help the way my body responds.
Focus, Mia. Focus on them. On survival.
The sound comes first, faint but distinct. A metallic click, followed by a soft rustle. It’s enough to snap Damon to attention, his head tilting slightly as his body goes rigid. I notice it, too, my breath catching in my throat as the house falls into an unnatural silence. Even the girls pause their giggles.
