MIA
I pace the small library,the soft creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence. My fingers brush against my lips, still tingling from Zane’s kiss, and I curse under my breath. What the hell was I thinking?
I know better than this. I’ve seen it before—patients mistaking kindness for love, victims clinging to the people who saved them. Trauma bonding. Basic psychology. Nothing real. Just neurons firing in survival mode, searching for something—someone—to hold onto.
But it felt real. Too real.
I stop in front of the window, my reflection faint against the darkness outside. My lips still feel warm, my pulse unsteady. His touch, his strength, the way he looked at me—it all crashes over me like a wave I can’t outrun.
“Get it together, Mia,” I mutter to myself, gripping the edge of the windowsill. My gaze drifts outside, scanning the perimeter like I know Zane or Damon would. The street is quiet, with no sign of Jason or his threats lurking in the shadows. For now.
I should be focusing on that—on keeping the girls safe, on staying ahead of Jason. Instead, I’m here, pacing and replaying the kiss in my mind like some lovesick teenager.
My chest tightens as guilt creeps in. How could I let this happen? Damon’s been nothing but supportive, Asher’s been a light in the chaos, and now Zane… I think about how he held me after that loud crack, the feel of his arms around me, and I can’t deny the way it made me feel. Secure, wanted, alive.
But it’s a lie. It has to be.
The girls deserve better than this mess, better than a mother who can’t keep her head straight. I promised myself I wouldn’t let them get attached to anyone else, wouldn’t let anyone in. Not after Jason. Not after everything we’ve been through.
My phone buzzes on the table, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. It’s the burner phone Damon gave me, vibrating softly against the wood. I pick it up, half-expecting another warning or update from the team, but it’s just a low-battery alert. I plug it in to charge and let out a shaky breath, my reflection staring back at me from the dark screen.
The bay window offers a view of the quiet street below. I sit on the cushioned seat, pulling my knees to my chest and pressing my forehead against the cool glass.
Stupid. So stupid. Getting involved with someone paid to protect me. Someone who’ll leave as soon as the job is done.
The thought settles like a weight in my chest, dragging me deeper into the kind of self-loathing spiral I don’t have time for. But I can’t shake it.
What am I doing? This isn’t a romance novel; this is my life. My daughters’ lives. There’s no room for?—
“Mia!” Damon’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
Before I can turn, he’s across the room. I don’t have time to react before he tackles me off the window seat, knocking the air from my lungs as we hit the floor. His body covers mine, shielding me completely.
“What are you doing?” I yell, squirming under his grip, a mix of confusion and indignation burning through me.
“Dammit, Mia.” His voice is rough, his gray eyes blazing as he looks down at me. “Don’t put yourself in a window. That’s dangerous.”
His weight pins me down, unrelenting but not uncomfortable.
“It’s just a window,” I protest, though my voice comes out weaker than I intend.
“It’s not just a window,” he snaps, his tone softening only slightly. “It’s a clear line of sight for anyone who wants to hurt you.”
I stop struggling, the reality of his words sinking in. He’s right, of course, but it’s more than that.
My breath hitches, and suddenly I’m back at the motel by the road, years ago.
The memory rushes in unbidden—the heat of his hands on my waist, the press of his lips against mine, the way his low groan sent shivers down my spine. I can almost feel it now, the weight of his body just like this, the intensity in his eyes just like this.
Damon’s breath catches, and I know he feels it, too. His gaze drops to my lips, lingering, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us.
“Mia,” he says softly, almost a warning, his voice rough with restraint.
We shouldn’t be doing this; we both know it. But the second I meet his gaze, I’m lost.
He dips his head, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and desperation, an almost primal need that blazes through me. My arms slide around his shoulders, clinging to him as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing mine. I let out a soft moan, my body arching involuntarily, needing more of him.
His hand slips under my shirt, the rough warmth of his palm closing over my breast. A gasp tears from my throat, and I don’thesitate—my fingers fly to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. It feels like everything is happening at once. Damon’s mouth moves hungrily against mine, his hand squeezing my breast. My own hands yank the leather free from his waist.
