But, despite knowing the danger, I nod my agreement.
Because Lord help me, I couldn’t leave this wounded, unraveling man alone tonight—even if I wanted to.
Jagger
I wake to sunlight slicing through the blinds and the disorienting realization that I slept.
Not the half-conscious drift I've survived on for years, jerking awake at every sound.Real sleep.Deep enough that my body feels heavy, relaxed in a way I'd forgotten was possible.
Adena is beside me.Still dressed—jeans, tank top, socks even.Like she couldn't fully commit to letting her guard down.Her fingers are wrapped around the grip of her weapon, resting on her stomach.Even in sleep, she's ready.
Her hair spills in waves across the pillow, catching the morning light.Her breathing is even, peaceful.Lips slightly parted.
Tempting doesn't quite cover it.
Dangerous is more accurate—because looking at her like this, unguarded and trusting enough to sleep beside me, makes me want things I have no right to want.
I lean closer, not thinking it through.Close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo.Close enough to?—
"Don't even think about it," she says, voice still rough with sleep.
I jerk back."You awake this whole time?"
Her eyes open—sharp, alert, no trace of grogginess.The gun grip tightens fractionally in her hand.
"Long enough."She looks at me with one eyebrow raised, expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated.
She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, putting immediate distance between us.
"Breakfast," she says, yawning.
With a grunt, I haul myself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom.One blast under the water, a fresh T-shirt later, and I'm in the kitchen staring at the contents of my fridge—eggs, butter, that are only there because Adena told me to pick them up last night.
My phone vibrates on the counter.I don’t need to check to know it’ll be Marquez.
Adena's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me closely.
I answer."Yeah."
"Pickup in the warehouse district.Needs to be in Memphis by tonight.You and your girl are riding with it."
My jaw tightens.Memphis is six hours.Maybe more, depending on traffic and weather.
"What kind of pickup?"
"The kind that needs supervision.And documentation."He pauses."Your girl's work needs to hold up under scrutiny."
Translation: if her forgeries don't pass, we're both dead.
"When do we leave?"
"Two hours.I'm texting you the warehouse address.Don't be late."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down carefully.Adena's still in the doorway, but her posture has changed—alert, ready.
"Work?"she asks.
