“Well, up until a few hours ago, you were very willing to jump into the same bed with me, honey,” he reminded. That earned a faint smile from her—one that faded fast when the door clicked shut behind them, and the silence settled in. Safe houses were like that. They didn’t distract you from everything going wrong around you. They gave your thoughts room to stretch their legs and hunt you down.
Nitro stripped off his boots and cut, setting his weapons where he could reach them in under a second. Old habits die hard. Hell, they were necessary ones that had saved his life more times than he could count. He caught Aurora watching him—not afraid, exactly, but curious. Like she was trying to map him out the same way he’d already mapped out a dozen ways to keep her alive.
“You don’t move like a biker,” she said.
He paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. “You move like someone who’s been trained. You know, like someone who’s been in the military.”
Nitro sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. “That’s because I was in the military.”
Her brows knit together. “Past tense?”
“Mostly,” he lied. There was nothing past tense about what he did for Uncle Sam.
She didn’t push him right away for answers, which told him she understood restraint and understood waiting until the moment was right. She moved closer, perched on the opposite edge of the bed, keeping space between them. “What branch?” she asked.
He exhaled slowly. “Army, Special Operations.” That got her full attention.
“How long were you in?” she asked.
“Long enough,” he said. “Too long.” Silence filled the room again, giving him time to regroup.
When she finally spoke, her voice was careful. “Is that why you knew what to do tonight?” Nitro closed his eyes, not sure how much more he wanted to tell her. He had already said too much. He hadn’t planned on telling her anything. He hadn’t told anyone outside of Torque about his time in the military and his current work. Even then, he didn’t fully disclose all the details.But Aurora had already seen him bleed for her. If he lied to her now, he’d never forgive himself.
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not how I knew what to do tonight.” His training had a little to do with it, but it was basic instinct for him—always had been.
Her breath caught. “Then how did you know what to do?” He looked at her—really looked. The way she held herself was like someone who’d learned to survive without expecting protection from anyone else. The shadows she wore like armor.
“Because I didn’t stop,” he said. “When things fall apart, no matter how bad things get, I don’t give up. It’s instinct, really.”
Her lips parted. “What do you mean by you didn’t stop? Stop what?”
“The missions,” he said. “I left the uniform, but I didn’t leave the work.” She went still at the end of the bed.
“I do things for the government,” he continued, voice low and rough, “that don’t exist on paper. I go places no one’s supposed to know about, and I fix problems before they become wars.” His jaw tightened. “That’s why I know security. That’s why I knew how to clear your apartment. And how I knew those men weren’t amateurs.”
Aurora stared at him, processing everything that he had just admitted to her. “That’s why,” he added, quieter now, “I can keep you safe.” For a moment, he thought this would be it—the moment she decided he was too dangerous to keep around.
Instead, she asked, “Does it ever stop?”
The question nearly broke him. Nitro scrubbed his hand over his face. “No,” he admitted. “You just get better at carrying it around with you and hiding the truth from everyone around you.” His chest tightened unexpectedly, something sharp clawing up from deep inside. He hadn’t talked about this in years—not like this. Not without his walls in place.
“I see things that no man should have to witness,” he said, his voice cracking despite his best effort. “I do things that no person should have to do, and when I come home, I’m supposed to just forget all of it. Hell, half the time, I drink it all away or laugh it off.” He swallowed hard. “But some nights, none of that works.”
Aurora moved then, slowly and deliberately, closing the space between them. She didn’t touch him right away. She just sat close enough that he could feel her warmth. “You don’t have to carry it alone tonight,” she said. Nitro bowed his head, breath shuddering once before he could stop it. He didn’t cry—he wasn’t built that way—but the weight pressed down hard enough that he felt damn close to it. When he finally looked up, she was still right there, sharing his space, staring him down.
“She we set some bed rules?” she asked softly, a hint of humor threading through the seriousness.
He huffed out a half-hearted laugh. “Is this where you tell me to stay on my side?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes,” she agreed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. They lay down fully clothed, backs turned away from each other at first. The space between them felt vast. But sometime later in the night, Aurora shifted closer. Her back brushed his chest, and he felt as though he was holding his damn breath waiting for her to move again. Nitro hesitated for only a second before draping an arm around her, protective without being possessive. She sighed, the sound small and trusting. For the first time in a long time, Nitro let himself rest—not because the world was safe but because, in this moment, they were.
Nitro didn’t sleep.How could he with Aurora tucked up against him? Her breathing was slow and even, one hand fistedin the fabric of his shirt like she’d anchored herself there without realizing it. He kept his arm around her, and his eyes open as he counted shadows and listened to the quiet as though it might betray them.
Safe houses never fooled him. Sure, they bought time, but that was all. At 0400, his burner phone vibrated in his duffel bag. He carefully slipped out from under Aurora’s weight, easing her hand free and replacing his shirt with the pillow. Nitro felt as though he was holding his breath watching her as she shifted, but didn’t wake. He paused long enough to make sure she was good, and then moved silently into the kitchen, closing the door most of the way behind him.
He checked his phone, and the message was short.
