I twist, struggling, fury and shame and something hot and bright sparking under my skin. For one dizzy second, our faces are so close I can feel the brush of his lips, the heat of his pulse, the air between us thick enough to drown in.
My anger flares, and his matches it—hunger and hate and desperate, ragged want twisting together until neither of us is sure which way is up.
I want to kiss him and scream at him, want to break free and crash back into him at the same time. My breath hitches; his gaze falls to my mouth. I see the moment he almost gives in, the fracture in his composure.
But I tear myself away, breaking his hold, stumbling back. My chest heaves; my cheeks burn.
We stare at each other, both of us wild, rattled, stunned by how close we came to crossing that impossible line. For a second, I see something vulnerable in his eyes—a question, maybe, or regret.
Then the moment snaps. I turn away, pressing a hand to my collar, choking back everything I can’t say.
Chapter Eight - Leon
The estate is too quiet tonight—one of those lulls that prick the back of my neck, nerves catching on every hush.
Shadows feel longer, stretched across marble and wood, and the house seems to hold its breath, waiting for something to break. I find myself drifting toward her wing, footsteps muffled, hand brushing the wall for no reason at all.
Outside Suzy’s door, I pause. There’s the muted pad of her footsteps, the soft click of a window latch, the faint, restless pacing I’ve learned to recognize. She never really settles. Even the air feels different when she’s here—charged, restless, threaded with some expensive perfume I can never quite name.
I tell myself this awareness is duty. That it’s strategy, vigilance, nothing more. I’m holding Marcus White’s daughter, after all. There’s no room for sentiment in a war.
Still I linger, listening, the chime of a clock echoing down the corridor. I’ve grown too accustomed to her—the scrape of her shoes in the hall, the way she looks past me when she’s angry, the heat in her eyes when she forgets to be afraid. The truth is, she’s always in my periphery. Even when I’m pretending otherwise.
Tonight, though, there’s a wrongness in the air—a tension that has nothing to do with Suzy, or with me. I can feel it, like the hush before a thunderstorm.
I’m halfway down the corridor when the spell snaps—a shout from the side of the house, then the crash of breaking glass, the snap of gunfire as masked men pour in through a shattered door.
Instinct takes over. My world narrows to threat and protection. Suzy steps out into the chaos just as bullets chewthrough the air, and I grab her hard, yanking her back against my chest. She goes stiff, breath catching, but she doesn’t scream—her pulse thunders against my ribs, wild and defiant, and I can feel her fight through the tremor.
I drag her behind the stairwell, body shielding hers, barking orders to my men. “South entrance! Block the hallway! Two on the doors!”
My gun is already in my hand, safety off, every sense tuned to survival. The world is noise and heat and shouts, but I only see her—her hair tangled, eyes enormous, knuckles white where she grips my arm.
“You stay behind me,” I snap, voice low and fierce. “Don’t move unless I tell you.”
She nods, jaw set. The lights strobe with muzzle flashes, glass exploding across the floor. Somewhere, someone is shouting for Marcus White, for ransom, for blood. The smell of cordite and sweat burns my nose.
Suddenly, an intruder barrels down the hall, swinging a rifle. I shove Suzy behind the banister, stepping into his path. He slams into me, a freight train in black.
We crash through a table, shards of crystal and wood splintering under my back. My gun skitters out of reach. The man pins me, forearm crushing my throat, his mask a blank, furious snarl. I claw at his arm, fighting for air, vision tunneling to red.
In the corner of my eye, I see movement—Suzy, shaking, her face hard and focused. She grabs a heavy glass decanter from the sideboard, lifts it with both hands, and smashes it down on the man’s head.
The blow lands with a sickening crunch, blood spraying across the floor. The man staggers, dazed, but not out. He swingswildly, catching Suzy’s shoulder, and she stumbles back with a gasp.
That does it. Fury blinds me. I wrench free, rolling to my gun. I don’t think—I just fire. The shot is low, meant to wound, not kill. The man howls, clutching his leg, collapsing. I’m on him in a second, boot to his chest, gun to his head.
“Stay down,” I snarl.
The world goes quiet—gunfire ebbing, my men shouting orders, the scent of blood and gunpowder thick in the hall.
I look up, breath ragged, to find Suzy standing over me, face white, lips parted, hair falling wild around her shoulders. Her dress is torn, but her chin is lifted, eyes fierce.
“You’re trouble,” I mutter, still half dazed, half in awe. The words escape me, half affection, half confession, a secret slipped loose in the chaos.
She huffs, chin rising, a smile ghosting across her mouth despite the tremor in her limbs. “You kidnapped trouble,” she shoots back, voice shaking but proud.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the two of us in the ruins of the hall—broken glass, spilled liquor, a body writhing on the tiles.
