She smiled and tucked it back into my shirt.
After that, she stayed curled on my lap for a long time. Her breathing was soft and slow, like the storm inside her had finally burned itself out—for now.
I didn’t move—just sat there, holding her.
With one hand, I rubbed her back in slow, steady strokes. The other hand stayed tangled in her hair, keeping her close, as though if I let go for even a second, the world might take her again.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. I didn’t fucking care.
Eventually, her fingers loosened from the fabric of my shirt. Her body went slack with sleep.
I stayed a little longer until I was sure she was out.
Then, carefully, I slid one arm under her knees, wrapping the other behind her shoulders, and lifted her into my arms.
She didn’t stir.
Her face was soft. Innocent.
I carried her to the guest suite and nudged the door open with my foot, crossing the room and easing her down onto the bed.
She nestled into the pillow automatically.
I pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, tucking it in gently at her sides, then stood there for a moment, just watching her.
She didn’t look like someone who’d survived hell.
But she had.
Lacey’s life had been upended twice—once by fire and twisted metal, and again by bullets and greed—and somehow, she was still standing. Still fighting. Still soft in a world that demanded she harden.
She was stronger than she even knew.
She just needed time.
Time to heal. To grieve. To process the truth of what she’d been dragged into and what that meant for the rest of her life.
I would give her that time. However long it took.
Because even if she didn’t know it yet…
She was mine now.
And I wasn’t letting go.
Chapter thirty-five
My arms trembled as I held the last scorpion pose. I exhaled slowly and steadily until my big toes touched each other and nearly reached my head. After rolling out of the position, a sheen of sweat clung to my skin, and my pulse was loud in my ears. The workout app chimed its annoying little “Namaste,” and the screen dimmed. I relaxed back onto the mat, my chest rising and falling heavily, my legs splayed out like I’d just finished a battle.
Which, I guess I had.
I had been stuck in this penthouse for three weeks, and I had more than a little cabin fever.
Three weeks without seeing Nik.
Three weeks since he’d held me in his lap, rubbed my back, and whispered that he liked my real name.
I glanced at the time on the TV—6:00 p.m. Not that it mattered. The hours had blurred together. Mornings bled into afternoons, and evenings stretched out into slow, lonely nights.
