The song ends. Another one starts, slower, strings heavy in the melody. She doesn't pull away. Neither do I.
Her sister's words echo in my skull.He looks at you like you're magic.
Magic is imprecise. Unpredictable. The variable that ruins tactical planning and gets people killed in the field.
But if Colletta is magic, then I've been under the spell since the moment she stumbled into that bar three margaritas deep and hired me to intimidate her ex-boyfriend at a wedding. Since she giggled nervously when I threatened the valet. Since she kissed me back against the hotel door like she was trying to crawl inside my skin and make a home there.
I tighten my grip on her waist. She makes a small sound, something soft and surprised, and leans into me harder.
"When do we leave?" she asks against me, her voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt, vibrating through my ribcage in a way that causes my entire body hyper-aware of her presence.
I don't hesitate. The answer has already been calculated, assessed, and determined to be the optimal course of action. "Now."
She pulls back. Blinks up at me, curls wild around her face, lipstick slightly smudged from where she bit her lip during the vows. "Now? The reception just started. There's still cake cutting and the bouquet toss and?—"
"Acceptable losses." I scan the room. The bride is occupied with her new husband. The guests are drunk and distracted. Derek is nowhere in sight, probably still recovering from our earlier conversation on the balcony. The tactical window is open. "We extract now."
"Extract." Her mouth twitches. "You make it sound like a military operation."
"All operations are military operations if you approach them correctly."
She laughs. Full and bright and completely unguarded. It hits me somewhere below the ribs, sharp and sweet like a blade coated in honey. "You're insane."
"Focused." I corrected her. Then, because the impulse overrides every protocol I've ever learned about maintaining professional distance, I bend down and lift her.
Not bridal style, which would require a different tactical configuration and wouldn't provide the necessary security advantage.
Over my shoulder, in a fireman's carry, because it leaves one hand free for defensive maneuvers and keeps her center of gravity aligned with mine.
She shrieks. Grabs onto my jacket for balance, her voice pitching higher with surprise and something that might be delightful. "Kruk! What are you—put me down!"
"No."
The guests notice. Of course they notice. A few of them start cheering. Someone whistles. Monica looks over from where she's cutting the cake with her husband, sees us, and grins like she just won a bet.
I carry Colletta through the reception hall, her fists lightly pounding against my back in a rhythm that lacks any real conviction. She's laughing too hard to be genuinely angry, and the sound wraps around me like a second skin.
"This is kidnapping!" she manages between gasps.
"Tactical retrieval of a high-value asset," I correct her, my tone allowing no room for debate. I adjust my grip slightly as we round a corner, keeping her perfectly balanced. "You signed a contract. The terms were clear and comprehensive. I am simply fulfilling my obligations to the letter of that agreement."
"The contract was forprotection, not abduction!" Her voice pitches higher, though I can hear the laughter threaded through her protest, feel the way her body has gone loose and pliant against me rather than tense with genuine resistance.
"Semantics." I navigate past a cluster of elderly guests who've wandered into the hallway. One of them, a woman with hair the color of steel wool and a dress covered in sequins, gives me an approving nod and a thumbs up. I acknowledge her with a slight incline of my head. "Protection includes extraction from hostile social environments. The threat level was escalating. I assessed the situation and acted accordingly."
We pass Derek on the way out. He's standing near the bar, pale and sweating, clutching a glass of whiskey like it's a life raft. His eyes go wide when he sees us. I maintain eye contact untilwe're through the door, letting him see exactly how thoroughly he's lost.
The night air hits cool against my skin as we step through the venue's main entrance, the contrast sharp after the overheated reception hall. Colletta shivers slightly, a delicate tremor that runs through her entire frame, and I adjust my grip immediately, shifting her weight more securely against me, ensuring she's warm and protected. I angle my body to shield her from the worst of the evening breeze, tucking her more firmly against the heat of my back and shoulders.
"You're going to wrinkle your suit," she says, her voice muffled against the fabric stretched across my shoulder blades. There's no real concern in the observation, just that particular tone she gets when she's pointing out consequences that don't actually matter to either of us.
"Acceptable collateral damage," I reply evenly, my stride never faltering as I carry her across the parking area toward the main building entrance.
She snorts—that inelegant, genuine laugh that she tries to suppress in polite company but never quite manages. Then she goes boneless against me, melting into my hold with complete and utter trust, her muscles loosening, her weight settling more fully across my shoulder. The shift in her body language, the absolute surrender of tension, makes my pulse kick harder against my ribs, a surge of possessive satisfaction rolling through my chest like thunder.
The walk to the honeymoon suite is short. I memorized the layout on arrival, noted all exits and entry points, calculated response times for security. Standard procedure. What I didn't account for was having to navigate the hallways with Colletta draped over my shoulder, giggling and occasionally directing me with unhelpful instructions like "left, no your other left" and"there's a potted plant coming up, don't impale me on decorative ferns."
I don't impale her.
