He spots me.
He sees the gun pointed at him. He doesn't flinch. He sees the mess of my clothes, the wildness in my eyes, the white stains on the black tactical vest.
He steps inside.
He reaches back and pulls the heavy steel door shut, plunging us back into absolute darkness.
I hear him slide the bolt home.Clang.
He doesn't speak. I can hear him breathing—hard, fast, like he’s been running.
He moves toward me. I lower the gun.
He finds me in the dark. His hands—hot, rough, smelling of gunpowder—grab my face. He runs his thumbs over my cheekbones, my lips, checking for damage.
"Alessandro," he breathes. His voice is wrecked. "You're alive."
"I killed one," I whisper. "In the alley."
"Good." His hands slide down to my shoulders, gripping hard. "Good."
He pulls me up. I stumble, my legs weak, and he catches me. He crushes me against his chest. It hurts—my bruised ribs protest, his tactical gear digs into me—but I don't care. I bury my face in his neck. He smells of sweat and violence and rain.
"I thought I lost you," he says into my hair. "When the glass broke... I thought I lost you."
"You drew the fire," I say. "You ran."
"I had to get them away from you."
He pulls back. In the dark, I can feel the intensity of his gaze even if I can't see it.
"You're shaking," he says.
"Adrenaline crash."
"Yeah." His hand moves lower. He touches the front of my vest. His fingers find the wet, sticky slickness on the Kevlar.
He freezes.
He knows what it is. He knows exactly what I did in the dark while I waited for him.
I hold my breath. Waiting for disgust. Waiting for mockery.
Killian makes a low sound in his throat. Not disgust.
Possession.
"You needed it," he says. It’s not a question. "You needed to feel alive."
"Yes."
He steps closer. He presses his hips against mine. He is hard too. Through the denim of his jeans, I can feel the ridge of him, heavy and insistent. The violence turned him on just as much as it did me.
"I killed three of them," he says, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "And every time I pulled the trigger, I thought of you. I thought about keeping you safe."
He grabs my hand. He guides it to his fly.
"Touch me," he orders.
