King listened without interrupting, jaw tightening with each detail.
When Reaper finished, King leaned back.“You remember Tiffany.”
The name landed like a punch.
“That’s not the same,” Reaper said immediately, feeling defensive.King only brought that bitch out, because he knew how much it affected Reaper.
King raised an eyebrow.“You sure?”
“Yes.”No hesitation.“Elena’s nothing like her.”
Silence stretched.
“You were sent to observe,” King said slowly.“Not escalate or start a potential war.”
“They already started it,” Reaper replied.“She’s collateral.”
King studied him, eyes sharp.
“You willing to take personal responsibility for her?”King finally asked.
Reaper didn’t even blink or hesitate.“Yes.”
The word rang solid and final and some part of him wondered why Elena had such an effect on him.Reaper wasn’t a good man and he’d never offered his personal protection to anyone before.It was a strange sensation, and yet, he didn’t regret saying those words.
King nodded once.“Then don’t make me regret trusting you,” King said.
Reaper stood, tension coiled tight inside him.
As he left the office, one truth burned brighter than all the others.Whatever this thing was between him and Elena growing in his chest, he had the sinking feeling it was going to change everything.
****
Reaper stood outsideElena’s door longer than he meant to.This was a mistake.He knew it in his bones, the same instinct that used to hum before violence.He should have gone straight to his room, shut the door, shut her out of his head.Instead, his hand lifted and knocked once, soft.
A pause.Then the door opened.Elena stood there barefoot, her hair loose and still damp like she’d washed hospital and fear off her skin.She’d changed out of her clothes, the ones that smelled like smoke and adrenaline, and into soft cotton pajamas that clung in places he didn’t let his mind linger on.
Too late.He focused his gaze on her gorgeous body, silently cataloging the gentle curve of her waist, the line of her collarbone, the faint shadows under her eyes that spoke of exhaustion rather than weakness.
She looked breakable and that did something dangerous to him.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
His throat tightened.He hadn’t expected that word to feel like a hand wrapped around his ribs.
“Just checking on you,” he said, voice a little rough.“You all right?”
She nodded, then hesitated.“I think so.As all right as I can be, given ...everything,” she said.
He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how big he was in the doorway, how much space he took up.He should give her room, but he didn’t move.
Her gaze flicked to his cut knuckles, the bruise blooming along his jaw he hadn’t bothered to ice.Concern creased her brow.“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” he immediately said.
She didn’t call him on it, but the look lingered, soft and infuriating.He wasn’t used to being seen like that, without calculation.
“Come in,” she said, stepping back.
