“A skirt is better.”
I stare at him. “Withcombat boots?”
His mouth twitches like he already knows where this is going. “Yes. With combat boots.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
I look down at the outfit again. The skirt. The barely there top. My jacket tossed beside it. The boots waiting on the floor.
“You’re dressing me likethis?This is your ideal?”
His mouth curves. “Maybe.”
I snort, “This gives me less ability to fight properly.” But I’m already reaching for the skirt.
By the time I’m dressed, I barely recognize myself at first.
Because I don’t look like the version of me bruised and hunted and still trying to decide whether I should run
I look sharper now. Meaner around the edges. More certain.
Not broken Ayla.
Something else.
Something closer to the woman who could stand beside the Pakhan and not flinch.
My phone buzzes from where I left it on the dresser. I cross the room and pick it up, my chest loosening a little when I see the messages waiting there. Kay. Jace. Ricky. All three of them okay. All three checking in. No panic. No sign Gabriel got to them.
Relief moves through me, my shoulders almost drop with it.
I start typing back when heat presses up behind me.
Maksim’s mouth brushes the side of my neck.
“Who?”
“Kay. Jace. Ricky.” I glance back at him. “They’re okay.”
“Good.”
His hands settle at my hips, heavy and familiar.
I type out one more message, then pause. “Maybe we should send someone.”
His chin drags lightly over my shoulder. “Someone?”
I look up at him in the mirror over the dresser. “One of our men.”
That gets his attention. He hums, something dark and pleased.
“Ourmen,” he repeats softly.
Heat creeps up my throat.
I try for casual and fail. “You know what I meant.”
