Bael wasn't a saint.
But he was my friend.
"If it ever came down to it," I said, voice low, "Bael would choose me over her." I was ninety-nine percent positive—and hoped that didn't cost us our lives, but I kept that part to myself.
Jamie didn't blink. Just kept looking at me like she was trying to read past my skin.
"And if he doesn't?" Her voice was calm. "If it comes down to you pulling the trigger on him—could you?"
I looked away, jaw tightening. "That's the thing," I muttered. "I'd hesitate."
"Then that means if he crosses us, I'll have to," she said, sounding deadly.
We were both killers, in our own ways. But Jamie was looking at me like she had no conscience.
She wasn't bluffing. Wasn't trying to prove a point.
She'd do it.
And Christ, the thought shouldn't have made my blood run hot and my dick hard, but it did.
I shifted in my seat, adjusting my leg to hide the way my body reacted.
Fuck me. I'd had women beg for my attention, cry over me, twist themselves into knots for a scrap of affection. Cry in the dark for what they thought love was.
Then there was Sophia—the love of my life.
But none of them, not even her, had ever looked at me like this.
It stirred something primal in my chest—something I hadn't ever felt.
Her voice cut into the thought. "So what now?"
I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table, my eyes on her plump lips, ignoring the urge to kiss her. "Now, we take our time. Plan our next move. Nobody knows I'm alive, or where you're at."
Jamie stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She took her glass to the sink, rinsed it without a word. Then she turned, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed.
The hem of my shirt rode up her thigh, and I forced my eyes away from her thick legs, pushing back the thoughts of what it would feel like to be trapped between them.
She looked over her shoulder. "You coming to bed?"
"I'll be there."
She nodded, flicking off the light. But I saw it—the way her hand trembled, just for a second.
The way she paused at the bedroom door, like she was waiting, like she was hoping I'd follow.
Or maybe that was my imagination playing tricks on me.
I gave it a minute before I followed, letting my erection calm down, and made my way down the hall.
She was already under the covers, facing the window.
I got in beside her, careful not to touch. The mattress shifted with my weight, and I felt her tense—just a little. Like part of her wanted me closer.
I stared up at the ceiling, my hand resting a few inches from hers.
"You were right," I said quietly.
