I push through the heavy front doors of the estate, the scent of gun oil, blood, and smoke still clinging to my clothes and skin. Ray already peeled off with the hostage, taking the long route around the back to the basement entrance. We never bring them through the main house… blindfolded the second they’re in the car, dragged straight into the soundproofed hellhole where their screams will never reach the upper floors. Armen stays at my side, still wearing that half-smirk like the whole day has been entertainment.
We’ve barely made it ten steps into the foyer when Selina rounds the corner. The moment she sees me she stops dead, crosses her arms, and lifts her chin. It’s such an unusual stance for her, normally she’s sharp, respectful, and one of my most reliable, that I actually frown. Armen clears his throat beside me; the sound loaded with guilt he’s trying to hide.
I cross my own arms, raise one brow, and wait.
Selina takes a careful step closer. “Me and Lorraine went out today.”
I nod once, still waiting for the point.
She swallows. “We took Kit.”
My blood ignites instantly. A low, dangerous growl tears from deep in my chest.
Before I can speak, she continues, voice firm but careful. “He had a panic attack.”
That does it. I surge forward, wrap my hand around her throat, and slam her back against the nearest wall hard enough that the painting above her rattles. “I told you toleavehim the fuck alone.”
Armen shifts beside me. “Hey…whoa, boss…”
I slowly turn my head toward him, eyes flat. “Something you’d like toadd, Armen?”
He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was… partiallymyidea.”
A sharp, humourless laugh escapes me. “So, you’re telling me you’re all disobedient fuckers now?”
I release Selina, letting her drop to the floor in a controlled heap. I lick my teeth, tasting the leftover blood from earlier, and watch her push herself back up. She tries to hold onto her confidence, but I can see the respectful fear flickering in her eyes.
“He doesn’t know how to socialise anymore, boss,” she says, voice steadier than her hands. “You’ve kept him inside for two years. He gotreallyupset. We made sure he got some treats for himself but… by the time we left he was sweaty and pale and shaking.”
My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Where is he?”
Selina’s answer is too quiet; I don’t catch it.
“Where thefuckis he?!” I shout, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings.
Before I can take another step, a small figure suddenly appears right in front of me. Kit’s standing there in fresh pyjamas, soft grey ones that are slightly crumpled, like he’d been asleep. Lorraine probably told him to rest.
His voice comes out quiet and trembling, but it still cuts straight through the red haze in my head. “Don’t hurt them, Soren.”
I stare at Selina and Armen for one more beat, jaw tight. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
They don’t need to be told twice. Both of them hurry down the hallway without another word, probably heading straight for the nearest bottle to drown their regrets.
My fists are still twitching at my sides as I stare down at Kit. The sight of him does something dangerous to the storm still raging inside me.
Then he speaks again, and even though his voice is scared, it soothes something raw and ugly in my chest. “You didn’t tell me you were going out.”
I stare at him for a long minute, letting the words sink in. Henoticed. He cared enough to be upset that I didn’t tell him I was leaving the estate. A slow, genuine grin spreads across my face, sharp and possessive.
Without warning, I reach down, wrap one arm around his waist, and haul him up like he weighs nothing. I throw him over my shoulder in one smooth motion, his legs kicking weakly against my chest as I start heading straight for the stairs that lead to my private floor. Exactly what I need right now.
Honestly, I’m thrilled he’s bothered that I didn’t tell him. It means he’s thinking about me. It means he’s waiting for me. It means, even throughallthat fear, some part of him is mine.
Kit
Soren kicks the bedroom door shut behind us with his heel. The heavy click of the lock sounds far too loud in the sudden quiet. He doesn’t throw me down this time. Instead, he gently lowers me until my bare feet touch the floor, one large hand steady on my waist like he’s making sure I don’t collapse.
I swallow hard and tilt my head back to look up at him. Something annoyingly warm and comforting flickers inside my chest the moment I realise he’s really back. My crippling anxiety from the day… the panic attack in the store, the overwhelming noise, the way I felt so small and out of place… eases just a little more. It’s sick that his presence can do that.He’sthe one who causes most of itin the first place. I don’t let myself think about it too deeply.
