Page 51 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"Casualties?"

"No bodies, but there's blood. Whoever was driving either got away or was taken."

I process this quickly. "What else?"

"One of the guards finally talked," Alex continues, his voice dropping lower. "He admitted someone inside the organization ordered security reassigned the night of the attack. Whoever did this knew exactly when and where to hit us because someone with authority told them."

"How high up?"

"High enough to access shift schedules and security protocols," Alex says. "This isn't some low-level soldier acting alone. This is someone with real authority who deliberately weakened our defenses."

"Find out who," I say flatly. "I don't care what it takes."

"Already working on it." There's a pause. "How's the situation there?"

I glance at Marla, who's turned away from the window and is watching me with wide eyes. She heard enough. I can see it in the way her face has gone pale, the way her hands have stopped moving.

"Complicated," I say.

"Call if you need backup."

Alex ends the call, and I slide the phone back into my pocket. When I look up, Marla is staring at me. The sarcasm and defiance from earlier have drained away completely. What's left is genuine fear.

Not the angry kind she showed when we first arrived. Not the defensive kind she threw at us during the confrontation. Real, cold fear that makes her look younger and more vulnerable than she did even an hour ago.

"Things are getting worse," she says quietly. It's not a question.

"Yes."

She sinks onto the couch, her hands twisting together in her lap. "Someone inside your organization is working against you."

"Yes."

"And you still think I might be involved."

I don't answer immediately. The truth is more complicated than yes or no. "I think you're connected to something dangerous, whether you meant to be or not."

The tension that's been simmering between us since Russ and Alex left suddenly becomes impossible to ignore. It fills the space between us, heavy and electric. I can see it in the way her breathing quickens and how her eyes follow my movements when I push off the counter.

I cross the room slowly. Marla watches me approach, her pulse jumping visibly in her throat. When I reach the couch, I don't sit. Instead, I brace my hands on the back of the couch on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her.

"We need to blow off some steam," I say quietly, my voice dropping lower. "You need to relax."

Her breathing quickens. "Nick..."

I lean in closer, my mouth near her ear. "Tell me to stop."

She doesn't, and I kiss her.

19

MARLA

His mouth claims mine with an intensity that steals my breath. There's no gentleness, no teasing. His raw demand makes my entire body respond before my brain can catch up. His hand slides into my hair, gripping tight enough to tilt my head back, and I gasp against his lips.

I should push him away, but my hands fist in his shirt instead, pulling him closer, and I hate myself for it even as I do it. My body betrays every principle I thought I had. The fear is still there, coiling in my stomach, but it's tangled up with desire so intense it makes my head spin. I'm not pushing him away because some dark part of me wants this.

With Russ, everything was playful and easy, his easy laughter mixed with passion and confidence making me feel safe enough to let go. He made me feel desired in a way that was fun and uncomplicated, like I was someone worth pursuing just for the joy of it. With Alex, it was precie, with every touch calculated to drive me higher, his experience evident in every movement. He made me feel worshipped, like my pleasure was a puzzle he was determined to solve. But Nick is different. Nick doesn't pretend. He doesn't soften the violence that lives inside him or hide the darkness behind charm. He doesn't make me feel safe or worshipped. He's exactly what he appears to be: dangerous, uncompromising, and completely in control.