Page 29 of Safe Word

God always gave the devout what they needed. And from nothing, He gave me her.

She didn’t understand the kind of peace that came at the edge of breath. Not yet. But she would. I’d seen it – I’d watched the soul bloom behind the eyes when the body stopped fighting. That trembling moment between life and whatever came next, when everything slowed, and there was nothing but stillness, and skin, and the shudder of something eternal slipping free.

People thought death was ugly. Messy. But they’d never really looked. They’d never had the privilege of holding a woman so tightly that her fear blossomed into surrender – and then silence. Of the purest kind. I’d seen beauty in its cleanest form: naked, gasping, weightless. And I wanted her to be like that too.

Not because I hated her. I could never hate her. She’d been made for this. The soft column of her throat, the way her pulse undoubtedly kicked just beneath the skin like a secret and an invitation… Every breath she took was a prayer I hadn’t answered.

Yet.

My own personal benediction to absolve me of all sins so we could both ascend in peace…

I sucked in a breath, almost feeling the warmth of His holiness coming over me.

When I finally answered her, it wouldn’t be quick. It’d be sacred. Slow. I’d be gentle with her, the way one handled a sacred relic. She’d cry, maybe, but she’d understand. She’d feel it too – that exquisite quiet that only came when everything else was stripped away. When she’d be mine completely.

In body.

In silence.

In death.

Working for D’Angelo, I’d expected coffee-fetching and condescension, but he had surprised me.

He’d got straight to business.

He was a master at keeping himself contained, as it seemed. Everything about him – the calm in his voice, the stillness in his posture, the way his gaze rarely lingered too long – spoke of control. It was disarming, really. I’d imagined something else entirely after that interview. But this was professionalism – his ability to keep the man-woman thing out of the dynamic was… refreshing.

I focused on the draft he’d assigned me, letting my fingers move swiftly over the keyboard as I made notes.

The text was raw, unsettling in the best way, pulling me into the dark tension he was known for. I could see where he wanted the pacing smoothed, the tension stretched, the transitions tightened. It was meticulous work, but I liked that. It gave me something to sink my teeth into.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him adjusting in his chair, his attention fixed on his own screen. His movements were fluid, without a trace of impatience or restlessness. For someone who wrote about chaos, shattered characters and unravelling minds, he carried himself with an almost unnerving calm, making me feel like I could focus on the work without the fear of being judged or having to second-guess myself. He wasn’t going to pull rank or let his ego get in the way.

And yet, there was something else about him. Something restless. It wasn’t overt, but I could feel it. It wasn’t directed at me, not explicitly, but it was there, like a current running through him.

It stunned me – that he would let me thread my fingers through his story. If the roles had been reversed, I would’ve guarded my pages like a wounded animal.

I couldn’t help but wonder… what would he do if I pushed too far? If I rewrote more than just one line?

Would he correct me?

Punish me?

‘The scene on page eleven,’ I said as I highlighted a section in the document, sensing that purr of mischief and curiosity tickling low in my chest. ‘It’s strong, but I think the build-up could use a bit more.’

The skin between his brows puckered slightly. I clicked another section, he followed the live changes on his end.

‘The tension’s good here, but it hits too fast.’ I tapped the keyboard, leaving a comment in the margin.

Cain glanced up briefly, his face impassive as he nodded.

‘Show me what you got, DeLuca,’ he said simply.

Smiling, I turned back to the draft.

Interesting.

It was going to be easy to work with him like this – no unnecessary words, no awkwardness, nothing forced. Just focus. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I could settle into my work without looking over my shoulder. Whatever Cain carried within him, he kept it firmly in check. And because of that, I could breathe.