Page 17 of Vicious Temptation

“Mi amor, you didn’t tell me you were coming by this early. I would’ve had Estela make your favorite.”

“Mamá, anything Estela makes is my favorite. And since when do I have to announce myself?”

She chuckles and pulls me into a hug. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Her hand lingers at the back of my neck when she pulls away, her thumb brushing beneath my ear the way she used to when I was little. “You know you’re always welcome. This is your home. Now, tell me, what really brings you by?”

I laugh because I should’ve known she’d ask. The only problem is, I don’t have a good answer. I woke up this morning, ordered groceries, and somehow ended up here before they could even be delivered. I could blame it on missing my family, but I know there’s more to it than that.

Less than twelve hours ago, I pulled a gun on a stranger. Then I climbed into his truck, brought him to my garage, drank with him, and spent half the morning thinking about him when I should’ve forgotten his face the second he left.

Thiago is no one to me, but my brain hasn’t gotten the fucking message.

My hand slips into my pocket, and my fingers close around my father’s ring.

Mamá notices.

She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Instead, she crosses the room, braces a boot against the stand, and pulls the axes free before extending one to me.

“Estela won’t mind if we’re a little late,” she says. “It always helps take the edge off.”

I curl my fingers around the handle and step up to the throwing line. “The day I pass up target therapy is the day you need to worry.”

“That’s my girl.”

I roll the axe once in my grip, draw my arm back, and let it fly. And just like hers, it buries itself dead center.

She smiles. “Again.”

Five

Thiago

The locker room hums with overlapping voices, the clank of metal, and the steady drip of water hitting tile. Everyone moves through the familiar routine of stripping off gear, showering, and getting the hell out after a long shift.

I sit on the bench and drag a towel over my head, scrubbing the last of the water from my hair. The shower did little to burn through the adrenaline still buzzing beneath my skin. Today was my first day in the field with the Ninth, and we got thrown straight into it. A couple of low-level dealers had taken a family hostage after a deal went sideways. By the time we breached the house, they were shooting. We returned fire, cleared the rooms, and got everyone out alive.

I’d say that’s a pretty damn good way to introduce myself to the team.

But Philadelphia still feels different from Houston, and it isn’t the crew or even the work. I’ve spent the last five years following orders without question, moving from one assignment to the next without giving much thought to the people behind the files once the job was done.

Remi is already proving harder to dismiss.

It’s been a week since I met her, and I can still picture her standing on the side of that highway with a gun aimed at my chest, completely prepared to use it. Maybe it’s curiosity or the fact that nothing about our first meeting went the way I expected. Whatever it is, I’ve thought about her more times than the assignment requires.

I drop the towel around my neck and reach for my shirt, smiling when I remember the look she gave me.

Apparently, having a gun pointed at me is memorable when Remi Cain is the one holding it.

A locker slams a few feet away, dragging my attention across the room.

“Hell of a first day, Braga.”

Ryan, one of the guys from my unit, leans against the lockers across from me.

“Not bad,” I reply, tugging my shirt down.

“Not bad?” He scoffs. “You cleared that building like you’ve been running with us for years.”

I shrug. “Got lucky.”