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I swallow hard, memories of the last time we were together rolling through my mind. “You're staring at my dick.”

“I'm staring at the towel covering your dick.”

I crouch in front of her. The humor disappears from her face.

Our eyes lock and hold. Our breathing syncs.

“Chaos.”

Her breath catches. I’ve heard that sound before. On her bed. With her body beneath mine and her hands⁠—

Don't.

You can’t drag her into your life. You fucking kill people for a living.

I reach for the cuff.

Callie watches me. “Are you letting me go?”

“Yes.”

Her green eyes meet mine. “Probably for the best. I don't think the handcuffs are having the deterrent effect you intended.”

The key stops before reaching the lock.

My gaze drops to her mouth. “No.”

Her lips part. “They're really not.”

Something hot and vicious twists low in my stomach.

I haven't touched her since Halloween.

I've thought about it way too fucking often.

In the gym.

In the coffee shop.

In my truck last night when she sat inches away eating gummy bears and driving me insane.

Every time she smiles at me.

Every fucking time she looks at me like she already knows I’ll eventually give in.

I've told myself I can’t have her. She's a distraction. I'm dangerous. And I always leave. Because men like Mercer exist. And as long as they do, she’ll eventually dig into the wrong thing and find something she can't laugh her way out of.

All good reasons.

None of them matter right now.

“Roman?”

I don't unlock the cuff.

Instead, I brace one hand against the refrigerator beside her head.

Her eyes flick toward it. Then back to mine.