Chapter 28
The steam still clung to my skin when I stepped out of the shower. The bathroom mirror was clouded over, the faint crack in the tile where I’d punched it staring back at me like an accusation.
I toweled off quickly, throwing the damp cloth aside, and walked into the room. For a moment, I stood in the center of my room, shirtless, staring at the gun on my desk. The matchbook and the envelope I'd retrieved from them before they died. All of it circled in my head like vultures. But none of it mattered right now. Not tonight.
Because tonight, I needed her to be safe.
Lucia.
I’d told her to stay in the hotel until I came for her. At first, I’d thought I would keep her there all night—keep her away from the mess, away from me. But I was done. The bodies were disposed of already. The room was being cleaned even as I stood here. And with that finished, there was only one thing I wanted.
Her.
I pulled on a fresh shirt, white, crisp, and buttoned it slowly. . I tugged a black tie from the drawer, looped it around my collar, but halfway through knotting it, I stopped. My throat felt tight, like the fabric was choking me. I loosened it, left it hanging undone. Maybe it was the water still burning in my lungs, or maybe it was the thought of her—the way she looked at me with a mix of fear and trust. I couldn’t tell anymore.
When I stepped out, the driver was already approaching. He bowed slightly, with the keys in hand. “Sir, the car—”
“Not tonight,” I cut him off. My voice was calm, final. “Stay here. I’ll drive myself.”
He froze, then nodded quickly, stepping aside. I didn’t wait for a response. I took the keys and walked straight to the garage.
The car purred to life under my hands, the leather steering wheel smooth and cool against my palms as I pulled out into the night My reflection stared back at me in the glass
The drive was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Every turn of the wheel dragged thoughts with it. Why had she mattered so much? Why did the memory of her fear slice deeper than any betrayal? She was supposed to be an employee, a tool, someone I could move across the board like any other piece. And yet, when I’d seen her trembling, my rage had been sharper than anything I’d felt in years.
The city blurred past. Headlights cut through the rain. I pushed the accelerator harder, needing speed, needing the distraction. But no matter how fast I went, her face followed me. Her eyes. Her voice. The way she said my name like it meant something.
By the time I pulled into the hotel’s lot, my pulse was a steady drumbeat in my ears.
Inside, the lobby was dim, hushed. The same receptionist from earlier straightened immediately when he saw me. His eyes widened—just for a second—before he masked it behind a stiff smile. “Good evening, sir. Back again so soon?”
I didn’t bother replying. My shoes hit the marble floor with measured steps, and I walked past him without breaking my stride. His greeting fell into silence behind me.
Lucia’s suite was on the seventh floor. I knew the way by memory. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing over the spare key card. A precaution I’d taken the moment I put her here. Protection, I told myself. But now, sliding the card into the slot, I realized it was something else too. A tether.
The lock clicked open. I pushed the door gently, the quiet creak barely audible. The room inside was dark, the curtains drawn, only the faint glow of the city leaking through the window.
And then I saw her.
Lucia lay sprawled across the bed, asleep. Her breathing was soft, , her lips parted slightly. The blankets were pushed aside, tangled around her legs, leaving her body bare to the dim light. She wore lingerie—thin, delicate fabric that clung to her curves, leaving nothing to imagination. Her legs stretched across the sheets, smooth, and flawless. Her skin was pale against the dark silk.
I froze.
The air caught in my throat, sharp, and suffocating. I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as heat crawled up my neck. My fingers twitched at my sides, clenching, loosening, clenching again.
I hadn’t expected this. I’d thought I would find her curled beneath the blankets, small, fragile. Not this. Not… exposed. Vulnerable in a way that made something primal inside me stir.
My eyes traced her—slow, and unwilling, but unable to stop. The curve of her hip beneath the lace. The slope of her shoulder. The long line of her legs. I felt my pulse quicken, pounding in my ears, each beat heavier than the last.
My tie hung loose around my neck, suffocating suddenly. I tugged at it, loosening it further, but it didn’t help. The air in the room was too thick, too heavy.
A part of me screamed to turn away. To leave. To shut the door and walk out before I became something I couldn’t control. But another part of me—darker, hungrier—stayed rooted to the floor, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst.
She shifted in her sleep, rolling slightly onto her side. The movement made the strap of her lingerie slip down her shoulder, exposing more skin, the curve of her collarbone. A soft sigh escaped her lips, innocent, and unaware.
I swallowed again, hard, my throat dry. My chest rose and fell in sharp breaths I couldn’t quiet. My body was taut, strung tight like a bow ready to snap.
God, she was beautiful.
Dangerously so.
I took a step forward, then stopped. My shoes were silent on the carpet, but I felt the weight of each movement like a confession. My hand brushed against the doorframe, my knuckles turning hite.
I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.
But I was.
I let my gaze linger a second longer, then forced it away. I turned, facing the wall, trying to steady myself. My breaths were rough, ragged, echoing too loud in the stillness. I pressed a hand to my face, dragging it down, nails scraping against my stubble.
What was wrong with me?
I’d killed men tonight without blinking. Shot them. Cut them. Laughed at their screams. But standing here, in front of her, I felt undone. Weak. Like I was fighting a battle I couldn’t win.
I loosened the top buttons of my shirt, needing air. The fabric clung to my skin, damp from the drive, from the heat burning under it. I leaned against the wall, staring at the floor, trying not to look back.
But I did.
Always, I did.
Her chest rose and fell with each breath, soft, steady, almost rhythmic. The city’s glow painted her skin in faint silver, shadows tracing every line, every curve. She was untouched by the violence I carried. Untouched by the blood. Pure, in a way I no longer was.
And I wanted her.
Not just her body, though that was temptation enough. I wanted her trust. Her presence. Her warmth. The part of me that had grown colder with every kill reached out toward her, desperate for something it could never name.
I moved closer, silent, each step measured. I stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. My hand hovered, trembling, as though reaching for her cheek. I stopped just short, my fingers suspended in the air. The urge to touch her burned, seared through me, but I held back.
If I touched her now, I wouldn’t stop.
I clenched my fist, pulling it back slowly.
Her lips parted again, another sigh slipping free. She shifted, curling slightly, her knees drawing up, the blanket sliding further away. The sight made my breath hitch, sharp and quick.
I sat down in the chair near the window, forcing distance between us. My body ached with restraint, every nerve alive, but I anchored myself there, unmoving. My eyes stayed on her, even when I told myself to look away..
Eventually, exhaustion pressed down on me. Not from the drive, not from the bloodshed, but from the weight of everything else—desire, fear, restraint, rage. I leaned back in the chair, loosening my tie completely, letting it fall into my lap.
My hand brushed against the gun at my side, the cold steel a reminder of what I was. And yet, staring at her, I wondered if she would ever see past that. If she could. If I’d even let her.
I closed my eyes, just for a moment, but sleep didn’t come. Not with her there. Not with every part of me screaming for something I couldn’t allow myself to take.
So I sat in silence, watching over her as she slept, torn between turning away and never leaving her side.