Chapter 23 Kristen & Leo
KRISTEN
The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled into the driveway of the safe house. A thin plume of dust followed me in, curling into the warm afternoon air. The house looked the same—low, plain, forgettable—like it had been dropped here on purpose to be ignored. But the man out front?
There was nothing forgettable about him.
Leo stood barefoot beside his bike, rinsing soap suds off its chrome frame with a slow sweep of the hose. His skin gleamed under the sun, every muscle defined like it had been carved with intention. He wore nothing but a pair of snug black shorts that clung to every contour—his bulge, his ass, the taut lines of his thighs. Water trailed over the tattoos on his chest and arms, making them shimmer like ink caught in motion. I felt the heat bloom low in my belly and shut it down immediately.
I was not here for this. Not that. Not him.
I stepped out of the car and slammed the door harder than I meant to. He looked up, startled for half a second before that familiar cocky smirk slid into place.
“Kristen,” he said, shielding his eyes. “Didn’t expect company.”
“I’m not here for a social visit,” I said.
He set the hose down and reached for a rag to wipe his hands. His body flexed as he moved, the muscles across his back catching the light. I looked away.
“Came all the way out here just to scowl at me?”
“I came to ask for something.”
That got his attention. He tossed the rag over his shoulder and turned to face me fully. His shorts hugged low on his hips. My eyes flicked down for a second too long. I forced myself to meet his gaze.
“I want you to train me,” I said.
His brow lifted. “That so?”
“I’m serious.”
He crossed his arms. Water still glistened on his skin, trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. I had to fight not to stare. There was a faint trail of hair leading down, and I hated that I noticed it.
“Where’s this coming from?” he asked.
I shifted my weight, already regretting how much of myself I was about to show. “You’ve seen what Phoenix is like. You know what happens to people who don’t measure up.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said, brushing it off. “They don’t even start real evaluations for a few weeks.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
His jaw ticked. “You’re not a Capron.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t know what I’m dealing with there.” My voice cracked, sharp and sudden. “You don’t see how they look at me. Like I’m already wasting their time. Like I’m nothing.”
That landed. His expression shifted. He stepped closer. The heat of his body rolled off him. I could smell the sun on his skin and the faint trace of something clean, like soap or sweat. His chest was still damp, the waterline trickling past the ridges of his abs. Up close, I could see the hair on his stomach, the way it led into his shorts. I could see the outline of his cock and how heavy it looked, how the fabric did nothing to hide it.
I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes on his face.
“Is this what you really want?” he asked.
I hesitated. I was trembling, but not from fear. My body was reacting to him whether I wanted it to or not. His presence filled the air like smoke, thick and hard to breathe around.
“I want to survive,” I said.
He stared at me a second longer, then his lips parted just enough to let out a slow breath.
“I’m going to break you,” he said quietly. “And build you back up.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I’m not going to go easy. Not once. No hand-holding. No pauses.”
“I didn’t ask for easy,” I said.
His eyes swept over me, unreadable. Then he gave a small nod. “Fine. We start next week.”
He turned away and picked the rag back up, wiping the last of the water from the bike. The sun made the droplets on his back sparkle. I stayed where I was, watching him work. His body moved like it was built for tension, for combat, for control.
He didn’t look at me again.
I lingered until it got awkward, then turned and walked back to my car. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t afford to.
But I felt him watching.
LEO
I watched her taillights vanish down the road and let out the breath I’d been holding since she showed up. My palms were wet, and not from the hose. I gripped the edge of the sink just inside the garage and leaned over it, letting the cool shade swallow me for a minute.
I almost lost it.
I almost grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in. Almost kissed her until she forgot why she’d come. There was a point, right when she said she wanted to survive, that something in me cracked.
She had no idea how much that word meant to me.
She had no idea how dangerous this was becoming.
I dried off fast and tossed on a clean shirt. My hands moved automatically, but my mind was still with her—flushed cheeks, clenched jaw, the fire in her voice when she challenged me. Kristen had no clue how close she’d come to triggering something I couldn’t shove back in the box.
It was easier to focus on the mission.
I strapped on my boots and mounted the bike. It rumbled to life beneath me, loud and steady. The wind cooled my skin as I rode out, taking the back way toward campus.
Phoenix looked different when you weren’t a student anymore. The walls seemed lower. The guards more nervous. The academy had grown softer in some ways, more vicious in others.
The girls noticed me first.
They always did.
Heads turned as I passed, ponytails flipping, lips parting, voices murmuring behind manicured hands. I didn’t look at them. I didn’t slow down.
I had one stop to make.
The administrative building rose like a bad memory. Gray. Impersonal. I parked outside, engine still purring, and walked straight through the front doors. A receptionist glanced up, startled, but I didn’t give her a chance to speak. I took the stairs two at a time.
Down the hall.
Turn left.
Dean Horowitz’s name was still on the frosted glass. The coward hadn’t changed offices in all these years.
I knocked once.
Then walked in.
Horowitz leapt to his feet like I was a bomb about to go off. His face went white, then red.
“What the hell—are you an intruder?”
He reached under his desk and came up with a small silver pistol. His hand shook, but he held it pointed straight at my chest.
I raised one hand.
Then flicked a finger.
The gun ripped from his grip and slammed into the far wall, lodging there with a deep, final thunk. The frame cracked around it.
Horowitz froze.
I stepped forward.
“Dean Horowitz,” I said, calm as anything. “We need to talk.”