Chapter 9 Leo
By the time we reached the safehouse, it was dark enough that I didn’t bother cutting the headlights. The trees swallowed most of the light anyway. She didn’t say much when we pulled in. Her arms were tight around my waist again, but I could feel her tension. Not fear. Something closer to exhaustion. I killed the engine and climbed off first. The gravel crunched under my boots. I offered her a hand. She took it without a word.
The door creaked when I unlocked it. Always did. The place had been standing for years, long enough for dust to settle between the boards and forget what it used to be. It wasn’t much. One room, a bathroom, a kitchen counter with two stools. Everything designed for survival. Not comfort. But it was hidden. That’s what mattered.
Kristen stepped inside and looked around with a hand still wrapped in her damp sleeve. Her wet clothes clung to her legs and arms. Her hoodie was soaked through, stuck to her shoulders. Her hair was stringy and half-dried. She rubbed her hands against her arms and looked at me like I owed her an apology for the state of it.
“This place is small,” she said.
“I don’t use it often,” I said. “I usually live in hotels. This is just off the grid.”
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Like no service? No Wi-Fi?”
“That too.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“The dimension grid.”
She blinked. “The what?”
I didn’t answer. I opened the closet, pulled it wide, and gestured toward the shelves. “You should change. You’re cold. There might be something in here that fits.”
She stepped forward and ran her fingers along the row of hangers. Dresses. Jackets. Things I didn’t really want to explain. She picked up a black cotton shirt and turned back toward me with narrowed eyes.
“This place hidden off the dimension grid, but you’ve got a full closet of women’s clothes.”
I didn’t flinch. “Occasionally I have guests.”
“Female guests.”
“I never said otherwise.”
“So you just stock a variety of sizes in case one of them gets wet?”
I exhaled slowly and leaned my shoulder against the doorframe. “That’s none of your business.”
“Is anything?”
“No.”
Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smirk but wasn’t sure she had the energy for it. She glanced at the small hallway that led to the bathroom, then back at me.
“I’m changing,” she said.
“I’ll wait outside the door.”
She hesitated.
“You’ll be fine.”
She disappeared into the back room and shut the door almost fully. Almost. It didn’t latch properly. I stayed where I was, arms crossed, listening to the sound of wet fabric peeling off skin. Her hoodie dropped to the floor with a wet slap. Her jeans took longer. I could hear her grumbling quietly under her breath. The closet didn’t exactly offer variety. She didn’t like any of it. That was clear from the way she swore at it.
Then she slipped her bra off.
The moment was brief. A gap in the door. A shift in the light.
Her bare back glowed.
Moonlight filtered through the high window and touched the ridge of her spine, the smooth dip at her waist, the curve of her shoulder blades. She raised her arms to pull a dry shirt over her head and the muscles along her ribs pulled taut. Her skin looked soft. Clean. Untouched in a way that made something deep in me go still.
I turned away before she saw me watching.
She spoke a second later, tone sharp again. “For a safehouse, why does it only have one room?”
“It’s mine. It was built for one.”
“Just one? No family? No team?”
“No one’s supposed to find it.”
She stepped into view again, barefoot now, the black shirt falling almost to her thighs. She’d found a pair of shorts too. They sat low on her hips. Her legs were bare. Her hair was slightly towel-dried but still damp at the ends.
She cocked her head and gestured toward the closet. “And the clothes?”
“I don’t keep people here,” I said. “I don’t make a habit of this. You’re the exception.”
Her voice dipped lower. “So I’m not going back home tonight.”
“No. You’re not.”
She looked at the bed.
So did I.
It wasn’t big. Barely wide enough for one person to sleep comfortably. But it was better than the floor.
“You take it,” I said.
“No.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the ground.”
“I’m not letting you either.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I’m not the one who almost drowned.”
“You jumped in after me.”
“Because you’re a liability,” I said.
She didn’t rise to it. Just crossed her arms again and stared.
I dropped it.
Eventually, she sat on the bed. Not dramatically. Not to make a point. She just sat, pulled the blanket over her legs, and leaned back against the wall. Her body settled quickly. I watched her chest rise and fall as her breathing evened. Her eyes fluttered closed within minutes.
I didn’t move.
I stood there for a long time before I made my way around to the other side of the bed. I slid in slowly, careful not to disturb the blanket she’d already pulled tightly around herself. The mattress creaked once beneath my weight. Her breathing didn’t change.
I rested my head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
I’d planned to talk tonight. Planned to start unraveling the mess Jacob had left me with. But she’d shut down fast, and for once, I was grateful. It meant I didn’t have to explain why I had a tattoo across my chest that glowed under moonlight. Why I could bend metal with my hand. Why I knew more about her than she knew about herself.
It meant I had one more night before I had to tell her the truth.
Sometime after midnight, she shifted.
I felt her leg brush mine. Then her hand landed on my chest, soft, light, not intentional. Her breath was warm against my neck. She was still asleep.
But I wasn’t.
I froze.
She curled closer, head tucked under my jaw, her body angled toward mine like it belonged there. I felt her skin touch my hip. Her bare thigh pressed against the top of mine.
And I got hard.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t controllable. It happened instantly. The heat of her breath, the weight of her hand, the way her chest rose and fell against my ribs—it burned straight through me. I could feel myself pulse against the inside of my jeans, sharp and unrelenting. I clenched my jaw and shifted slightly, dragging a pillow down and pressing it over the bulge, trying to ease the pressure. It didn’t help. The ache got worse.
I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything else.
It didn’t work.
All I could see behind my eyelids was the woman from my dreams. Faceless. Kneeling. Bent for me. Waiting.
But the body pressed against mine wasn’t a dream. Her hand was splayed across my chest, fingers twitching slightly in her sleep.
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
Not yet.
The ache didn’t go away. It throbbed, deep and hot, low in my gut, and all I could think about was how stupid it was that the girl in my bed was the same girl I’d been sent to protect. That her father was the one who dragged me into this. That Jacob Lockwood never once said she’d be like this.
That he didn’t warn me.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling and whispered,
“What the hell are you doing to me, Jacob?”