Page 6 of Dark Angel

I break the gaze first, a quiet thank you to whatever force governs luck that she can't see my internal struggle. Or can she? Hands go through my hair in frustration. What was I thinking, bringing her here? Enough stalling, Jaden. I can only glean so much from a screen; real intuition needs proximity. I hit the intercom button.

"Meet me in the hallway."

She surveys the intercom and pushes the button. "Why?" Her voice is laced with caution but tinged with challenge. She seems to brace herself, shoulders squaring like she's armoring up.

I stay silent.

"Alright."

I leave the security of my combination high-tech lair, medical clinic and safe room and head for the elevator sighing heavily as I always do when I have to leave the shelter of my cave. It's a mix of necessity and reluctance that gets me every time I have to step out of my sanctuary. The elevator ride up gives me time to detach from a space that's more than just walls and tech—it's a piece of me. As I head down the hall leading to the bedrooms and near her, her eyes size me up. A complex evaluation, as if she's peering into my inner soul.

"Follow me."

She obeys, but the silent barbs she shoots into my back are almost evident as she walks quietly behind me. We enter the pièce de résistance of my space, the solarium. She gasps audibly and moves toward the glass.

"Oh wow, this is incredible. You live here? Up on a mountain? Never met anyone who lived so high up. Aren't you?—"

I cut her off. "You sure have a lot to say, don't you?" I almost question her newfound interest in my home but stop myself. Can't let her know I've been watching. "How I live isn't your concern."

Her body tenses, and she shoots me a glance that might as well be a vocal 'How Rude,' then lowers her gaze. "I apologize."

Regaining composure, I opt for a more measured tone. "Destiny?—"

She moves so quickly that she's in front of me before I even realize it. "Let's get to it."

And there we are, the two of us suspended in this charged space. The atmosphere is dense with unspoken words and tensions, an unseen but deeply felt layer that distances, yet strangely connects us. She fiddles with my zipper. I grab her wrists and push her away. “Get the fuck off me.” Reflexive contempt drips from my tone and expression before I can stop it.

Her body shrinks into itself, forming a protective shell as she rubs her wrists. Goddammit.

"What are you doing? This isn't what I had in mind.” Don’t touch me. I layer disdain over my vicious tone.

"I'm trying to give you a hand job.” Her gaze anchors to the floor. "Viper says guys want blow or hand jobs, and if I give them one, they won’t hurt me. I’d rather stick with the hand job.” Her fingers dig into her thighs, skin stretching thin over her knuckles. It's a miracle her nails don't rupture the fabric. But some strange thread in this connection we seem to have tells me she's scared to death. Tells me she refused to do blow jobs. So why now? So, she could take control of her situation. I recognize the signs but knowing me has to be on my terms.

"And maybe if I do this, you'll let me go." Her words resonate in the depths of my mind. This is a new facet of my celestial abilities, unanticipated but indisputable—the emotions behind her thoughts are reaching me directly.

"Enough. Stand up." My voice is harsher than I intend and an unusual brew of emotions bubbles within me. Her contradictory actions defy my previous experiences with victims. I sense her internal rebellion even as she stoops to such humiliation.

"Don't belittle yourself like a whore.” I pivot, my frustrations simmering. A disquieting discomfort seeps into my being, a gnawing energy that I can't ignore—I instinctively know it's coming from her, yet it pulls at me like a magnet. She's plucked a cord deep within me.

The air around us tingles with her rising ire as she inhales sharply and chases after me. "Wait just a minute! Don't you dare speak to me that way. Take that back. I am nobody's whore!”

I whirl around, bracing for verbal battle. But the defiance in her posture, tinged with vulnerability, blunts my wrath. I feel a strange, emerging urge to shield her. Swiftly recognizing the danger of such sentiment, I quash it with practiced skill.

"If I’m not here to have sex, then what in God's name do you want?" Her words are sharp, each accentuated by her finger prodding into my solar plexus. The emotional energy behind her touch sears through my armor, mingling discomfort with newfound understanding.

Holding back a wince, I clasp her wrists in one hand, gently this time, drawing on my celestial reservoir to neutralize the charged atmosphere. Leading her to an armchair framed by a grandiose fireplace, I take a beat, letting us both catch our bearings. This room's always been my go-to spot when I need a break from the real world—solid stone walls and majestic views through those massive windows.

I was hoping Destiny would feel the same sense of peace. But judging by her outburst, it's clear she's not the type to calm down easily. As I let go of her hands, she frowns and pulls back. She walks over to the armchair and sits, crossing her arms and legs like she's building a fortress around herself. She's on edge, no question about it. Her eyes dart around the room, revealing layers of unease and suspicion.

"Let's start over. I'm Jaden Stone. I work in cybersecurity, and right now, I'm here to protect you." I sound as reassuring as I can. I walk over to her and extend my hand, half-expecting her not to take it.

As I get closer, a mix of emotions plays out on her face—fear, anger, disbelief . . . and hope? I can feel them too, thanks to whatever strange connection we've got. She's wary, I can see that. But after a moment, she unfolds her legs, stands up, and takes my hand. Her grip is strong, stronger than I expected. "So, if you don't want a hand job, what do you want?"

Her directness takes me by surprise. She's sizing me up, and I can't blame her. There's a lot I'm not saying, and she knows it. It makes me wonder what it would be like if we could trust each other, really trust each other. But right now, that's a big "if."

"Because I don't. Need I elaborate?" My voice carries a layer of challenge, mingling with a newfound respect for her straightforwardness. There's an unspoken understanding between us, like we're two pieces of the same puzzle. Yet, my guarded instincts keep me from diving too deep, too fast into this uncharted territory, even though there's this compelling pull I can't ignore when I'm near her. I'm at odds with myself, torn between this urge to let her in and maintaining the walls I've built over the years. As I look into her piercing gaze, I'm left with an uneasy yet intriguing sensation that this could be the start of something transformative for both of us.

"All men want their needs satisfied. It's in their DNA.” She makes this declaration as if she's written the book on male motives.

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