Page 56 of Over the Edge

Ethan closed the door behind us. “I need to know you’re not compromised.”

“Excuse me?”

“Flynn,” he said simply.

My spine stiffened. “What about him?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Lyric. I’ve known Flynn for years. I know how he operates, and I know what I’m seeing between you two.”

I kept my expression carefully neutral. “Whatever you think you’re seeing, it doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.”

“Doesn’t it?” Ethan challenged. “You went rogue last night. Both of you. And while it may have worked out this time, I need to know that when the moment comes—and it will come—you’ll make the right call. Even if it means leaving him behind.”

The thought made my chest tighten painfully. “I’ll do whatever the mission requires.”

“Good,” Ethan said, but his expression told me he didn’t believe me. “Because Flynn has a habit of getting people killed.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I kept my face carefully blank, but my pulse quickened. “What does that mean?”

Ethan turned to face the railing, his knuckles white against the metal. The morning sun cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion etched there. “There’s a reason he works alone.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the balcony door slid open. Flynn stood there, his arms crossed. “You telling her all my dirty secrets, E?”

CHAPTER18

FLYNN

The first ruleof surviving enemy territory: never get caught with your guard down. I’d lived by that rule for fifteen years. But watching Lyric cross the hotel suite, her shoulders rigid with tension, I knew I was about to break it.

We’d left the team an hour ago. Lyric ordered a car to pick up Elisa and her bodyguard outside a private fashion atelier on Avenue de Grande Bretagne. It meant we had to walk to the place and then spend a painful forty minutes browsing the ultra-expensive designer gowns and suits, playing the part of the wealthy heiress and her security, before slipping out a side door to the waiting car.

If Moreau’s people checked, it would hold.

Now we were back in the suite, and the silence between us felt like a physical thing, thick and suffocating. She hadn’t spoken a word since we’d left the command center. Not while shopping, not in the car, not in the elevator, not now.

“We need to talk,” I said as soon as the suite’s door shut behind us, unable to stand the quiet any longer.

She dropped her clutch on a side table and kicked off her sky-high heels. “No, we don’t.”

I watched as she crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. And, yeah, it probably made me a pig, but I couldn’t help but watch her gorgeous ass sway as she moved.

Jesus, that jumpsuit should be illegal.

My cock went semi-hard and my hands itched to grip those curves again, to hear her gasp my name. But the ice in her voice told me she was still freezing me out. I stepped closer, closing the distance she kept trying to put between us.

“Yes, we do. What exactly did Ethan tell you?” I asked, knowing Ethan well enough to guess. He’d given her the sanitized version, the official report, the one that painted me as the reckless liability.

She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, her throat working as she swallowed. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were guarded, wary.

“That you have a habit of getting people killed.” She set the water bottle down with deliberate care. “That there’s a reason you work alone.”

I laughed, but it was a harsh sound even to my own ears. “That’s it? A decade of history and that’s all he gave you?”

“Should there be more?”

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly restless. The walls of the suite felt too close, the air too thin. “Yeah. There’s more.”

Lyric crossed her arms, creating another barrier between us. “Then tell me.”

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