Page 34 of Taken

What am I doing?

I shove him away, scrambling backward on the couch, my mind spinning out of control as I reach for something that makes sense in all this.

“Hargen!” The name comes out before I can stop it, instinct calling for the only person in this place I halfway trust.

Allard doesn’t try to follow. Just watches me with something like regret flashing across his face.

“I won’t hurt you, Lila.”

“Then what the hell was that?” My voice shakes. With anger? Fear? Desire? I can’t tell anymore. My lips burn with the memory of his, my body an unfamiliar landscape of sensation.

“A mistake,” he says softly. “But it didn’t feel like one.”

My chest heaves as I stare at him because it didn’t feel like a mistake for me either. But it should. It really should.

The door hisses open as Hargen rushes in, medical bag in hand. He takes in the scene with one sweep of his dark eyes—my disheveled state, the blood on my face, Allard’s intense focus, the unmistakable tension in the air.

“What’s happening here?” Hargen’s voice is tight, controlled, but I hear the undercurrent of fury. His tall frame blocks the doorway as he steps inside, posture rigid with contained anger.

Allard rises smoothly, all business now. “Security check. The asset had a spontaneous vision. I provided assistance.”

“Did you.” It’s not a question. Hargen’s eyes never leave Allard’s face, the two men locked in a silent battle of wills.

“She was in distress.” Allard doesn’t back down. “I responded appropriately.”

Hargen sets his bag down with deliberate care. “And how exactly did you happen to be here at this hour… Sir?”

“Standard patrol rotation.”

“Through the private quarters? At three in the morning?”

Allard’s jaw tightens. “I heard her cry out.”

Hargen’s gaze shifts to me, questioning. Demanding explanation without words. His eyes soften with concern, but there’s something else there—a possessiveness I’ve never fully acknowledged between us.

“Did he hurt you?” Hargen asks, voice gentle now, though his body remains taut with tension.

The question hits me like a slap.

Did he hurt me?

No.

God, no.

But he’s awakened something I can’t afford to feel. Something that terrifies me.

I shake my head.

“Then what the hell is going on here?” Annoyance edges Hargen’s voice.

Allard moves toward the door. “Ask her,” he says simply. But his eyes find mine one last time, and the look in them steals my breath—regret, desire, and something that looks unnervingly like promise.

Then he’s gone, leaving me with the ghost of his touch on my skin and Hargen’s suspicious gaze boring into me.

“Lila?” Hargen crouches before me, his large frame suddenly protective rather than imposing. He takes my hands in his, examining them as if searching for injuries. “What happened? What did you see?”

The dual question isn’t lost on me. What happened in my vision, and what happened with Allard Reeve?

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