Page 13 of Raven

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, my lips touching hers. “Want to shower with me?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that question. I love showering with you.”

Beatrice stretched and held her hand out for me to pull her out of bed. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. As I led us to the shower, our bare bodies wrapped around each other.

I didn’t know her body could be so sensitive. Just a little touch from me and her body would orgasm. She cried happy tears. Tears of fulfilment. I kissed her everywhere when she cried tears of satisfaction. I tried to calm her tears. My heart expanded in my chest with feelings for Beatrice. I whispered sweet words to her as we made love.

When the water turned cold, we got out. “How about I cook you breakfast?”

She was drying my back. “I bet those hurt,” she said, kissing a bullet wound on my back. I chuckled, bent my head, and kissed her. Beatrice kept on drying my body. She kissed each scar she came to.

If she thought we would return to not touching, she had another thought coming. She was mine, and I would let everyone know it. If someone thought they could come after her they were about to find out how wrong they were.

“I want you to stay with me today.”

“Raven, I have to go to work. I’ll be with a bunch of firefighters, I’m sure I’ll be safe.”

7

Raven

I’ve never beengood at waiting around.

You spend years in the military learning patience—you learn control, precision, and how to act fast when instincts scream louder than orders. I was never good at the patience part.

And right now, my instincts were losing their damn minds.

Beatrice was hiding something. I didn’t need her to say it—hell, I respected her for keeping it together. But that symbol on the woman’s hand? That was no accident. Someone had set that fire, locked the doors, and left a message.

The question was for whom? Who were they leaving the message for? Was someone after Beatrice?

* * *

I startedwith the easy stuff.

While River and Gage were tied up prepping for the team’s next mission, I drove down to the warehouse site. Officially, it was still ruled an accident, but the perimeter was taped off, and the fire marshal posted an arson report on the board.

That wasn’t the interesting part.

The interesting part was the guy leaning against a white work truck across the street—watching the place like he expected it to explode again.

He wasn’t fire department. No badge. No camera. Not media.

His boots were military-issue. His posture? Private security. Maybe ex-mercenary. Definitely not just “a guy waiting on a tow.”

I crossed the street slow, casual.

“Long day to be loitering.”

He looked up from his phone. “Just waiting for a friend.”

“You look more like you’re casing the joint.”

A pause. Then a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You military?”

“Something like that.”

He gave me a once-over, and I saw it—recognition. He knew I wasn’t just some beach-town local.

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