Page 14 of Let it Burn
He finishes and presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then stands and cups my face like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “No one ever took care of you, did they?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, throat too tight to speak.
His thumb brushes under my eye. “Well, they fucking should have. But I will. Every time. Every way.”
And just like that, I know I’ll never be the same again.
My phone vibrates violently on the counter. Once. Twice. Then it won’t stop. Beep after beep, like it’s panicking for me. Only work has my number. No one else. My stomach knots. I reach for it with a shaky hand.
Ten new messages. All fromUNKNOWN.
The first one opens and my blood turns to ice.
UNKNOWN:You let him touch you. After everything I did for you. I trusted you, Lena. You said you needed space. You lied. You belong to me. And now you’ve betrayed me. I don’t like it when people betray me.
It’s the same message—over and over. Ten times. Like a threat wrapped in obsession.
My phone slips from my hand and hits the floor with a loudcrack. I don’t even flinch. I just stare at it like it might keep bleeding.
“He’s watching me,” I whisper, my voice hollow.
Zeke’s already at my side. “What is it, baby? You okay?”
I can’t speak. I just shake my head as a chill rushes through me. My skin crawls. My heart pounds in my ears. Zeke sees it—feelsit—and pulls me into his arms without hesitation.
His body is all strength and warmth, his arms wrapping tight around me like a shield. I press my face to his chest, drinking in the scent of him—soap, skin, safety.
“He’s watching us,” I choke out. “He knows. Zeke, he knows.”
Zeke’s voice is low, controlled, lethal. “He’s not going to touch you. Not while I’m here. Not ever again.”
And in my heart of hearts I believe him.
Chapter 6
Zeke
It’s been three days since Lena started staying with me.
Three days of waking up to her sleepy smile and bedhead. Of finding her curled up on my couch with a throw blanket and my old firehouse hoodie, pretending not to be waiting for me to bring her coffee. Of brushing past her in the kitchen, the touch of her bare skin sending heat straight to my gut, even when she’s just reaching for the sugar.
We’ve both taken off work. She needs time to breathe. And I need to be close—need to know she’s safe, where I can see her, touch her, hear her laugh when I finally coax one out of her.
It’s domestic in a way I didn’t know I wanted. Mornings with eggs and French press coffee. Afternoons with her reading by the window while I replace the last of her apartment’s security gear. Evenings where we talk about nothing and everything. And nights where I lie awake just to listen to her breathing beside me.
But I’m still on edge. I check the locks three times before bed. Keep my two way radio on high. Sleep with my hand inches from my phone. Because she hasn’t heard from him since those messages, and that silence? It’s too damn loud.
She’s barefoot in my kitchen, wearing one of my T-shirts and humming off-key while she pulls the last batch of cupcakes from the oven. Her hair’s a little messy, flour dusts her cheek, and she’s never looked hotter.
The whole place smells like vanilla and warm sugar and her.
I come up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and press a kiss just behind her ear. “You trying to kill me, woman?”
She laughs, wiggling out of my hold just enough to set the tray on the counter. “They need to cool, Zeke.”
“They need to be in my mouth,” I murmur, already reaching for one.
She slaps my hand away, grinning like she loves every second of this. “Touch that frostingless cupcake and I swear—”
