Page 49 of No Words
“And the beginning of what, exactly?” Her question carries weight beyond the words themselves.
I move toward her nonchalantly, giving her every chance to step away. She doesn’t. I place my hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her between my arms. She tilts her head to maintain eye contact, the difference in our heights forcing her to expose her throat.
“That depends on what you want it to be,” I say, my voice dropping lower.
“What I want?” A humorless laugh escapes her. “I’m not sure I even know anymore.”
I lean closer, my instincts drawing me to her. “Let me tell you what I want, then.”
Her pupils dilate, dark centers expanding to swallow the warm brown of her irises. “Tell me.”
“I want you. All of you. Not just your body, though God knows I want that too.” My voice roughens. “I want your submission. Your trust. Your surrender.”
Her breath catches. “Why?”
“Because that’s who I am. It’s what I need.” I let her see the darkness inside me, the part that’s always lurking beneath the professional exterior. “I protect what’s mine. I control what’s mine. I cherish what’s mine.”
“And you think I’m yours?” A challenge in her voice, but her body betrays her, leaning subtly toward me.
“I think you could be.” I close the remaining distance between us until my lips hover just above hers. “If you choose to be.”
“And if I don’t?” Her voice a whisper now.
“Then I’ll still get you safely away from here. Ensure you have a new identity, a new life. And I’ll walk away.” The words cost me more than I care to admit.
For a beat, she says nothing, her eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, deliberately, she lowers her gaze, the universal signal of surrender, of trust freely given.
“I choose you,” she whispers, “all of you, even the darkness.”
For a second, I forget how to breathe. I’ve heard confessions. Begging. Promises whispered in the dark. But not this. Not someone choosing me, knowing who I am.
My hand finds her cheek, and I tilt her face back up to mine. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
Her lips part, and I kiss her. Not like before, not to claim or to control. But to thank her for seeing every broken piece and choosing to stay.
13
COLE
Eight men dead. Blood clings beneath my fingernails despite scrubbing them raw. Molly sleeps soundly beside me, her body curved against mine, trusting even in unconsciousness. I’ve been awake for hours, but I haven’t moved. Not yet. I savor the weight of her against my chest, her leg draped possessively over mine, her breath tickling my neck.
This, her, here, safe in my arms, feels like something I never knew I wanted until I found it.
Outside, I hear the team completing their work, shovels in the dirt, hushed tactical comms, the occasional engine of a vehicle being moved. Eventually, I’ll need to join them, but for now, I allow myself this stolen moment, memorizing the feel of her skin against mine, the scent of her hair, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
When I finally ease out of bed, it’s with deep reluctance. I move silently, years of training making it second nature. She doesn’t stir as I pull on clothes and head outside, but I can’t resist brushing a strand of hair from her face first, allowing myself one more lingering look.
Jayce nods at me from where he’s filling in the last of the graves, his tactical gear still spotted with dried blood.
“We’re all good,” he says, leaning on his shovel. “There’s no one else out there. Owen took care of the digital stuff, no trail leading back to you two.”
I scan the property, noting the signs of our battle: broken branches, disturbed earth, a dark stain near the doorway that will never wash away. Eight men came to kill us. Eight bodies in the ground.
“The bodies?” I ask.
“Deep enough that nobody’s finding them,” Jensen says, coming around from the side of the property. “Even used lye. Nothing to find, even if someone knows where to look.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Unknown number, but the pattern of the vibration tells me it’s coming through one of Killian’s secure relays.
