Page 118 of Hunt Me
The kiss starts gentle—a reassurance, a promise. But gentleness has never been our style.
Iris bites my lower lip, drawing a groan from my throat. I deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers in a familiar dance. She tastes like coffee and adrenaline and something uniquely her that I’ve become addicted to.
“Get a room,” Dmitri mutters from the driver’s seat.
I flip him off without breaking contact with Iris. Her laugh vibrates against my lips, warm and real and alive. She’s alive. That’s all that matters.
When we finally separate, both breathing hard, she rests her forehead against mine.
“You really love me?” The vulnerability in her voice kills me.
“From the moment you breached my system.” I brush my nose against hers. “Maybe even before that. When you sat in that café, daring me to see you.”
“I was terrified you’d catch me.”
“I was terrified you’d disappear.” My thumb traces her jaw. “Best thing that ever happened to me, finding you.”
“Even though I compromised your family’s security?”
“Especiallybecause of that.” I grin. “You made me work for it. Made me prove I was worthy of playing in your league.”
She laughs, the sound breaking through lingering tension. “We’re both insane.”
“Perfectly matched chaos.” I kiss her again, softer this time. A benediction instead of a claim.
The SUV hits a pothole, jostling us apart. Iris settles against my shoulder, her hand finding mine between us. Our fingers interlock naturally, like they’ve always belonged that way.
Nikolai’s voice drifts from the front seat, discussing strategy with Dmitri. Erik’s eyes track the road ahead, watching for threats. My brothers are protecting the woman I’ve claimed.
And Iris. My brilliant, reckless hacker who stood up to the federal government without flinching. Who loves me despite knowing exactly what I am.
I tighten my grip on her hand, feeling her pulse steady against my palm.
This woman walked into my life like a digital ghost and became the only real thing I’ve ever known.
30
IRIS
The compound’s command center hums with activity—monitors displaying encrypted feeds, satellite imagery cycling through quadrants, thermal scans of the federal building from three hours ago. My exhaustion should be bone-deep after everything, but adrenaline keeps me wired.
Nikolai stands at the head of the conference table, tablet in hand. “Sentinel’s scrambling. We’ve intercepted communications from six different field teams.”
I lean forward, studying the tactical maps scattered across the surface. Red markers indicate known Sentinel locations. Blue marks our assets.
“How many operatives?” Dmitri asks from across the table.
“An estimated forty-three in the Boston metro area alone.” Nikolai swipes through data. “Another sixteen en route from Virginia.”
Alexi moves behind my chair. His presence registers before contact—that magnetic pull I can’t ignore anymore. His hand settles on the small of my back, warm through my shirt.
Professional. This is professional.
“Show me the communication patterns,” I say, pulling up decryption software on my laptop.
Alexi leans closer, ostensibly reviewing the screen. His breath ghosts across my neck. Fingers trace the curve of my spine, barely there touches that spark electricity.
Focus. Lives depend on this.
