Page 111 of Shadows of Steel
She isn’t alone. She will never be alone.
I sit on the edge of the bed, keeping her in my lap, my arms wound tight around her.
“He can’t touch you.” My voice is a lethal promise, meant for her and for myself. “I won’t fucking let him.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, silent, tense. I cup the back of her head, my fingers threading through the damp strands, anchoring her. “You’re safe.”
She looks at me, eyes searching, then she nods. Just once. Small, but enough.
I exhale, pressing a kiss into her hair before slowly shifting us. I sit her down, brushing stray strands from her face, watching the flickering remnants of panic in her eyes. I move to the dresser, pulling out soft clothes for her. Her skin is cold. I need to get her warm.
She’s wearing nothing but her panties. Fuck. She was in the shower when it happened.
The thought sends fury surging through me all over again. He was here. While she was unaware. Unprotected. Vulnerable. The realization is a razor to my throat, the kind of rage that makes me want to tear the world apart.
I failed her.
Again.
I kneel beside the bed, guiding her arms through the sleeves of one of my shirts. She lets me, pliant, trusting. With gentle hands, I ease the fabric over her body, tucking it around her.
Still, not a word. And that doesn’t sit right with me.
Reaching for the towel draped over the chair, I watch her carefully. Damp strands cling to her skin, the lingering moisture cooling against her shoulders. Slowly, I squeeze the excess water from her hair, mindful of every movement.
Her routine is no mystery to me, I’ve observed it countless times. I’m man enough to admit it. I watch her. Always. Every detail, every habit committed to memory. Some might call it obsession. I call it inevitability.
So, I do exactly as she would.
The lotion sits on the bedside table, familiar in its place. Pouring a small amount into my palms, I rub them together before smoothing it over her arms, her legs, every touch meant to ground her, to bring her back.
I grab the hairdryer next, running my fingers through her strands as I dry them. Only when her body fully relaxes, her breathing slow and even, do I finally let myself unclench. Finished with her hair, I move to the bed, lowering myself onto it before drawing her close. She melts into me without resistance, head nestled against my chest. Before long, her breath evens out, warm and soft against my throat.
Moving carefully, I reach for my phone, ensuring not even the faintest sound disturbs her. My grip is tight. My mind, lethal. I type out the message with silent, burning fury, sending it to every one of my men.
Dante:HIGH ALERT. DOUBLE SECURITY. FIND THE FUCKER. ANY SLIP-UP, YOU PAY WITH YOUR FUCKING LIVES.
I stare at the screen for a long moment before I set the phone aside. This is too fucking much.
He got too close.
Too. Fucking. Close.
I press my lips to Harlow’s forehead, my jaw locked.
Chapter 30
Harlow
Several days have passed since the stalker incident, yet the feeling lingers, clinging to me like decay, vile and inescapable.
I was showering.
He was in the room.
And I had no fucking idea.
It isn’t just the invasion of privacy, it’s the mockery of it. The sheer audacity of a man who dared to come so close, to watch, to wait, to slip past every barrier Dante put in place to protect me.
