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My breath catches. The tension coils tighter as my hand dips lower, seeking relief from this ache he's awakened in me. I picture his tattoos, how they'd shift across his skin as he moved above me. The way his voice would roughen, dropping to that low growl that sends shivers down my spine.

The water ripples around my movements as my fingers slide between my thighs, massaging the sweet spot. I bite my lip, stifling the sounds trying to escape as I chase the release my body craves.

In my mind, his body is moving as powerfully as he did in the alley, except it’s not in violence. It’s over me, in me, the intensity of him rocking me to my core. His name forms on my lips.

“Flynn.” I let out a shuddering breath as waves of pleasure crash through me, my body trembling beneath the cooling water.

Heat floods my cheeks. Did I really just…? Over a man I barely know?

A laugh bubbles up. Here I am, a serious journalist, getting off to thoughts of a mysterious tattooed stranger who saved me in an alley a few hours ago. It should feel ridiculous. Instead, it feels like waking up.

Of course, it’s his fault. He’s the one who looked at me in a way that made me feel seen and alive. He’s the one who asked for a date. Who twice appeared to want to kiss me.

My skin tingles with renewed awareness. I'd forgotten this feeling, this hunger for touch and connection. Flynn awakened something in me that's been dormant for too long, buried under deadlines and ambition.

I know I should ignore it. There are so many reasons indulging my attraction to Flynn should be avoided. But right now, those reasons pale in comparison to experiencing this part of me. Maybe there's room in my life for more than just the next big story. Maybe chasing danger isn't the only thing that can make my pulse race.

6

FLINT

Fuck.

I watched Lucy’s tail lights disappear around the corner, intending to let her go, never see her again. But of course, I can’t do that. Everything in me screamed to follow her, to make sure she got home safe. So, like the idiot I am, I’ve followed her home.

My brothers’ words echo in my head. We can't afford any distractions. Not when we're this close to avenging our family. This isn't part of the mission. This isn't what I'm here for. But something about Lucy Ketchum makes me break all my own rules.

Those Kean bastards got a good look at Lucy’s face tonight. They'll want to know who she is, what she knows. It won't take much digging to find out she's a reporter asking dangerous questions. That’s the only reason I’m following her. To make sure she gets home safe.

When she pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, I cruise past intending to head home. Except…

I make a U-turn and park across the street in a shadowy spot with a clear view of her building's entrance. Just until I'm sure she's safe inside. Then I’ll leave.

The memory of her pressed against me in that alley floods back. The scent of her perfume. The way she looked at me with those fierce blue eyes, refusing to back down even when faced with death. Damn woman's going to get herself killed with that stubborn streak.

Before I know it, I’m out of my car, heading to the apartment building because… well, I need to make sure she gets into her apartment.

Lucy fumbles with her keys at the building's entrance, glancing over her shoulder twice before the door clicks open. I can’t tell if she’s being smart or if she’s spooked.

Once she’s inside, I move to the building’s door. It requires a key to access, but lucky me, someone else has entered the building and I’m able to catch the door before it closes. There could be cameras watching or not. I don’t care. Neither will O’Brian or Connor if they decide to hunt her down.

It’s a walk up, so I start my way up. My boots make no sound on the steps as I track her progress. Third floor. Fourth.

A door creaks open above. I pause, listening to the cadence of her movements. The soft jingle of keys. A door opening.

I peek around the corner noting which apartment she’s entering. When her door closes, I make my way to it. This is stupid. Dangerous. Everything I've worked for could unravel if someone spots me here. But the image of her boxed in by Kean’s men won’t let me leave until I know she’s safe in her apartment.

I press my ear to the door, hoping to hell that none of her neighbors appear. I can hear her moving around. Nothing sounds out of the ordinary. But I still don’t leave. Instead, I test the door knob. It’s locked. But I don’t see a deadbolt. Does she have extra locks on the inside?

I give my head a shake. I’d done what I came to do. I should leave. I've seen her home safe. But my feet won't move, and I strain to catch any sound that doesn't belong, any creak of floorboards or whisper of movement that might mean she's not alone in there.

Ten minutes pass and I don’t hear anything. She must have gone to bed. Good. At least for tonight, she's out of harm's way.

I lean against the wall, running my fingers over the fresh scrapes on my knuckles from the alley fight. Those Kean thugs saw her face. I don’t think they’ll admit to Ronan or whoever they report to that they got their asses kicked, but on their own, they may hunt for her. If they find out she’s a reporter, she’ll be as good as dead.

Fucking hell. I need to kill them. Kill them all if she’s to be safe. Of course, that’s already the goal. The Keans have to pay for killing our parents. Eye for an eye. Life for a life.

Maybe I should find out what she knows. She could have a piece of information that could help me and my brothers put an end to the Keans sooner rather than later.