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The shower cuts off abruptly, and she steps out, reaching for a towel with an economy of motion that speaks of her constant vigilance. I’m on her before she can finish wrapping herself up, embracing her still-wet body from behind. She goes rigid like a deer caught in the headlights, and I curse inwardly.

“Easy, easy,” I murmur, my tone softer now, less confrontational. “It’s just me.”

Her breath hitches, and I feel her pulse racing under my fingertips. I hate that she’s scared, even if it’s not of me. Or is it? That thought burns like acid in my veins.

“Look at me, Aurora,” I coax, but she doesn’t respond. Stubborn woman.

“Fuck,” I exhale, holding her closer, my warmth seeping into her bones. “I’m not going to hurt you. Ever. You’re safe with me.”

A shudder runs through her, and it’s like I can feel everywound she’s ever received, bleeding afresh. Her tears come silently, the way rain falls on a windowpane—there but somehow distant.

“Shit,” I whisper, because what else can I say? I’m an assassin, not a poet. My life is blood and shadows, not comforting words or gentle reassurances. Yet here I am, trying to be what she needs.

“Let it out,” I tell her, my voice barely audible over my heart’s thumping. “I’ve got you, darling. I’ve got you.” I say as I turn her around to face me.

She sobs then, a sound that rips right through me. And I stand there, holding her, feeling like the most powerful and powerless man in the world all at once.

I press my lips against the damp trail her tears left, salty and sorrowful on my tongue. She flinches but then steadies under my touch.

“Today’s a workday for me.” I grunt, stepping back to look at her. “And you’re coming with me. You need to see what I do.”

Aurora’s dark eyes lift to meet mine, a flicker of curiosity warring with the shadows in their depths. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying or maybe from disuse.

“Get dressed,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. I watch her move, a silent ballet of vulnerability and strength, as she selects an outfit. It’s nothing fancy, just a plain black pant and blouse set, but damn, it hugs her curves in all the right places. All she has are the clothes from the hotel. Her own will arrive when Angel has her things shipped to us. Maybe I should take her shopping? My gaze lingers a little too long, desire coiling tight in my gut.

“Stop staring,” she snaps without turning around.

“Can’t help it,” I shoot back, the corner of my mouth twitching up despite the tension coiling inside me like barbed wire. “You’re sexy as hell.”

I tear my eyes away, but images of her body fresh from the shower keep flashing in my mind. My dick twitches in agreement, and I shove the thoughts aside. This isn’t the time.

“Ready?” I ask when she’s done.

She nods, and we head out. The silence between us is thick, charged with unsaid words and unasked questions. I want to break it, to force her to talk and understand why she’s pulled away, but I bite my tongue instead.

“First stop, money pick-up,” I mutter more to myself than her as we reach my car. “And then money drop-off.”

The drive is quick, the city blurring past us in a smudge of grey and grime. We pull up to a nondescript building, and I glance over at Aurora, trying to gauge her reaction. “Remember, darling, you’re safe with me.”

“Always reassuring coming from an assassin,” she retorts dryly, but there’s no real heat behind her words.

“Smart-ass.” I smirk but feel a pang of something else—pride? Yeah, pride sounds about right. She’s still got fire in her despite everything.

We get out of the car, and I lead her inside. My hand hovers near the small of her back, not quite touching. Protection or possession? Maybe both.

Chapter Fourteen

Aurora Henry

When I step out of the car, it hits me like a punchto the gut—I’m not scared. Not even as my gaze sweeps over the decrepit building in Redfern, its graffiti-tagged walls screaming danger. It’s the kind of place where bullet holes wouldn’t be out of place, yet here I am, feeling like I’m wrapped in some damn invincible bubble.

“Darling, keep close,” Felix mutters, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the chilly air.

I snort. “What, afraid someone’s gonna take a shot at us?”

“Always,” he replies. That scar at the base of his throat pulls tight as he scans the street. And shit, I believe him.

My mind races back to ten hours ago. I was damn certain I wouldn’t wake up if I closed my eyes near him, but then there was that moment—his arms, inked and strong, encircled me, water from the shower dripping down my body, mingling with the steam. “I’ll keep you safe,” he’d said, andI’d felt something shift inside me like a tectonic plate moving in a direction I hadn’t authorised.