Page 10

Finn moved fast, reading the change in her face before she even said a word. His hand landed lightly on her lower back, grounding, possessive. Protective. She didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Because some part of her—stupid, reckless—wanted him close when the darkness reached back out.

She met his eyes, voice flat.

“It’s not over.”

CHAPTER 4

FINN

“It’s not over,” she'd said, her voice stripped of anything but truth. Not panic. Not bravado. Just the bleak certainty of a woman who’d heard the devil on the line and knew he wasn’t bluffing.

The second her expression changed, he knew. Her control was ironclad, surgically honed. So when that split-second falter passed through her, the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, the hard swallow she didn’t quite suppress—he saw it all—and he knew exactly what it meant. Her lips parted slightly, breath catching in her throat. It was instinct, maybe, or memory—something primal flickering through those stormy eyes. But Finn saw it. Felt it like a tremor in the earth.

Something was very, very wrong.

Keira didn’t scare easy. At least, not before. Back then, nothing could rattle her for long—she’d face off with cartel muscle or black hat hackers and still crack a joke.

But now? She hadn’t moved from her chair. The half-eaten toast sat cold beside her.

Something had changed in the time they'd been apart—something that had worn her thinner, made her shoulders tighter and her silences sharper. And that look in her eyes? Thatwas someone hearing the door creak open on a nightmare she thought she'd locked away.

Finn's eyes locked on her face as she stared at the screen. Her knuckles whitened around the phone, tension rippling through her shoulders. But it wasn’t just a reaction to danger—it was habit. Muscle memory born from too many close calls.

This was a woman recalculating her odds like they were stacked against her. There was a wariness now—tight, restrained—like she didn’t know who to trust, including herself. He didn’t know everything that had happened after she left, but whatever it was had etched itself into her bones—carved in like a scar no one could see but him.

It was in the stiffness of her posture, the way her eyes scanned for exits even when she pretended not to, how she held her breath just a second too long when silence settled. Whatever had happened, it had marked her—permanently. And it lit something dangerous in him. Not just protectiveness—possession. He would find out who had carved that look into her. And he’d make them bleed for it.

“Who was it?” he asked, voice low, even.

Keira didn’t answer.

Her fingers twitched—just barely, a tremor running from her wrist to the tips like the phone weighed a hundred pounds. He remembered how steady those hands used to be—back when she could dismantle a hard drive or shut down a surveillance feed with steady hands and sharp precision. But now? That slight shake was a red flag. And it lit something savage in his chest. One breath. Then another. Shallow, calculated. She wasn’t panicking, not exactly—but she was choosing every movement like it might set off a mine.

He didn’t wait. “Keira.”

Finn hadn’t heard the voice, hadn’t needed to. He’d been watching her the whole time, close enough to see the blooddrain from her face and the tremor she tried to still in her hand. The room felt colder now, like the call had opened a window to something foul. Keira met his gaze, and the look in her eyes—flat, shuttered, bracing—hit him harder than any bullet ever had.

Something cold unfurled in Finn’s chest. Riordan. It had to be. And if that bastard was calling now, it wasn’t a threat—it was a warning shot. A signal that blood was about to spill, and Keira was at the center of the target.

She hadn’t put the call on speaker, and he hadn’t heard the voice himself, but he didn’t need to. He knew the look she gave him wasn’t for effect. With her father dead, it could only be one person. “That was Riordan, wasn’t it?”

Keira nodded. Finn’s blood turned to ice. Riordan—a mercenary ghost connected to the Dubai fallout. A mercenary with too many identities and not enough conscience. Finn hadn’t dealt with him directly, but he’d tracked the man’s trail after Keira’s job went sideways. Riordan was the type who didn’t issue warnings. If he was calling now, it meant the kill order was already in motion.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t confirm or deny. But she didn’t have to. He knew. That voice had haunted their briefings for weeks after the Dubai job exploded. The kind of man who enjoyed leverage—especially when it came in soft, stubborn, female form.

Finn’s voice dropped an octave. “How did he get your number?”

“I don’t know.”

“That was a secure line, wasn't it?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently not.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Keira.”

Her arms crossed. “You already got me out of a jam, remember? I don't need to rack up any more interest on that debt. Or is there a new clause I missed?”

He took a deep breath, slow and measured. His instincts were clawing at the surface, snarling for control. Every muscle in his body tensed with the urge to drag her into the safest corner he could find and bar the world from touching her again. He wanted to cage her. Lock every door and weld it shut. Chain her to him if he had to. But she wouldn’t take that well—and she wasn’t someone who responded to chains unless she chose them herself.