Page 59

There’s a flicker in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Annoyance. He’s used to getting more from me. Yesterday, I let him charm me. Let myself laugh, even. But today? Today, I woke up with Saxon’s scent in my apartment. Cedar and steel and darkness—the lingering whiff of oud clinging to the air like a warning. He’d been in my apartment. Touched something. Maybe everything. I felt it. That prickle along my spine. The weight in the air. The ghost of him pressed into the silence has thrown my whole morning off.
Zack isn’t Saxon.
And now? All I see is the way Zack’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The way his words curl up my spine like an irritating fire I can’t put out. I feel nothing but annoyed by his presence. I open my mouth to tell him just that. But before I can even speak, the air shifts. Heavy. Cold. Electric. I feel his [presence before he comes into view.
Saxon.
He moves through the doorway like a storm in slow motion—boots thudding, coat open, jaw tight. The five-day stubble on his jaw is darker now, his wavy light brown hair pushed back like he hasn’t slept in a while. His eyes—those goddamn piercing green eyes—find mine before I’m even ready to face him. And suddenly, I’m a bundle of loose, chaotic nerves.
My heart trips. My stomach drops. The cup almost slips from my hands.
He’s built to protect—broad chest, thick arms under the tailored suit, body braced for violence. There’s something barely restrained beneath the surface, coiled like a fuse burning slow.
Zack turns just as Saxon steps through the door. And for once, the grin slips. The smart mouth stalls. There’s a flicker — not fear exactly, but the sharp awareness of a man who’s suddenly aware he’s out of his depth.
“What’s up, officer?” Zack says, the words stretched thin, his smirk a little too forced to be real.
Saxon doesn’t blink. His stare lands like a hammer. Solid. Unmoving. Cold.
“It’s Supervisory Special Agent,” Saxon says, his voice low, each syllable deliberate. “And you’re a long way from your side of town.”
Zack squares his shoulders, tries to reclaim the swagger.
“Got a problem, man?”
Saxon steps closer — no rush, no posturing, just the steady press of someone who knows exactly how much space he can take and how little effort it’ll take to break someone in it.
“The problem,” Saxon says quietly, “is I know exactly who you and what you are.”
Zack’s smirk twitches, falters. He lets out a dry laugh, but it’s brittle. Thin. Like he can hear the ground shifting under his feet and can’t figure out why.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Saxon tilts his head, eyes flat.
Zack’s face twitches. His fists curl, but his mouth can’t seem to keep up.
“Here’s a piece of advice,” Saxon says, voice calm, his words sliding in like a knife between ribs.
“Leave. Before you make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
Zack’s jaw works, eyes darting to me, like he’s searching for a lifeline. I stay still, just as confused as he is.
Saxon doesn’t even glance at me. His focus is absolute, pinning Zack where he stands.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re stepping into,” Saxon murmurs. “And no idea what I’ll do to you.”
Zack lets out a breath — part scoff, part retreat. He shakes his head, backs off, throws me a look that’s all frustration, all confusion, allwhat the hell just happened.
But he doesn’t say another word. He turns and leaves. The door chimes as he leaves. Silence follows. Heavy and loaded. I exhale slowly. But the worst part? The part I hate myself for? I don’t feel relief. I feel longing.
Because while Zack was harmless, forgettable, Saxon is none of those things. He’s every sharp edge I’ve ever bled on. Every dark corner I can’t stop returning to. And no matter how many times I try to shut him out…he’s already under my skin. He’salwaysbeen under my skin.
I stare at Saxon like he’s a grenade that hasn’t gone off yet. My pulse is hammering behind my ribs, equal parts fury and relief. Something hot and primal and reckless thrums through me.Destruction.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
He lifts a brow, casual as ever. “Saving you from a poor decision.”