Page 11

Azrael

I wasn’t used to coming home to the smell of someone else’s cooking. For nearly a decade, my house had been a place to crash between jobs for the club -- somewhere to wash blood off my hands and catch a few hours of sleep before the next call came in. But within a day, Zara Colton had turned my barren space into something that resembled a home, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Tonight, though, I had news about her mother, and that complicated everything.

As I walked through the door, the savory aroma of baked chicken hit me first. Then I saw her, moving with determined efficiency around my dining table, arranging silverware with precise movements of her slender fingers. The table -- a piece of furniture I’d used mainly as a place to clean my guns -- now had a tablecloth. Fucking tablecloth. Where had she even found that?

“You’re just in time,” Zara said, looking up. Those blue eyes of hers locked onto mine, a jarring contrast against her darker complexion. Half Middle Eastern like me, but where I was all hard edges, she was soft curves that my fingers itched to trace.

She was too young. Too innocent. Too fucking beautiful for a man with my history.

“I made dinner,” she added unnecessarily, gesturing to the spread with a nervous flutter of her hand. “I hope that’s okay.”

I nodded, dropping my cut on the back of a chair before sinking into a seat at the table. Until she’d come into my life, it had been ages since I’d sat at a table for a meal.

“Eat while it’s hot,” she urged, placing a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans in front of me.

I stared at the meal. Who was the last person to cook for me? Probably my mother. Even my girlfriend hadn’t bothered. Even though her mother was in trouble, Zara was standing in my kitchen, serving me dinner like we were just your average couple.

“You find anything?” Zara asked, her voice casual, but I caught the tremor underneath. She’d been asking the same question every day since she’d shown up, begging for my help.

I took a bite of chicken to buy myself time. It was good -- seasoned perfectly with herbs I didn’t even know I had in my kitchen. “Eat first,” I said after swallowing. “Then we’ll talk.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought she’d argue, but then she sat across from me with her own plate. Smart girl. She was learning when to push and when to stand down.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. I watched her covertly between bites. Twenty-two years old, yet she carried herself with a gravity beyond her years.

“Is my mother alive?” Zara finally asked, unable to maintain the silence any longer.

I set down my fork and met her gaze directly. “Yes.”

The breath whooshed out of her, and her hand trembled as she reached for her water glass. “Where is she?”

“She’s being held at a place in Tel Aviv. From what we dug up, her brother is the one who took her.” I still didn’t know who “C” was on the postcard, the one warning her to run. That had proven to be a dead end so far.

“Tel Aviv?”

“I have confirmation she’s there.”

“How did you --” She stopped herself, then squared her shoulders. “No, I don’t need to know how you got the information. When are we going to get her?”

I took a long drink of water, then set the glass down with deliberate care. “I’m going day after tomorrow. You’re staying here.”

Her back stiffened. “The hell I am.”

“You asked for my help. This is how it works.”

“She’s my mother.”

“And that’s exactly why you can’t be anywhere near this operation.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Your uncle has armed men at his beck and call. We have photographs of him with your mother, getting off a private jet and into a car. But he’s in bed with some bad men. I can’t risk you going.”

Zara flinched but didn’t look away. “I need to be there. I need to see her.”

“You will. After I get her out.” I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. “Listen carefully, Zara. I promise I’ll bring her home safely. But that’s only going to happen if I can focus entirely on the job without worrying about keeping you safe too.”

She stood suddenly, plates clattering as she gathered them with jerky movements. “Then why can’t I come with you? I could wait somewhere safe, away from the action. I could help when you get her out -- she might be scared, confused. She’d recognize me.”

I shook my head, my jaw tight. “Not happening.”

“I’m not some delicate flower, Azrael. I can handle myself.”

“This isn’t about whether or not you’re tough enough.” I rose to my feet, towering over her. “Your presence will jeopardize the mission. Period. These men -- they’ll use anything they can against me. If they see you, if they even suspect you’re connected to me or to your mother, they’ll grab you too. And then I’d have to split my focus.”

She turned away, but not before I caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She began aggressively washing dishes, her back rigid.

“Zara.” My voice softened despite myself. “I understand wanting to be there. But this is what I do. The club is sending some of our best men with me. We’ll get her out.”

“And what if something goes wrong?” she asked, still not looking at me. “What if this is my only chance to see her again, and I miss it because I’m sitting here, waiting like a good little girl?”

I crossed the kitchen in three strides and gently turned her to face me, my hands on her shoulders. The contact sent an unwelcome spark of heat through my palms. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. But if it does, it won’t be because I was distracted trying to protect you too.”

She looked up at me, those blue eyes swimming with tears she refused to let fall. This close, I could smell her shampoo -- something floral that had no business in my house but somehow seemed right on her. Her lips parted slightly, and for one insane moment, I thought about lowering my head to taste them.

Instead, I stepped back, dropping my hands from her shoulders. “I’ll need to meet with the club tomorrow to work out the details. After that, I’ll tell you everything I know about where she’s been and what to expect when she comes home, or as much as Charming says I can.”

Zara took a deep breath, then nodded once. “Fine. But I want regular updates. And I want to know exactly who’s going with you.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “I may not know everyone yet, but I’ll feel better having names. I need to know you’ll come back too.”

Something twisted in my gut. No one had worried about whether I’d come back from a job in… hell, maybe ever. The club expected results, not feelings.

“I always come back,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “It’s kind of my specialty.”

She gave me a tremulous smile that hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. “Good. Because when you bring my mother home, I’m going to need you to explain to her why I’ve been staying in your house and am now considered your woman.”

I almost smiled at that. Almost. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know her daughter’s been shacking up with a forty-year-old biker nicknamed after the Angel of Death.”

“Thirty-nine,” she corrected, the ghost of mischief crossing her face. “And she’ll be grateful to the man who saved her, no matter what his name is.” She finished drying her hands and moved closer, resting her palm briefly against my chest. “Thank you, Azrael. For finding her.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak with her hand burning an imprint through my shirt. After a moment, she withdrew it and turned back to finish the dishes.

I retreated to the living room, then to the hallway, needing space to think. Less than two days to plan the extraction, to figure out how to keep both Mazida and myself alive so we could come back to this woman who’d somehow carved out a place in my solitary life in less than a week.

I stood in the hallway with my back against the wall, the house quiet except for the occasional clink of dishes as Zara finished cleaning up. My phone had buzzed twice in the last hour -- messages from Samurai and Phantom letting me know they’d be there if I needed them. Good men. But even with them at my back, the mission would be dangerous. The kind where not everyone comes home. And that knowledge had me on edge, especially with Zara under my roof, her scent lingering in every room.

The dim light from the living room cast long shadows down the corridor. I’d never bothered replacing the hallway fixture when it burned out months ago. Never saw the point. Now the darkness felt appropriate -- a physical manifestation of the shadows I lived in, the ones I was about to drag Mazida Quadir out of, the ones I wanted to keep Zara from ever knowing.

I checked my messages again. I’d killed men before -- more than I cared to count -- but this operation was different. This one wasn’t just club business. This one mattered to the woman who’d been sleeping in my spare bedroom.

“Azrael?” Her voice came softly from the end of the hallway.

I looked up, slipping my phone into my pocket. Zara stood at the juncture where the hallway met the living room, the light behind her turning her silhouette into something ethereal. The loose pajama pants and fitted tank top she wore revealed the curves I’d been trying not to notice.

“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice low.

She stepped closer, moving into the shadows with me. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Pushing about coming with you.” She stopped a few feet away. “I know you’re doing this for me, and I’m grateful. I just…” She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You just want your mother back.”

She nodded, taking another step closer. “It’s been hell not knowing if she was dead or alive.”

“That’s why you tracked me down. And now I’m going to do what I promised.”

“Yes.” She was close enough now that I could see her face in the dim light, could make out the determination etched in her features. “If anyone can find her, it’s you.”

I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the reverence in her tone. “I’m not the hero you think I am, Zara.”

“You found my mother when no one else could.”

“I haven’t rescued her yet.”

“But you will.” She reached out, her fingers brushing my forearm, light as a feather but searing as a brand. “I believe in you.”

Her touch sent heat crawling up my arm and settling low in my gut. Days of careful distance, of maintaining boundaries, threatened to collapse from that simple contact. I’d kept space between us for good reasons -- she was too young, too innocent, too Goddamn important to get tangled up with a man like me. I may have claimed her, but we had all the time in the world. No sense in rushing into things.

But standing in this darkened hallway with her hand on my arm, those reasons felt far away.

“Zara,” I said, her name a warning.

She didn’t back off. Instead, she stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “I’ve been your woman for more than a day, and you barely touch me. You watch me when you think I don’t notice, but then you pull away.” Her voice dropped lower. “Why?”

The question hung between us, filling the narrow space. “You know why,” I finally said.

“Because I’m too young? Because my mother is missing? Because you’re dangerous?” She tilted her head. “I don’t think those are the real reasons.”

My jaw tightened. “Then what are they?”

“I think you’re afraid.” Her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder, leaving fire in its wake. “Not of this mission. You’re afraid of wanting something for yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But I didn’t move away. Couldn’t move away.

“Don’t I?” She leaned in, her face turned up to mine, her breath warm against my chin. “I’ve watched you too, you know. The way you make sure I have everything I need. The way you look at me when you think I’m asleep. The way you position yourself between me and any man who comes near, even when those men are just your brothers, people you know won’t hurt me.”

My hands hung uselessly at my sides, itching to grab her, to pull her against me or push her away -- I wasn’t sure which. “I’m too old for you.”

“Seventeen years isn’t that much.”

“It’s a lifetime.”

Her hand moved from my shoulder to my cheek, her palm cool against my stubbled skin. “I’m not asking for your heart, Azrael. I’m just asking for tonight, to be close to you just this once.”

Before I could respond, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine. Soft. Tentative. A question in the form of a kiss.

For one heart-stopping moment, I stood frozen, every muscle rigid with shock and want. Then something broke loose inside me, some floodgate I’d been holding closed since she first walked into my life. My hands found her waist, gripping hard enough to leave marks as I backed her against the wall.

I deepened the kiss, taking control, telling myself this would be enough -- just this one taste before I pulled away and did the right thing. Her lips parted on a gasp, and I took ruthless advantage, my tongue sweeping into her mouth as if I could devour her from the inside out.

She made a small, broken sound against my lips, her hands clutching at my shoulders, pulling me closer. The heat that had been simmering in my blood erupted into an inferno. Her body molded against mine, soft where I was hard, yielding where I was unyielding.

It would be so easy to lift her, to carry her to my bedroom and lose myself in her for hours. To forget about Tel Aviv and Mazida and the Devil’s Boneyard and everything else for just one night.

That thought was enough to make me pull back, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen from my kiss, her eyes half-lidded and dazed. Beautiful enough to make a man forget his own name, let alone his duty.

“We can’t do this,” I said, my voice rough.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, preventing me from moving farther away. “We just did.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I’m not asking for anything. I’m telling you what I want.” She held my gaze, no trace of doubt in her eyes. “I want you, Azrael. I’m ready for a real relationship -- not just someone to rescue my mother, not just a protector, but a partner.”

I closed my eyes, fighting for control. “You don’t know who I am. What I’ve done.”

“I know exactly who you are. You’re the man who’s going to save my mother. The man who’s killed to protect women like her -- like me.” Her voice was steady, sure. “The man I’ve been falling for since the day I walked into this house. Maybe even before that.”

“I’m the man who’s about to walk through fire to get your mom back, a man who is going to fight like hell to get back to you.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, as did my omission. The fact I might not make it back. “I can’t give you what you deserve, Zara.”

“I don’t want what I deserve. I want what I choose.” She pulled me closer, her body flush against mine again. “And I choose you. For however long we have. And if you don’t come back, then that means all we have is tonight and tomorrow. I want to make it count.”

Those words hit me like a bullet to the chest, piercing through the armor I’d built around myself over decades. Two days. That’s all we might have. Two days before I entered a country I’d never been to before. Two days before I added more names to the long list of men I’d killed, before I either brought Mazida Quadir home to her daughter or died trying.

Two days seemed so short measured against the time I wanted with her.

“If we do this,” I said, my hands sliding from her waist to her hips, “there’s no going back. No pretending it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to go back.” She pressed a kiss to my jaw, then my throat. “I want to move forward. With you.”

My resolve crumbled like ash. I captured her lips again, kissing her with all the pent-up need I’d been denying for days. My hands roamed her body, memorizing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts pressed against my chest.

She responded with equal fervor, her fingers digging into my shoulders as if she could anchor herself to me. One of my hands slid beneath her tank top, finding the warm, smooth skin of her lower back. She arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Azrael,” she whispered against my mouth, my name a prayer and a demand all at once.

I broke the kiss, my forehead resting against hers as we both fought for breath. “This changes everything,” I warned her.

“Good.” Her smile was small but sure. “It was about time something did.”

I huffed out a laugh despite myself. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” She traced the line of my jaw with her fingertip. “Is that going to be a problem?”

I caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, watching her eyes darken. “No. But it might get in the way of my focus for this mission.”

“Then let me make a deal with you.” She wrapped her arms around my neck. “For the next two days, I won’t ask to come along. I won’t argue about staying behind. I’ll let you plan and prepare however you need to.” Her gaze held mine, unwavering. “But in return, tonight is ours. No holding back, no second-guessing, no regrets.”

The offer was tempting -- more than tempting. But I needed her to understand what she was getting into. “And what happens after? After I bring your mother home? After you have what you came for?”

Her expression softened. “I came looking for the Angel of Death to find my mother. I wasn’t expecting to find something for myself too.” She pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. “But now that I have, I’m not letting go easily.”

Those words settled something inside me, some restless part that had never found peace. Two days until the mission. A lifetime of darkness behind me. And somehow, in this dimly lit hallway with Zara in my arms, the future didn’t look quite so bleak.

I lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I carried her toward my bedroom. Tomorrow would bring planning, preparation, the heaviness of the mission ahead. But tonight -- tonight belonged to us.

And God help anyone who tried to take her from me now.