Page 28

Grace

Grace entered his dark apartment, stepping over the tracers in the foyer. No one had been inside his home, not even Mirage.

If anyone tried, the invisible particles would attach to their shoes, and Grace would hunt them down and kill them slowly for violating his space.

His sanctuary was the only place he could relax and be himself, away from the violence and danger of his job.

Grace didn’t bother to turn on the lights, instead preferring the natural light of the approaching dusk from the wall-to-wall windows that gave him a panoramic view of the city.

His walls were painted the color of a caramel latte, and the furniture was dark oak with butter-soft leather cushions positioned around a Persian rug dominating the center of the floor.

He didn’t see the need for added frills or decorations.

Grace had chosen the decor carefully, approving pieces reflecting his personality and style. A mirror image of the assassin himself.

Masculine, quiet, and efficient.

A seventy-inch, flat-screen television hung on the wall above the wood-burning fireplace and moonstone hearth.

Once inside, he was able to take a deep breath as he removed his bulletproof trench and hung it in the foyer closet.

He went straight to his bathroom, needing a long, hot shower to release the tension in his muscles.

The bathroom was the only room with lighter colors. The walls were painted eggshell-white, and the floor was cream-colored stone. But his favorite was the luxurious shower that could almost accommodate five people.

He removed his espresso-colored slacks and dress shirt. Once he was naked, he stared at himself in the mirror and dropped his chin to his chest.

Mirage was heavy on his mind in a way he’d thought was impossible, and he couldn’t figure out why.

You damn well know why.

His mind and body programming was supposed to be permanent.

He still didn’t feel much guilt, empathy, sensitivity, or compassion in the field or at home…and he damn sure didn’t feel love.

None of those pesky emotions had invaded his soul in over five years.

Until he’d answered Meridian’s cryptic message and assisted him on one of his missions, which happened to be on Valentine’s Day. What he’d seen had flipped some invisible switch in his mind.

When he and Mirage had arrived to assist, Ex, Meridian’s partner, was nowhere in sight, which should’ve been Grace’s first red flag.

But he’d ignored his gut and went along with what Meridian asked them to do.

The Black Ravens were not the kind of assassins who needed help.

But he and Mirage were asked to make quick work of some bodies for Meridian, and they’d done as he’d ordered.

A second before Meridian’s partner rappelled from the roof, they left before Ex could see them.

However, something had whispered in Grace’s mind for him to go back.

He’d told Mirage to stay concealed while he circled around to make sure everything was good.

Even now, Grace couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed through the skylights of the gutted warehouse. And if Meridian hadn’t been so distracted, he would’ve noticed Grace was watching them.

He’d stared transfixed as Ex straddled Meridian’s lap, then kissed and caressed him, shifting his mind to a place it shouldn’t have been able to go.

Since that day, Grace had been far quieter and more detached than usual…and very hyperaware of Mirage.

Grace shook his head to clear his rogue thoughts, then turned the shower to hot, leaving the cold tap untouched.

The steam filled the large room, and he got in, tilting his head forward, allowing the scalding water to do its job.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in there, but when he got out, his skin was red, and the pads of his fingertips were wrinkled.

He was exhausted. With his mind still on Mirage, he walked naked to the inlaid bar in his living room and poured himself a stiff drink.

He’d already had three on the flight, but they hadn’t been enough to still his mind.

He took his drink to the bedroom and pulled back the comforter on his Alaskan king bed.

The bedroom was just as minimalist as the living room.

He had a nightstand and a dresser with a mirror.

Regardless that their headquarters was safer and more difficult to infiltrate than the White House, he still tucked his Berettas under his pillow and closed his eyes to enjoy some much-needed rest.