Page 15 of Code Name: Hunter (Club Opus Noir #2)

Vivian leans against the table. “If you want the rest of the dossier, I ride along. I have markers Wolfe can’t erase—ghost signatures, burn trails. Wolfe left markers—old caches, fallback points. I know where they are. I left breadcrumbs he doesn't know I buried. You want him? I lead.”

“No.” The word snaps out, flat and final.

I don’t hesitate, don’t blink. “You’re compromised.

” The air between us shivers with tension, her eyes narrowing like she expected resistance but not the speed of it.

I hold my ground, voice ironclad. “You know I’m right.

You want in, you play by my terms—or you’re out. ”

She tilts her head, voice cool and deceptively light.

“Really? Every decision you make in this room—every call, every order—has my name tangled in it. Don't act like you're not bleeding all over the leash you claim to hold.” For half a breath, I can’t speak. She’s right—and it cuts deeper than any blade she’s ever carried.

I’ve trained her in discipline, command, restraint.

And yet, here I am—bleeding out in front of her, every word another wound she knows exactly how to open.

The hit lands lower than I expect—right beneath the armor I’ve spent years reinforcing.

A hitch in my breath. The faintest twitch in my jaw.

Fitz catches it instantly, his gaze narrowing like a marksman tracking a target.

He doesn’t say a word, but his posture sharpens, sensing the breach I didn’t mean to show.

I draw a breath, steadying the war brewing under my skin. “You’re a target, not a tool. I’m not risking the integrity of an operation just to let you run after ghosts in the open, playing vigilante under a pretty alias. You want to help? Then you do it under orders, not fantasies.”

She steps forward, invading my space like it’s her birthright—chin lifted, eyes glittering with challenge. “Then stop pretending I’m a civilian. You know better. You trained me, Logan. You helped forge the blade. Don’t act surprised now that I’m sharp enough to cut back.”

“I know exactly what you are.” My voice lowers, honed to a razor’s edge.

“Which is why you’re not stepping beyond these walls until I’ve vetted every name in that file and hunted down everyone you’ve left behind.

You want out there? You earn it. Until then, you answer to me—every move, every breath. ”

She’s so close now I have to hold back from grabbing her by the nape of her neck, a warning, and a dare, like two storm fronts colliding with nothing but dry air and friction between them.

Her lashes lower, but her gaze never drops.

“And if I decide to walk?” The question slides between us like a blade—slow, deliberate, meant to draw blood whether it cuts or not.

I lean in, not touching her, not needing to. “Then I’ll drag you back in chains, Nocturne. You want to test my leash? I’ll show you what it feels like to be pulled tight—no slack, no mercy."

I want her to see it—steel biting skin, the unyielding pull that reminds her exactly who closed the distance and who controls the lock.

The words leave my mouth coated in steel, but beneath them, something coils hard in my chest. It’s not just dominance.

It’s a possession, sharp and beginning to fray at the edges.

If I lose control now, it won’t be calculated—it’ll be personal.

And that’s more dangerous than anything Wolfe could throw at us.

"You move because I allow it,” I continue.

“You breathe because I don’t stop you. This isn’t a threat.

It’s a vow. Not from handler to operative—but from Dominant to submissive.

” And she hears it in my voice. I know she does.

She taught me how to say it without words.

How to demand surrender with breath and proximity alone.

“Make no mistake. You belong to me now. Remember my terms."

The air thickens.

Fitz finally steps forward, his movements unhurried but laced with command, clearing the tension like smoke off a battlefield.

His expression is unreadable, but the slight tilt of his head and the steely calm in his eyes cut through the room like a blade.

One hand rests loosely at his side, the other gesturing with the quiet finality of someone who’s ended wars with less.

The silence that follows isn’t peace—it’s the sound of everyone recalibrating to his authority. “I’ll allow it.”

We both turn.

“I want Wolfe found,” he continues. “Nocturne rides backup. Controlled insertion, limited radius, full-field surveillance. Logan, she’s yours—handler and Dominant.

That means control through whatever means necessary.

” He doesn’t flinch when he says it. Because he knows what it costs.

Knows what it stirs. Fitz isn’t just deploying an asset—he’s lighting a fuse between two people already primed to explode.

He’s not just granting permission—he’s betting on the detonation to hit our enemies first. And he’s counting on the fallout to lead him to Wolfe.

Vivian gives a satisfied smile—slow, sure, the kind that says she knows exactly how deep she’s burrowed under my skin—and damn if it doesn’t send a sharp twist low in my gut. It’s not just attraction. It’s possession wrapped in memory, tension braided with control I’m rapidly losing.

“Pack your gear,” I growl. “We move in one hour.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I’m already packed.”

She exits with that deliberate sway—hips rolling like a metronome of temptation sharpened into defiance—and I feel my jaw lock against the impulse to follow.

Her scent lingers in the air, curling around my spine like a noose with memory for rope.

I catch Fitz watching me, one brow slightly raised, amusement flickering behind the sharp edges of calculation in his gaze.

He doesn’t have to speak for me to hear the warning loud and clear: this isn’t just an op anymore. And I’m already in too deep.

“You’re too close,” he says, voice calm but edged with quiet warning.

His eyes narrow—not with judgment, but calculation—and the faint crease between his eyebrows betrays the weight behind his words.

Concern or strategy, I can’t quite tell.

Fitz has known me for too long to miss what’s happening here.

The edge in his tone is personal. He sees the fracture.

And if he’s calling me on it, I’m past the line.

I nod. “And too far to back off now.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Don’t let it compromise the op.”

I don’t answer because the op’s not what’s keeping me up at night.

It’s her. The echo of her scent hits like a sucker punch—heady, unshakable.

Her voice? It doesn’t just brush my pulse; it entwines with it, syncs to the beat like she’s always belonged there.

And her eyes—God, those eyes—slice past every barrier I’ve fortified, peeling back layers until only the truth remains.

She doesn’t just affect me—she infiltrates, burrows in, and rewrites the rules I’ve lived by.

And if Wolfe thinks he can use that—use her—he’s about to find out exactly what it costs to gamble with what's mine.

I backed off once. I let him walk away with her name on his lips and blood on his hands.

Not this time. This time, I come at him head-on.

There won't be a chain short enough or strong enough to hold me back, no directive brutal enough to blunt what’s coming.

He played his hand once, and not knowing, I let it ride.

But now? Now I know. Now I play to win. Now I’m not just coming for him—I’m coming to end him.

I turn to the screen, eyes fixed on the ring and make a vow under my breath. I will find you, Wolfe. And this time, you don’t walk away.

I let you haunt me once. I let you fracture her, fracture me . But you're not a ghost anymore.

You're a loose end. I specialize in cutting those, and when I do, I’ll make sure the last thing you see is the truth you tried to bury staring back at you.