Page 36

Cyclone

I didn’t let go of her hand.

Up three flights of stairs to the office. One hand steady on her lower back, the other ready to catch her if she so much as stumbled.

Jude didn’t stumble.

She didn’t say a word either.

She was composed—too composed—that terrifying stillness that comes from training, not peace. I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, vibrating through her skin.

We walked into the surveillance room. Sean already had footage pulled up from the pier. Oliver was working another screen, tapping keys like it was just another Thursday.

But this wasn’t just another day.

This was my girl being hunted.

River tossed a rough sketch onto the table. “Ball cap. Shades. Built like he knows how to kill someone with a pen.”

I barely glanced at it. “Doesn’t matter. He’s already dead.”

Jude stood beside me, arms folded tight, jaw clenched. I wanted to pull her in and hold her again, but I knew she needed space right now—space to track, calculate, and not fall apart .

And then Sean froze the feed. “There,” he muttered. “Is that him?”

Jude leaned in. “Yes.”

Even grainy and distant, the guy radiated wrong. The way his body angled, ready to move. The way he never looked straight at her, but always watched.

He’s a hunter.

No doubt about it.

Jude shifted closer to me. I wrapped my arm around her, anchoring her to my side. Her body eased just slightly into mine. That tiny moment of surrender gutted me.

Then Sean zoomed in.

A tattoo. Black ink. Barely visible beneath the edge of the guy’s sleeve.

Coordinates.

Jude gasped. “I know that mark,” she whispered, stepping forward and planting her hands on the desk like it was the only thing holding her up.

Her voice went rough. “They were burned into a wall in a ghost site. Syria. It was off-books. Deep black.”

I didn’t give a damn about black sites. I cared about the tremor in Jude’s voice.

I stepped in behind her, placing my hands gently over hers. “Hey,” I said, low and steady. “Look at me.”

She did.

And I saw it— the fear she never let anyone see.

“This guy’s not just following you,” I said. “He’s tracking you. Deliberate. Strategic. He’s not curious. He’s coming for something.”

Her throat worked like she was trying to swallow back everything at once. “He’s part of something I ran from, Cyclone. I thought I buried it. Burned it down.”

My grip on her tightened. “Then we dig it up and finish it right.”

“I don’t want to drag you into this,” she whispered.

I leaned closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re not dragging me. I live here now. Right beside you,” I said, touching her heart.

She let out a shaky breath and finally leaned back into me.

And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain.

No matter what shadow crawled out of her past—

It was going to have to go through me to touch her.

We stayed like that for a beat—her back against my chest, my arms around her, the rest of the world muted beneath the thrum of fear and fury.

Then River cleared his throat quietly. “We’ll keep digging. Jude, if you remember anything else—any detail, even small—tell us. We’ll track him.”

I nodded once. “I’m taking her home.”

Jude hesitated, her body going tense again. “Shouldn’t I stay? Help—”

“No,” I cut in gently, brushing a hand down her arm. “You’ve done enough. You’re not a target. You’re a person. My person. You don’t have to be in mission mode right now.”

She looked up at me, her eyes glassy but fierce. “What if I don’t know how to be anything else?”

I cupped her cheek. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Sean, surprisingly, offered a quiet nod. “We’ll handle the tech side. You go two can go home anf relax.”

Jude didn’t speak, but when I led her toward the door, she followed. Her fingers curled into mine like they were made to fit.

Downstairs, I unlocked my truck and opened the passenger door for her. She slid in, staring out the window as I rounded the hood and climbed behind the wheel.

The silence between us wasn’t awkward.

It was heavy.

Full of memories I didn’t know yet, and battles she’d fought alone.

I waited until we were almost home before speaking again.

“You know I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you?”

She turned toward me slowly. “I don’t want you to have to.”

“But I will,” I said simply. “If it comes to that.”

A breath caught in her throat. “I spent years learning how to disappear, Cyclone. How to hide everything. Who I was. What I saw. What I did. But with you… I don’t want to hide anymore.”

My home wasn’t far from the office. Along Highway One, on the beach.

I reached across the seat, threading my fingers through hers.

“Then don’t,” I said. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Her grip tightened.

And for the first time since she walked through the office door—heart pounding, eyes wide—I felt her exhale.

Not just a breath.

A surrender.

Not to fear.

To me.

By the time we pulled up to the house, the sky was streaked with orange and gray. A storm building on the horizon, and something darker still crawling under my skin.

I killed the engine and turned to her.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared at the dashboard like she was still stuck in the past.

“Jude.”

Her name broke the silence.

She blinked slowly, then turned to face me, her expression unreadable. But her eyes— God, her eyes —were full of things she wasn’t ready to say.

“Come on,” I said gently, reaching for her hand.

She let me pull her from the truck and lead her inside.

I didn’t turn on the lights.

Didn’t need to.

The house glowed softly from the dim light leaking through the windows, wrapping us in shadows and quiet.

She kicked off her boots by the door without a word. Shrugged off her jacket and dropped it on the bench.

I watched her every move.

Not because I didn’t trust the silence.

But because I did .

She walked into the living room, paused at the edge of the couch, then turned back to me.

“Everything feels like it’s spinning,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Like if I let go for even a second, I’ll fall apart.”

I stepped closer, slow and steady.

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’ve been holding everything together for too long.”

Her jaw trembled. “What if I don’t know how to come back from it?”

“Then I’ll be there to put you back together.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “You can’t fix me, Cyclone.”

“I’m not trying to,” I said. “I’m just not going to leave you alone with the pieces.”

That broke something in her.

She stepped into me, and I caught her. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her face buried in my chest.

I held her tight.

No words.

No promises.

Just presence.

She pulled back a moment later, her fingers curling into the hem of my shirt.

“I don’t want to feel scared right now,” she said, her voice low and raw. “I want to feel something else. Something that’s mine. Not his. Not theirs.”

I didn’t answer.

Just lifted her chin and kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Anchoring.

She kissed me back like she was drowning—and I was air.

I walked her backward toward the bedroom, never breaking contact. Her hands fisted the back of my shirt, and mine roamed over her back and sides, memorizing every inch.

When we hit the edge of the bed, I pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “With you? Always.”

I slid my hands beneath her shirt, lifting it slowly, reverently. Like a man unwrapping something sacred.

Because she was .

When I laid her back against the sheets, she didn’t look afraid.

She looked like a woman claiming something that had once been stolen.

And I’d spend the rest of my life making sure she never lost it again.