Page 9

T he ride through the tunnel is fast at this hour.

Empty streets.

Little traffic.

The city fades behind us like smoke in a rearview mirror.

But I don’t take her to my apartment in Manhattan.

Too open. Too obvious.

I take her to my home in Verona.

It’s nice. Protected. Far enough away from the city that never sleeps that I can breathe easier when I’m there.

Just the average New Jersey suburb with a little something extra, or at least I like to think so.

Close to Connor.

Close to Clementine.

Close to people I trust to guard what matters if I can’t be everywhere at once.

She’ll be safe here.

My estate is a fucking fortress.

I made sure of that.

I bought the property three years ago, gutted it to the studs.

Remodeled every inch.

Reinforced the windows. Smart locks. Perimeter alarms. Bulletproof glass in all the main rooms.

Fort. Fucking. Knox.

And now she’s here.

I radio the team at the gate as we approach, a secure line crackling in my earpiece.

“Lock it down.”

“Boss?”

“Full lockdown until I say so. No one gets in or out unless cleared by me directly. Understood?”

“Copy that,” comes the response.

The gates swing open silently.

The SUV hums up the long drive, tires crunching over stone.

I pull into the attached garage of the main house and kill the engine.

Silence settles over us like a shroud.

She doesn’t move.

She’s curled in the passenger seat, head tilted slightly toward the window, lips parted with sleep.

Her purse sits like a shield in her lap, clutched tight in fingers that probably still remember the tremble of fear.

Her lashes flutter, but she’s not awake.

Not really.

Just breathing. Just here.

Thank fuck.

Because tonight? I almost lost her.

I sit there for a beat too long, just watching her. My heart still racing from the aftershocks. Fury still thrumming through my veins like poison.

She has no idea what that place did to me. What he did. How close I am to finding that piece of shit and removing his skin layer by layer in a way that would never be forgotten.

But I didn’t leave. I couldn’t.

Because she needed me more.

And nothing— no revenge, no bloodlust —is more important than her.

Getting her here, getting her safe, is tantamount to everything else.

I step out of the car and come around to her side.

Quiet. Careful.

Like any sudden movement might startle her back into the nightmare we just pulled her from.

Her lashes flick open as I open the door.

Those blue eyes hit me like they always do—like a bullet straight to the fucking chest.

“Balor,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “I can walk.”

“Don’t care.” My voice comes out rough, more growl than words.

Because I don’t.

This isn’t about her legs. It’s not about convenience or comfort.

It’s about me. About the part of me that can’t bear to see her touch the ground after the way that sick fuck defiled her space. After what he left for her.

I slide my arms under her and lift her out like she’s mine to carry.

Because she is.

And yeah— she’s not light.

She’s not some delicate little doll you set on a shelf.

Lucy is all woman.

Solid. Heavy. Real.

She’s fire and velvet, fierce and warm.

She’s so fucking real. Alive.

And in my arms, where no one— no one —can hurt her.

Her cheek rests against my shoulder as I carry her into the house, and for a second, I let myself pretend this is normal.

That this is our life.

That she’s always been here.

That she’s always going to be here.

And I want that desperately.

Because after tonight, I’m not sure I’ll survive if she’s not.

And all the demons in Hell won’t help the motherfucker who tries to take her from me again.

Because next time our paths cross? Nothing will stop me from eliminating that sonovabitch.

But I’m not hunting right now. I’m here. With her.

Fuck, I like how she feels in my arms.

She doesn’t fight me.

Just curls in, soft hands clutching my shirt, warm breath brushing my neck.

My heartbeat thunders beneath my ribs, deep and steady like the rumble of an incoming storm.

I hold her tighter.

Because for the first time in too long, I’m not thinking about firewalls or threat maps or faceless bastards sending her cryptic threats.

I’m thinking about Lucy.

Just her. Only her.

Thinking about how she smells— clean, sweet, a little like almonds and something sharper underneath. Like diamonds and sunshine .

Thinking about how her body fits against mine like she belongs there.

Beauty queen with a heart of gold and an attitude that makes me want to hiss and growl whenever anyone gets too close.

Sexy, sweet, and so damn soft it hurts.

My sweet thing. My Diamond Girl.

I walk inside with her wrapped in my arms and I don’t say a word.

Not one fucking sound.

Through the foyer.

Past the state-of-the-art security panel I installed myself.

Up the stairs toward the master wing.

This house was built to keep people out.

But now?

It’s about keeping her in.

Safe. Guarded. Mine.

And God help anyone who tries to change that.

I don’t stop at any of the guest bedrooms.

Don’t even slow down.

I carry her straight to mine.

The master suite sits at the back of the house, tucked behind reinforced walls and blackout glass.

No one sees what happens here unless I want them to.

I balance her easily with one arm as I twist the doorknob.

She stirs against me, lashes fluttering. Not fully awake, but not quite asleep either.

Then, like a punch straight to my gut, she shifts.

Arms loop around my neck. Legs wrap around my waist.

Fuck.

My breath catches, and I hum something low in my throat, something primal, like an anchor to keep me grounded.

But I don’t put her down.

I can’t.

She’s too warm. Too soft. Too close.

Every part of her is a temptation.

And I’ve tried to resist for too long, but now she’s clinging to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth, and nothing is taking her from my arms.

Not even the Devil himself.

We reach the bed, and I dip low, lowering her gently onto the comforter.

She sits up slowly, blinking at me through those long, dark lashes.

Her hair’s a mess, her lipstick half-faded, and she’s never looked more perfect.

Then she bites her lip.

Jesus. H. Christ.

That one small gesture is enough to send heat pooling low in my gut, tension spiking in my spine like a live wire.

“You need something to sleep in,” I say, voice rough.

“Oh, um, my purse?” she murmurs.

“It’s here.”

“Shit, I forgot clothes.”

My jaw clenches.

“Want me to go back there?—”

I didn’t even want to think about having her try to wade through what that fucking prick did to her bedroom for clothes.

“No! Um, no,” she says quickly, waving me off. “That’s okay. I’m sure you have something. I mean, can I borrow a shirt?”

I dip my chin.

She wants to borrow my clothes. Fuck. Me.

I nod, because words are beyond me right now.

She shifts forward, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, and the motion hikes her dress higher up her thighs.

My eyes drop.

I can’t help it.

The dress is a second skin, clinging to her curves like it was custom made to torment me.

Her legs are covered in sheer stockings, glittering faintly under the soft overhead lights— sparkling like stardust dusted over skin.

She looks like she’s made of diamonds.

A fantasy.

A sin.

Something no man should be allowed to touch.

No man but me, that is.

She’s right here. In my room. In my house. Soon she’ll be wrapped in my shirt, and fuck, it’s killing me.

I grit my teeth.

Say nothing.

Because if I open my mouth now, I won’t say something sweet.

I’ll say something filthy.

Desperate.

Something true.

And I already told her no once.

If I break now, there’s no going back.

So I turn away. Head for the dresser like a coward.

She doesn’t stop me.

But when I glance back— just once —I catch her watching me, lip still caught between her teeth, eyes a darker shade of blue than they were a moment ago.

In that look, I see it.

She wants me too.

And I don’t think I’m strong enough to deny us both.