Page 34 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

EMILIA

My heart pounds, blood rushing hot through my veins as I fight off the criminals. Fucking hell, these men are like cockroaches. Just when you think you’ve squashed them all, more comes crawling out of some hole.

Who the hell are they? They can’t be Jason’s security—no way. And who’s this mysterious man Jason was meeting with?

Blood trickles down my temple, and I swipe it away furiously as I slam the butt of my gun into another thug’s skull, dropping him. My arms, legs—hell, my whole body—scream in protest from the hits I’ve taken, but I push through the pain.

A real shame we can’t use live rounds. We could have ended this whole thing in seconds. But Greg was crystal clear during his briefing when he said, ‘I want them all alive.’ His glare burned into me specifically—still hasn’t forgiven me for openly shooting at Maximo and his men last year.

Some mistakes follow you forever.

“Emily!” Katie’s horrified scream pierces through the chaos, just as a bullet whistles past my ear. I whip around to see a man a few feet behind me crumpling to the floor, his gun slipping uselessly from his lifeless hand .

He was about to shoot me.

My heart rockets into my throat as the horror sinks in and I realize how close I came to death. Following Katie’s wide-eyed stare upwards, I see what I thought was a mirrored wall is actually a window. A window that’s been pushed open.

And there he stands.

Rafael. Like some fallen angel of death, gun raised, smoke still curling from the muzzle. His eyes are fierce, locked on the man who nearly killed me.

He saved me. Again .

Our gazes collide for a heartbeat, and something electric passes between us before he looks away and puts another bullet in the corpse, making sure it stays dead. Then a hand appears, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him from my sight.

“What the hell? That guy’s not one of us, is he?” one of the agents mumbles somewhere behind me.

Shit. Shit. Shit. My mind races for a plausible explanation, but I’m saved from having to fabricate some half-assed lie by Matt’s loud, “Now!”

I tear my attention from Rafael’s vanishing form and fumble for my oxygen mask, struggling to secure it with trembling fingers. After his warning, we have exactly sixty seconds before nitrogen grenades transform this restaurant into a high-end sleeping chamber.

The backup agents must have finally arrived. About fucking time.

Our plan was simple: gas them all, arrest them while they’re out cold.

But fate, that cruel bitch, had other plans.

The car carrying our agents with the nitrogen grenades got a flat tire, and we waited.

And waited. When it became obvious the meeting was wrapping up, we had to move or lose our shot at Jason and his mysterious dinner companion.

Jason Moore was always the primary target. But getting the man with him—clearly a hardened criminal—is a stroke of luck we can’t dismiss.

Grenades sail through the air, hitting the floor with soft clinks before releasing their payload in a gentle hiss.

Rafael .

He wasn’t part of the equation, but now that he’s here, I’ll be obligated to arrest him as well. I glance up in alarm, but he’s gone.

My stomach twists into a knot of dread, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m charging towards a door I hope leads to that upper-level room. It must be a secret VIP section that wasn’t included in the restaurant’s blueprint.

The door opens to a janitor’s closet where a terrified employee is cowering against cleaning supplies. He whimpers when I grab him by the collar.

“How do I get to the upper section?” I demand.

“K-kitchen,” he stammers. “False w-wall. Stairs behind it.”

I release him and sprint towards the kitchen. The staff there scatter like startled mice when I burst through the swinging doors, but they quickly point towards the false wall when I wave my badge around.

My thighs burn as I take the stairs two at a time, sweat drenching my back, heart working overtime. When I reach the upper room, it’s empty, but a section of the wall stands slightly ajar.

A hidden passage.

I rush inside and hesitate for just a beat before pulling it closed behind me.

I don’t know which agent might have followed me up here.

I can’t risk them finding him . There’s no time to analyze that thought—or why I’m suddenly protecting him—because now I’m swallowed by pitch black.

I fumble in my pockets for my phone, cursing under my breath when my trembling fingers nearly drop it.

The flashlight beam cuts through the darkness, revealing a narrow passage that seems to stretch into infinity. I bolt down it like the world’s ending behind me, desperate to reach him before he disappears. After what feels like forever, I finally come across a door.

Grabbing the handle, I wrench it open with strength born of pure adrenaline, flinching as the harsh light of the setting sun assaults my eyes. I rip off the oxygen mask, sucking in a full breath of open air as my lungs burn from the sprint.

As my vision adjusts, I realize I’m standing at the top of emergency stairs that zigzag down to the alley behind the restaurant.

I look down just in time to see Rafael and several men piling into cars parked along the alley.

Shit, I’m going to lose them.

An insane urge to scream his name rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Instead, I launch myself down the stairs, defying gravity and common sense as I leap over multiple steps at once.

My feet slam onto the concrete with such force that my teeth clash together like cymbals, sending shockwaves through my skull. But I don’t pause to check for injuries. I can’t. I race towards the convoy of vehicles pulling away and throw myself in front of the car I saw Rafael get into.

The car screeches to a halt, tires screaming, and I slam my palms down on the hood as the bumper grazes my knees, my body weight almost buckling under the impact. That was too fucking close.

The passenger door swings open and the guy from the club steps out, glaring at me like he wants to murder me where I stand. Without a word, he moves to the back door, opening it with clear intent.

He wants me to get in.

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I don’t hesitate. I limp towards the open door and climb inside, ignoring every screaming voice of reason in my head. The door slamming shut behind me is like a guillotine closing—but I don’t care. No going back now.

My eyes instantly flick to the man sitting opposite me, only to find him already watching, his grey gaze unreadable yet scorching.

“What? Are you here to arrest me, Agent Rossi?” He leans forward, pressing a button that raises the partition between us and his men. Privacy. The car begins moving again, and a flash of panic hits me about abandoning the crime scene. But it evaporates when Rafael’s gaze meets mine again.

He has this infuriating ability to short-circuit my brain with just a look—melting logic, reason, and every ounce of good judgment under that silver stare.

“What was that back there? Why did you do that?” I barely have the presence of mind to ask the question that led me into his vehicle. Focus!

“What would you have rather I did then? Stand there and watch him blow your brains out?” His words are harsh, crude—but his voice is hoarse, like just saying the words gets to him.

My heart rate triples, blood rushing so loudly in my ears I can barely hear him over the roar. He’s not the only one affected. “I–It’s none of your business what happens to me. You shouldn't have interfered. Now I’ll have to field questions from my supervisor and colleagues, and I?—”

“Why are you in my vehicle, Emilia? You’re going to face even more questions for being here,” he points out patiently.

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. We’d just overtaken our adversaries, and just when it was time to seal the victory and make the arrests… I left the scene? It’s unprecedented. Reckless. Completely inexplicable.

I stare at him helplessly, defenseless against his calm logic. “I–I don’t know. I just–I just didn’t want you to leave without talking to you. I–” I cut myself off sharply, shaking my head in shock at the words spilling out of my mouth. “What the hell is wrong with me? You killed?—”

Rafael glowers at me, and before my brain can process his movement, he’s right next to me, grabbing the back of my head and pulling me into a fierce, angry kiss. A surprised gasp escapes me and he inhales it, swallowing the sound as he deepens the kiss.

Oh God.

Goosebumps erupt across every inch of my skin as all the sexual tension from the other night—when I left desperate and unsatisfied—comes rushing back, making me dizzy with need. My eyes flutter shut, senses heightening to an almost unbearable degree.

The low hum of the car’s engine suddenly feels seductive, vibrating through my body in a way that sends a sensual pulse between my thighs. I squeeze my legs together instinctively, and even that small pressure sparks a jolt of pleasure.

The car grows hotter by the second as our kiss intensifies, the air thick with tension.

I wrap my arms around him and kiss him back with everything I have.

He drinks it in, letting out a low, pleased groan—and as if my touch was permission, his hands leave my head, letting it fall gently against the cool window as he explores my body, setting off electric bursts until I’m nothing but a hot-wired pleasure point.

“Always with the fucking jeans,” he mutters against my mouth, anger lacing his words.

Then he breaks the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat as his fingers attack the button on my waist. The sound of my zipper being undone is obscenely loud in the confined space, sending drugging anticipation straight to my core.

He tugs at the jeans with growing impatience, then pulls away with a snarl to take something out beneath his seat—a sharp curved knife.

“Rafael…” Warning flickers through my lust-fogged brain .