Page 270 of Fractured Allegiance

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, voice raw, desperate.

And this time, I don’t answer. I just hold onto him, shaking, knowing I’ve let him take something I swore I’d never give.

The water cools too quickly, the kind of lukewarm trickle that makes steam fade and reality creep back in. He’s still inside me, softening but not letting go, his chest pressed against mine, his mouth resting against my jaw like he can breathe me in.

I should shove him off. Instead, I sag against the tile, spent, trembling, unable to pretend I don’t want to stay here another minute.

That’s when his phone rings.

A harsh, metallic buzz against the counter outside the bathroom. It doesn’t stop after one, or two, or three. It keeps going, insistent, demanding, until he curses under his breath and pulls out of me with one sharp thrust. I hiss at the loss, clinging to the wall as he shoves the curtain back.

“Stay,” he snaps at me, as if I’m the one about to walk out. He grabs a towel, stalks into the room, dripping wet and still half-hard, water trailing down his back.

I wrap my arms around myself, forcing my legs to stop shaking, listening.

He answers with one word. "Ward."

Naomi's voice cuts through, sharp and impatient as always. "You're behind. Drazen's moving. I want updates. Names. Don't tell me you've lost focus."

My jaw tightens. She's calling earlier than usual, more insistent. The leash is getting shorter.

I step out of the shower, dripping, wrapping a towel around myself, silent as I move closer to the door.

“You’re not my priority anymore,” Silas says. His voice is flat, steel on steel.

Naomi’s voice hardens. “Don’t play games. You belong to the Bureau, Ward. You’re an asset, not a man. Don’t mistake the two.”

Silas’s laugh is humorless, jagged. “Not anymore. I’m done with your leash.”

There’s a pause. I can almost hear her breathing spike, the way people do when control slips. Then: “Then don’t expect me to catch you when you fall.”

The line goes dead.

He stares at the phone for a beat before tossing it onto the table like it’s trash.

I lean against the doorway, dripping water onto the floor, towel clinging to my body. “So,” I say, voice sharp, cutting through the silence. You burned it,” I tilt my head, studying him. “You just severed yourself from the only thing keeping you untouchable. For me.”

He doesn’t look away. “Not for you. With you.”

Something twists in my chest. It’s not comfort. It’s dread, hunger, and rage tangled together. Men who give me everything always want more in return. Always.

I cross the room, stop in front of him, tilt my head up so we’re eye to eye. “You’re a fool, Silas.”

He grips my jaw, thumb pressing hard enough to make my lips part. “Maybe. But I’m your fool now.”

I should laugh. I should spit in his face. Instead, I stand there, dripping, trembling, with my pulse hammering inside me, knowing he just made himself mine in the worst, most dangerous way.

He’s still gripping my jaw when I push his hand away, more a shove than a swat. “You just torched your entire safety net,” I tell him, wrapping my towel tighter. “No badge, no Bureau, no leash. What are you now, Silas? A man without a country? Without a code?”

He doesn’t flinch. His eyes track me as I move across the room, dripping water onto the floorboards. His cock is still half-hard, glistening from me, but his face is carved from steel.

“I told you already,” he says. “Not for you. With you.”

I laugh, sharp, ugly. “That’s not romantic. That’s suicidal.”

He steps toward me, slow and steady, until my back hits the wall again. He smells of water and sex and something darker—gun oil, sweat, the faint copper of my own blood under his nails.

“I don’t do romantic,” he says. “I do necessary.”