Page 33

33

RYKER

T he blue dot on my screen inches along the winding road leading to our compound. Five minutes out, I minimize the tracking app and glance at the other monitors—security feeds from all angles of the property, system diagnostics, and network traffic. Everything is secure and under control.

I shouldn’t have let her go alone.

My fingers drum against the desk as I wait. The coffee shop meeting was a risk. Necessary, but dangerous.Jennaknows too much and suspects even more. The way she looked atKira, searching for signs of duress—it’s all there in the video I captured throughKira’sphone.

“Three minutes from destination,” the app announces.

I roll my shoulders and close the audio file where I’d been reviewing their conversation.Kiradoesn’t need to know I was listening. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. This is protection, not control. There’s a difference.

The cameras at the front gate activate as her car approaches. I watch her punch in the code, her small hands moving with certainty. She belongs here now with me.

Her face in the camera tells me everything. The slight furrow between her brows. The way she bites her lower lip.Jennagot to her. Planted seeds of doubt.

I switch to the garage camera and watch as she parks. She sits for a moment, both hands on the wheel, eyes closed, taking a breath and preparing herself.

For what?

The question burns in my chest as I kill the feeds and straighten my shirt. By the time Kira enters, I’ll be in the kitchen, casual, normal. Like I haven’t been tracking her every movement since she left. As if I didn’t hack into the coffee shop’s security system to watch their entire interaction from three different angles.

Some habits can’t be broken. Some parts of me will never change, even for her, especially for her.

The garage door into the compound opens.

She’s home.

I close my laptop.

I time it perfectly, pouring myself a glass of water as her footsteps echo down the hallway. I have three seconds to arrange my body language—relaxed shoulders, casual lean against the granite countertop, eyes not immediately seeking the door. The illusion of normalcy matters.

The kitchen door swings open.Kira’scheeks flush with color from the cool air outside, her hair slightly windblown. Beautiful. Mine.

“Hey,” she says, voice tight around the edges.

I take a slow sip of water, measuring her expression against my memorized baseline. “How was coffee withJenna?”

Her bag drops to the floor with a soft thud. “She wants to meet you.”

“I know. You texted me, remember?”

A beat of silence stretches between us.

“Saturday dinner,” I say, setting down my glass. “At our home.”

Kira’sfingers fidget with her sleeve. “Are you angry?”

I cross the space between us, cupping her face in my hands. Her pulse quickens beneath my thumbs. “No.”

Relief floods her features. She has no idea how carefully I’m controlling myself right now. The thought ofJennain our space, looking for evidence, judging what we’ve built, makes my skin crawl. ButKiraneeds this bridge to her old life, and I needKira.

“What did you tell her about us?” I keep my voice neutral, fingers gentle in her hair.

“We met at the convention, and things happened fast.” Her eyes drop to my chest. “I didn’t tell her about... You know. The beginning.”

“Good,” I murmur against her temple. “That’s good.”

I feelKiramelt into my arms, her body yielding against mine in that perfect way that tells me she’s mine. I tighten my grip around her, inhaling the scent of her hair, cataloging every sensation like I always do. The slight tremor in her shoulders. The way her breath catches when I press my lips to her temple.

“I can’t lose you,” I whisper against her skin, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said. “If someone likeJennaknew—really knew—about how we started, she’d try to stop us from being together.”

Kirastiffens slightly in my arms. I feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips.

“I can’t have that,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “We’ve come too far. What we have is too important.”

I stroke her hair, soothing her like a frightened animal. She doesn’t understand that everything I do is for us, for her.

“There’s something you need to see,” I say, reluctantly releasing her with one arm to reach for my iPad on the counter. I unlock it with my thumbprint and pull up the feed I’ve been monitoring for three days.

Kira’sstill pressed against my chest as I position the screen so she can see it. I feel the exact moment she processes the image—her body tensing, her breath stopping for 2.4 seconds.

The live feed shows a man sitting on the edge of a prison cot, his head in his hands. The cell is sparse: a steel toilet, a small sink, and a thin mattress. The man’s shoulders are hunched, and he seems defeated.

“Is that—”Kirapulls back slightly, blinking rapidly as she tries to understand what she’s seeing. Her voice cracks. “My uncle?”

Her eyes dart between the screen and my face, confusion and fear battling across her features.

“What is this?” she whispers, the question hanging between us like a blade.

I watch the recognition bloom acrossKira’sface as she stares at the screen. My arm tightens around her waist, steadying her as the shock settles.

“Yes,” I confirm, my voice low and controlled. “That’s your uncle. The man who hurt you.”

Her fingers tremble against the iPad screen. I take it from her before she can drop it, setting it face-up on the counter where the feed continues to play. The man who violated her childhood sits in his makeshift cell, unaware he’s being watched by the woman he damaged.

“How did you?—”

“I have resources,” I say simply. “Connections. People who owe me favors.”

Her pulse thunders beneath my fingertips. The beautiful chaos of her emotions plays across her face—fear, confusion, terror, relief.

“I can’t bear the thought of him out there,” I explain, stroking her cheek with my thumb. “Living his life. Attending your family dinners. Pretending he never touched you.”

I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “The thought of him existing in the same world as you, breathing the same air—” My voice hardens. “It’s unacceptable.”

Kirapulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine. I see the question forming before she asks it, the way her brow furrows, the slight parting of her lips.

“What are you going to do to him?” she whispers.

The question hangs between us. I study her face, cataloging every microexpression. This moment matters. Her reaction will determine everything.

“That depends,” I say carefully, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “On what you want.”

Kira’sface shifts into confusion, her brow furrowing as she processes my words. She looks between the screen and my face, searching for answers. The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at something deep inside me—a feeling I’m still learning to recognize.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers. “Where is he?”

I take her hands, feeling their slight tremble against my palms. “He’s being held securely. Not here, but somewhere no one will find him.”

Her confusion doesn’t fade. Time to show her exactly who I am—who I’ve always been beneath the careful masks.

“When I was younger,” I say, my voice eerily calm even to my ears, “I learned that some people don’t deserve second chances. Some people can’t be redeemed.”

I watch her eyes widen as I continue.

“I’ve arranged for him to disappear,Kira. Permanently. No trace. No questions. He’ll simply... cease to exist.” My grip tightens slightly around her hands. “I won’t apologize for what I’m about to do. Not after what he did to you.”

Kiradoesn’t pull away. Instead, she stands perfectly still, listening.

“I want him gone,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “For you. For what he took from you.”

I watchKira’sface carefully. Her pupils dilate slightly. The small muscle beside her left eye twitches once, twice. Her breathing changes—shallow and quick. Anyone else would miss these subtle signs, but I’ve memorized the language of her body.

She’s in shock.

For seventeen seconds, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the screen where her uncle sits in his makeshift cell, unaware of our scrutiny. I allow the silence to stretch between us, giving her time to process. My confession hangs in the air—words I can’t take back. Words I don’t want to take back.

“What are you thinking, beautiful?” I finally ask, my voice gentler than I expected. “About what I said? About what I want to do?”

Her wide and unfocused eyes snap to mine. Our connection vibrates with tension. This moment feels precarious, balanced on a knife’s edge. One wrong move could shatter everything we’ve built.

Without a word,Kiramoves to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with mechanical precision. She sits down heavily, like her body suddenly weighs too much for her legs to support. Her fingers rise to her temples, pressing into the skin in small circular motions.

The gesture is familiar—I’ve seen it thirty-seven times since she’s been with me. Always when she’s overwhelmed, when her thoughts race too quickly for her to process. I’ve memorized this particular stress response and filed it with all her other habits and tells.

I remain where I stand, giving her space. The distance between us feels vast and dangerous. I’ve miscalculated and revealed too much too soon. The urge to touch her is overwhelming, but I force myself to stay still. She needs time.

Her fingers press harder against her temples, eyes closed now. The silence stretches, punctuated only by her uneven breathing and the faint sound from the iPad where her uncle shifts on his cot, oblivious to his fate hanging in the balance.

Kira’sbody shudders as the first sob breaks free. It tears through her, raw and guttural, her shoulders heaving with the force of it. I freeze, as she crumples forward at the table, her face buried in her hands.

Have I gone too far?

I move to her side, crouching beside her chair, not touching her yet. I wait. One heartbeat. Two. Her sobs continue, filling the space between us.

“Kira—”

“No,” she cuts me off, her voice thick with tears. She lifts her head, and I see her face is streaked and blotchy, eyes burning with an intensity that stops the words in my throat. “No, I want him gone.”

My breath catches. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She shakes her head, another sob escaping. “He took everything from me, and no one—” Her voice breaks. “Even my own mother wouldn’t believe me. I told her, I told her what he did, and she said I was making it up for attention.”

I take her hands in mine, squeezing gently. “I believe you,Kira. I’ve always believed you.”

“How?” Her eyes search mine, desperate and wounded. “You believe me so easily. So easily you’d—you’d do this for me.”

I cup her face, wiping away tears with my thumbs. The trust in her eyes is a heady thing, more intoxicating than any drug I’ve ever experienced.

“What will happen?” she whispers, her hands clutching mine now. “What if—what if someone finds out? What if they trace it back to you?”

I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes me. The idea is so absurd, so impossibly unlikely that it almost feels like she’s made a joke.

“No one will find out.” I press my forehead against hers. “I’ve made arrangements. Professional arrangements. He’ll simply vanish.”

“When?”Kiraasks, her voice steadier now despite the tears still streaking her cheeks. “When will it happen?”

I study her face carefully, searching for any hesitation or doubt. There’s none. Just a burning intensity that matches what I feel inside.

“Tonight,” I tell her, running my thumb across her knuckles. “It’s already in motion.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. “Will it be quick?”

“Do you want it to be?” I ask, my voice low.

She hesitates, conflict flickering across her face. “I don’t know. Part of me wants him to suffer. Part of me just wants him gone.”

“Then he’ll suffer,” I say simply. “And then he’ll be gone.”

For a moment, we sit in silence, her hand in mine, the weight of what’s about to happen settling around us. I’ve never shared this part of myself with anyone before or allowed someone to see the darkness I keep carefully hidden. Yet here she is, looking at the darkest parts of me without flinching.

Kirastands suddenly, pulling me up with her. Before I can react, she slides her hands into my hair and pulls my face to hers.

Her lips press against mine with an intensity that surprises me. This is desperate, her body arching into mine as if she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.

Her eyes lock with mine when she breaks away, bright with tears and something I’ve been waiting for.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips. “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s wrong. But I love you,Ryker Kent.”

Three simple words I never expected to hear directed at me. Not honestly. Not without manipulation or fear behind them.

Her hands frame my face, keeping my eyes on hers as she says it again. “I love you.”

Her words pierce something in me I thought had died years ago. The weight of them settles in my chest, unfamiliar but undeniable.

“I love you too,Kira.” The confession tears from my throat, unfiltered. “I was obsessed with you the moment I first saw you, and now obsession has become even deeper.”

I press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in. “And I will prove it to you every day for the rest of our lives.”

My eyes drift to the iPad screen where her abuser sits, unaware of the fate awaiting him. “He’ll never hurt anyone again. Not after tonight.”

I press my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in the space between us. “It’s done. Let me take care of everything. Let me take care of you.”