Page 58 of His Asset
Adam.
He jumped from the chopper before it had even settled, the wind clawing at his tailored suit.His black jacket snapped like a banner, his tie—blue this time, because of course he’d found time to change—whipped against his throat.Even broken, he found a way to look like power itself.His dark hair, always groomed and disciplined, was torn loose by the wind.
For the first time, he didn’t look untouchable.
The grit-laced air tore at my throat, but I couldn’t look away.His stride was uneven, subtle at first, then undeniable.A faint limp, his right leg dragging just slightly, the edge of a blood-stained bandage visible beneath his torn pant leg.His hand—his left—was wrapped, too, bruises darkening the edges.
His golden eyes found me through the chaos, and there was no hesitation, no calculation.Just raw, unguarded relief.
He stepped closer.“You’re all right.”
Even above the whirling rotors, his words hit me like a blow.His voice cracked with exhaustion, with something I couldn’t name.Before I could move, he closed the distance and reached for me.His fingers brushed my shoulder, warm, trembling, and then his arm came around my waist, pulling me against him.
I froze.The heat of him burned through my cold, mud-caked skin.His heart hammered hard enough that I could feel it through the thin layer of his shirt, and his spiced scent, so impossibly familiar, stole my breath in a gasp of yearning.
“You’re hurt,” I choked out before I could stop myself.
He didn’t answer.Just tightened his grip, his breath harsh against my hair.“Let’s get you away from here.From them.”
He turned us toward the chopper, his limp more pronounced now.I should have resisted.I should have fought him.But I didn’t.
The world was a blur of wind and shouts, phones raised, faces gawking.And Adam—bloodied, limping, jaw tight with pain—shielded me with his body and ignored it all.
When he lifted me into the cabin, I felt the strain in him, the quiet hiss of breath through his teeth, the tremor in his arm.But he didn’t falter.My wings folded tight around me, my heart pounding too fast, too loud.I didn’t know if I wanted to run or reach for him.He was supposed to be the monster.Not this man who bled because someone else had hurt me first.
He followed me inside, reaching for me yet again to put on my harness, then my headset, before he did his own.
The helicopter lifted then, swallowing us in its roar as the earth fell away beneath us.Every vibration, every chop of the rotors struck a discordant chord within, but as he adjusted my position, his arm firm across my back, I felt...safe.
As I clutched his shoulder, mud and blood slicked between us, I felt the faint tremor of his body with every breath, and knew, without needing to look, it was his ribs.The injury was too subtle for anyone else to notice, but I’d seen Adam move, watched him fight, felt him breathe too many times not to sense the difference.
Each inhale was shallow, almost painful, the bandage beneath his jacket a small but noticeable bulge.He’d ignored the pain, had barely flinched when he’d lifted me to safety, as if I’d weighed nothing at all.
The cabin was suddenly claustrophobic, the warm air thick with the scent of leather and residual oil.I pressed my face into the crook of Adam’s neck, my wings folded tightly around me as emotions churned violently inside me.
The helicopter cleared the tree line, leaving behind the chaos at the river.Then his uneven, ragged breathing caught my attention yet again.Each exhale was a quiet reminder that his body had limits.And I hated myself for noticing it.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his bandaged ribs against the curve of my body.His gold eyes, catching the sunlight through the helicopter’s windows, met mine for a heartbeat.Concern?Fear?Something human?Before I could dwell on it, all emotion vanished, replaced by the cool mask of control he always wore.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.His eyes stayed shuttered, but I saw it anyway—the relief, the fury, the bone-deep weariness.The kind of honesty that made me want to hug him and bolt in the same breath.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, my teeth chattering despite the warmth of the cabin.
“You’re safe,” he added.And even though I didn’t trust him, I felt the thread of truth, the flicker of care that was both fragile and quietly familiar.
I pressed my forehead harder against him, trying to hide the tears I thought had long dried.My wings twitched restlessly.He didn’t seem to mind.He kept me tucked close, his grip steady and strong, despite the pain he tried not to show.
Doubts filled me.Was this compassion or another kind of manipulation?Maybe it was both.Maybe it was the illusion I’d built for myself, something softer to hide the sharp edges of who he really was.Yet for a brief, impossible moment, I let myself hope that maybe he wasn’t the monster I’d made him out to be.
Fear slammed back into place.Because if I trusted him even a fraction, if that trust was unfounded and I was wrong, I’d lose everything.
My gaze drifted to the window, following the blur of city streets and the ribbon of river below until the trees spread out across the land like an emerald tide.
We were heading back.Back to the mountain home that had been my prison for twelve months.The place I’d escaped and the place I missed in equal measure.My cage and my shelter, and the first place that had ever felt like home.
The helicopter dipped low, the pilot hovering over the landing pad on the blunt roof of Adam’s home.Then the metal bird shuddered as it set us down, its blades whining as they slowed.My heart hammered as I squeezed my eyes shut, caught between a past I couldn’t outrun and a present I barely trusted.
Adam didn’t hesitate.He unbuckled our harnesses and removed our headsets, and before I could protest, he lifted me into his arms as if I belonged there.But the tremor in his muscles and his shallow breathing betrayed the pain he couldn’t hide.