Page 6

KEIRA

T he first thing Keira noticed was the sheets—soft, expensive, cool against her skin. A disorienting contrast to the fire curling in her stomach. Her pulse ticked unevenly in her throat, and for a moment, the unfamiliar calm around her felt like a trap disguised as comfort.

Her body tensed, heart slamming against her ribs as if to scream that something was wrong.

Soft. Expensive. Probably Egyptian cotton.

The second thing was the unmistakable scent of Finn O’Neill embedded in them—dark spice, masculine warmth, and something a little wild beneath.

She sat up too fast and instantly regretted it. The room spun.

“Oh hell no.”

Memory came back in a rush. The alley—the shadows, the wild pulse of her heart, and the building across the street looming above.

She couldn’t see Finn from where she was—just the strange mist curling up over the rooftop, the sudden flash of lightning, and the crack of thunder that didn’t belong to any storm.

It lit up the sky for an instant, surreal and electric, and something primal inside her recoiled.

She ducked deeper into the shadows, trying to make sense of what she was experiencing.

Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t natural.

And somehow she knew it had come from him.

Then… nothing. Minutes passed. She stayed crouched in the alley, hidden in the shadows, straining to hear more. Her breathing slowed, but her body remained tense, every nerve alert. The rooftop had gone quiet again; the mist dissipating into the night.

Then came faint voices—male—carried by the wind.

Too muffled to understand. Calm, almost intimate in tone.

Not the violent clash she’d expected after that unnatural display.

She couldn’t make out who it was, but something in her gut twisted.

Finn was up there, and someone was with him. That much she was sure of.

She stayed there, pulse ticking in her ears, nerves drawn taut as wire. Long enough for the quiet to stretch thin and brittle. Long enough for the fear to settle like weight on her chest.

Then came the silence. A beat later, the sound of a car door.

She’d crept forward just enough to see Finn stepping into a parked car at the curb.

Fully dressed and composed, he appeared as if he hadn’t just conjured lightning from the sky.

She didn’t know how he’d gotten there so fast, and she didn’t want to think too hard about it.

That heat, that pull—it had rooted her to the spot.

Then, without thinking, she’d run. Not toward anything. Just away.

Away from everything she couldn’t explain.

From the impossible swirl of mist and lightning she’d seen on the rooftop—unnatural, powerful, and undeniably tied to him.

The way the lightning had forked above the building, searing the sky with eerie brilliance, had sent something screaming through her gut.

Whatever happened up there wasn’t right—she knew it.

But none of it seemed to matter when she remembered his mouth, his hands, the way his voice commanded her.

Heat flushed beneath her skin. Panic rose sharp and sudden as she realized the truth: no matter how far she’d run the first time, her heart had never truly escaped him.

Her legs had carried her halfway down the block before everything tilted sideways and the pavement caught her.

And now—now she was in his bed.

Keira flung the covers off and scrambled to her feet, heart racing.

She was still dressed, thank God, though someone had taken off her boots and put her to bed.

She scanned the room—a bedroom that screamed restrained masculine luxury.

Walnut furniture, clean lines, blackout curtains slightly ajar to let in muted morning light.

Too perfect. Too calculated. Just like him.

“Keira.”

Her head snapped toward the voice. Finn stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world.

His dark shirt clung to him in all the wrong-right ways, the top buttons undone, the fabric stretching just slightly across his chest. His tattoos were barely visible beneath the open collar.

His eyes raked over her, slow and unreadable.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone dropped me in a cage lined with thousand-thread-count sheets.”

He smiled, just a little. Bastard.

“We found you passed out on the sidewalk. We brought you back here…”

“Exactly where is ‘here?’” she asked.

“My home—a brownstone in Back Bay. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Oh, so waking up in my ex-fiancé’s bed without my boots on is the good outcome?”

“A better outcome would have been you waking up naked and sated in my arms." His voice dipped into something edged— rough silk with heat beneath. “Still, I figured I’d let you wake up with your dignity intact. This time.”

Keira could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks. She could feel his words stirring her arousal a lot more than she wanted to admit.

“Why am I here, Finn?”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, bringing that damn presence with him. It was like trying to hold your ground against a storm. She hated how her pulse reacted, hated how her stomach flipped—hated the way her traitorous body warmed at the sound of his steps.

“You’re here,” he said, calm and infuriating, “because you owe a debt. And I bought it. I could’ve let them have you—locked away, forgotten.

But I didn’t.” He took a slow step closer, voice dropping.

“You passed out in the street. I brought you here. Safe. You want the truth?” His gaze swept over her, the heat unmistakable.

“I didn’t enjoy seeing you that way—half-conscious and running on fumes.

I wanted to strip you down and take care of you, but I let you sleep.

Clothes on. Boots off. A blanket instead of my arms. You should thank me. ”

Her mouth opened. Shut. “Don't hold your breath. Wait... you what?”

“That job in Dubai? The one that went sideways? Someone compromised you. They knew it was you and where you were. They would have put you in a tiny, very dark room for the rest of your very short life. Con had placed you under my protection, so I bought you out of it. You belong to me now.”

She stared at him, blood pounding. “So what now? I’m your possession?” Her voice crackled with fury and disbelief. “You think slapping down some money means you get to own me like a damn prize horse?”

“No. But the people who held your debt didn’t see it that way. I gave them what they wanted and assured them you wouldn't be a problem in the future. You’re under my roof. My protection. My rules.”

He stepped closer. She didn’t shrink back—still seated upright in his bed, covers bunched in her fists—because she knew that’s exactly what he expected.

His eyes locked on hers, full of dark challenge and control, daring her to flinch, to yield.

The dominance rolled off him like heat, thick enough to taste.

“And if I refuse?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, lingering like a caress.

"You won't," he said, voice low and confident.

"Because your body already made the decision your pride won't admit.

You're still in my bed, sweetheart—and if you were really planning to walk, you'd already be gone.

But you're not. You're here. And whether or not you like it, you still want to know what it feels like to break under me. "

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” Her voice was sharp, but her insides curled traitorously.

She hated he might be right—that some part of her did still want what he offered, even if everything logical screamed at her to run.

The heat in his gaze was like a match struck too close to dry kindling, and she was terrified how easily she might burn.

“I know you. And I know you’re smart enough not to walk back into the mess I just pulled you out of.”

Her jaw ached from clenching. Her mind screamed at her not to engage—not to fall back into the gravity of him—but her curiosity, her need for answers, overrode logic. “What exactly do your rules entail?”

“You stay. You work. You don’t run. You check in with me. You don’t lie. And if you’re going to sass me, you’d better mean it and expect consequences for it.”

“I always mean it,” she snapped, fingers tightening in the blanket pooled around her lap.

His grin was lazy. Dangerous. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

“I want a shower. And coffee. In that order.”

He moved aside, motioned toward the door that led to the attached bath. “Right through there. Coffee will be ready when you are.”

She threw back the covers and rose, spine straightening as she moved with slow, deliberate steps.

Padding barefoot across the cool floor, she passed him, brushing his shoulder on purpose—more defiance than accident.

“This isn’t over, O’Neill,” she muttered, not bothering to look back as she disappeared down the hallway toward the bathroom.

His voice followed her, dark silk laced with steel. “No, Keira. It’s just beginning.”

She shut the bathroom door with a little more force than necessary, and leaned against it, heart hammering. The worst part wasn’t that he’d brought her here. It wasn’t even that he’d made some kind of deal to extricate her from a job gone sideways and put her in his debt.

It was that some treacherous part of her had breathed easier the second she knew it was his voice in the bedroom and not someone else's. The way her body had responded to his presence like no time had passed, like her dignity wasn’t supposed to matter.

That’s what shook her. That’s what scared her most of all.