Page 50 of Shadow Waltz
“I think he'd kill anyone who tried to take you away from him,” he said quietly. “And I think he'd do it with his bare hands if he had to.”
The certainty in his voice made something twist in my chest—not fear, exactly, but recognition. And underneath that, something darker and more shameful: arousal. The thought of Luka killing for me, of being valuable enough to inspire that kind of violence, sent heat coiling low in my belly like liquid fire.
What the fuck was wrong with me that I found murder romantic?
Before I could spiral too far down that particular rabbit hole of self-analysis, the sound of gunfire echoed from somewhere in the building—distant but unmistakable, the sharp crack of automatic weapons that made my blood freeze and burn at the same time.
Troy was on his feet instantly, hand moving to the weapon concealed under his jacket, professional mask sliding back into place like armor. But not before I caught the flash of something predatory in his expression, the kind of anticipation that came from a man who was very good at his job and enjoyed doing it.
“Stay here,” he commanded, but I was already moving toward the window, drawn by the need to see what was happening in the world beyond my golden cage.
“Like hell,” I snapped, but Troy's hand on my shoulder stopped me cold.
The contact sent electricity through my nervous system that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his fingers seemed to know exactly how much pressure to apply. Not enough to hurt, but enough to communicate absolute authority in a way that made my knees weak and my pulse spike with something that definitely wasn't terror.
“The boss said to take care of you,” Troy said quietly, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something clean and masculine that made me think of soap and steel and the kind of man who could kill you with a smile. “By any means necessary. Do you understand what that means?”
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and the implications in those words made my mouth go dry. Luka hadn't just assigned me a bodyguard—he'd given Troy carte blanche to do whatever it took to keep me safe, content, compliant. Thethought should have terrified me, but instead it sent a sick thrill through my system.
“Right now, safe means away from windows and behind reinforced walls,” Troy continued, his grip on my shoulder tightening just enough to make his point clear. “But if you need other kinds of comfort during this situation, well... the boss was very specific about keeping you satisfied.”
I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the way his pupils had dilated slightly as he spoke. This wasn't just professional protection—this was something else entirely, sanctioned by the man who owned me and carried out by someone who clearly knew how to follow orders.
The gunfire continued, punctuated by shouts and the sound of shattering glass. But all I could focus on was the weight of Troy's hand on my shoulder and the way my body was responding to his proximity and the promise hidden in his words.
“How bad is it?” I asked, hating the way my voice cracked slightly on the question.
“Bad enough,” Troy replied without releasing his grip. “Looks like three different crews moving on the building simultaneously. Professional operation, probably been planning this for weeks.”
The casual way he discussed potential assassination attempts while maintaining that intimate contact made my stomach clench with fear and something that might have been excitement. This was real—not some game or fantasy, but actual violence happening because someone wanted me dead or wanted to take me away from Luka.
And I was getting off on it.
The emergency lighting turned everything the color of dried blood, and the building's lockdown system had sealed us into this suite like flies in amber. Troy paced the perimeter withmethodical care, checking locks and sight lines with the kind of paranoid thoroughness that suggested he'd done this before.
But there was something different about the way he moved now, a fluidity that spoke to someone who was completely in his element. The violence outside had awakened something in him, and I could see it in the way his muscles coiled beneath his shirt, the predatory grace that marked him as someone who'd been born for this kind of work.
The gunfire had stopped, but the silence felt more ominous than the violence—like the pause between lightning and thunder, pregnant with the promise of worse to come. Red lights cast moving shadows across the walls, making everything look like a scene from a fever dream.
“How long have you worked for him?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to ignore the way Troy's eyes tracked the movement.
“Three years,” he said, moving to sit on the edge of the marble coffee table so he could keep both the door and windows in his line of sight. The position put him close enough that our knees almost touched, close enough that I could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed. “Started as general security, worked my way up to personal protection for VIPs and special cases.”
The way he said 'special cases' made it clear that I fell into that category, though whether that was because of my value to Luka or my capacity for causing trouble remained unclear.
“Special cases like me?” I asked.
“Honey, you're in a category all your own.” The endearment should have sounded condescending, but there was something almost possessive in the way he said it, like he was already thinking of me as something that belonged to him as much as to Luka. “I've protected politicians, cartel wives, arms dealers'daughters—never seen the boss give a damn about any of them the way he does you.”
“What makes you think he gives a damn about me at all?” The question came out more vulnerable than I intended, revealing insecurities I'd been trying to keep buried under layers of anger and defiance.
Troy leaned forward, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty.
“Because three hours ago, he had me execute two buyers who were planning to make a move on this suite,” he said matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather rather than multiple homicides. “Shot them in the head personally, then had their bodies sent to the other buyers as a message.”
The revelation hit me like ice water in my veins, but underneath the shock was something else—a dark thrill at being valuable enough to kill for, important enough to inspire that kind of violence. Two people were dead because they'd wanted to take me away from Luka, and instead of being horrified, I felt a sick satisfaction curl in my chest like smoke.
“The Prince has never killed anyone over a piece of property before,” Troy continued, his eyes never leaving my face. “But you're not property, are you? You're something else entirely.”