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MITCH

T he moment the Cerberus team cleared out, Mitch felt the energy in the loft shift. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that came just after chaos—the kind that left space for thoughts he’d rather keep buried.

He stood at the window near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching the last of his team’s vehicles pull away from the curb. Below, the streetlights cast soft halos on the pavement. It looked peaceful.

It was a lie.

This loft—Andi’s loft—was damn near a gift-wrapped target. Wide open floor plan, too many glass surfaces, minimal cover. It was on the top floor with a balcony which meant someone could rappel from the rooftop and break in from the outside. The building was gorgeous, but it wasn’t built for defense. It was built for comfort, for show. For someone who didn’t think twice about danger.

His gaze flicked to the closed door to her bedroom, where she’d disappeared again, likely nursing her pride more than her wounds.

She’d taken the crash harder than she let on. He saw it in the way her fingers curled when she thought no one was watching, and in the slight tremble beneath the sarcastic remarks she liked to throw his way. She was hurting. Shaken. And she remained too stubborn to admit her fear.

He admired the hell out of that. It didn’t mean he’d let it compromise her safety.

Mitch rolled his shoulders and moved toward the sitting area where he’d dropped his bag. The soft cream-and-gold decor was… not his style. It felt like a luxury magazine cover had come to life—feminine, curated, calm. Every piece of furniture looked like it cost more than his entire wardrobe. He’d probably break one of those dainty-looking chairs just by sitting in it.

Still, he liked that it felt like her. Bold in subtle ways. Smart choices. Lush curves. Much like the woman herself.

He sat down in the high-backed armchair nearest the windows, choosing it over the too-elegant couch. He unzipped the duffel, pulled out the spare Glock he hadn’t let them see, and checked it out of habit. Fully loaded. Chambered. He placed it on the end table beside the lamp. She could get mad about that later.

The soft pad of bare feet across hardwood caught his attention. Andi entered the room wearing black leggings and an oversized T-shirt with some vintage band logo stretched across her chest. She looked both too casual and too stunning for his nerves to remain steady. Now, she had her hair pulled up in a messy knot on her head. No makeup. Eyes tired. Lips soft.

She paused when she saw the gun, then narrowed her eyes. “That supposed to make me feel safer?”

Mitch leaned back in the chair, one ankle casually resting on his knee. “You, no. Me, yes.”

She snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “I don’t suppose you believe in house rules.”

“Only the ones I make.”

She crossed her arms, hugging her middle. “And what are those?”

He let his eyes sweep her slowly, not missing the way she stiffened under the weight of his gaze. Not uncomfortable—just aware. Charged.

“You sleep in your own bed. You don’t lock your bedroom door, and you don’t go to bed until I’ve swept it and the attached bath. You unlock nothing that’s locked. You don’t leave without me knowing exactly when, where, and why. You will have an armed escort—usually me—with you at all times.”

“I don’t take orders in my home.”

“You do when someone’s trying to kill you.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The silence that followed said more than volume ever could.

Andi licked her lips, then sat on the arm of the couch—careful not to get too close.

“Have you always been like this?” she asked, voice quieter now. “Always this... in charge?”

He studied her, then gave a slow nod. “Some people break under pressure. I don’t. I take control because I’ve seen what happens when no one does.”

She tilted her head, studying him with something like curiosity. “It must be exhausting always being the immovable force.”

“Only when someone like you keeps trying to move me.”

A flicker of amusement passed over her face. But her voice, when she spoke again, was softer. “Do you ever let anyone else be in control?”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

Not in the field. Not in his life. Not in his bed, especially not in his bed.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because even now—even bruised and vulnerable and clearly reeling from everything that had just happened—Andi still looked at him like she was two steps away from pushing his buttons just to see what would happen.

And part of him wanted her to.

He stood slowly, watching her eyes follow the movement. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. But he saw the hitch in her breath. He moved closer. Just close enough to test the space between them. Not touching. Not quite.

“Go to bed, Andi.”

“I’m not tired.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Her chin lifted—defiant, but not as strong as she probably meant it to be. She wanted to push back. He saw it in every inch of her.

But what she did instead surprised him.

She stood.

Walked past him.

And without another word, disappeared into her bedroom.

He didn’t follow, but damn, did he want to. That wasn’t true. What he wanted was to strip her naked, scoop her up in his arms, lay her out on her bed and make a meal of her. Instead, he turned back toward the windows, settling in for the first of what would likely be many long nights.

He was here to protect her. That meant staying alert, staying sharp. Most of all, it meant not touching what didn’t belong to him… yet.

Once the loft was quiet and he had assured himself Cerberus had real-time eyes on the newly installed cameras, Mitch did one last perimeter sweep. He checked the windows, scanned the building across the alley for any suspicious movement, and verified HQ’s surveillance feed on his encrypted tablet. They installed three cameras to cover the exterior, two more inside the loft, and armed sensors at every possible entry point. They had reinforced the rooftop access door. Thermal imaging was online.

If someone wanted to get to her now, they’d have to go through him. And then through hell.

He returned to the living room, stripped off his jacket, and set it neatly on the arm of the chair. His Glock was already within reach. He didn’t bother with the Murphy bed in the office. Distance was a luxury they didn’t have. Instead, he stretched out on the long couch and locked his fingers behind his head. His eyes drifted shut, and that’s when the images came—not of threats, not of logistics or kill zones. But of her.

That sharp tongue. That fire in her eyes when she told him no with her chin tilted high, even when he could tell she wanted to say yes. The way she carried herself like she didn’t need a damn thing from anyone—even though someone actually watching her closely could see she was shaking.

He imagined her kneeling. Not broken, not small—just surrendered . Trusting him enough to hand over control because she wanted to, not because she had to. His breath deepened.

He imagined her in his hands. In his ropes. Bent forward over the very counter where she’d stood earlier, hurling insults through gritted teeth. She’d fight. She’d challenge him. And when she finally gave in, she’d unravel beautifully.

He didn’t want to tame her. He wanted to earn her submission, but none of that was going to happen. Not now. Not while someone out there was trying to erase her from the map.

With a sharp inhale, Mitch opened his eyes, the fantasies snapping like a taut cord. He reached for his phone, double-checked the Cerberus feed again, and let the blue glow of data refocus his mind.

Still, the scent of her lingered in the air. Jasmine, honeysuckle and heat.

He didn’t sleep—he never did on night one.

The next morning, he heard her before he saw her. She’d managed to leave her bedroom and get to the kitchen without waking him. A cabinet opened. The clink of a pan. A soft curse when something dropped. He knew guys with years of black ops experience that couldn’t do that.

Mitch stood up slowly, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders, and moved toward the kitchen. Andi stood at the stove, barefoot, her T-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin above the waistband of her leggings. She moved like she didn’t know—or didn’t care—that someone was watching.

“I hope you like Shakshuka,” she said, not turning around.

His brow furrowed and then lifted. “Tomatoes, peppers, eggs, and heat? Yeah. I like it.”

“You don’t strike me as a man who eats anything he can’t grill or shoot.”

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and for once, there was no sarcasm in her expression. Just a quiet, lingering look he felt low in his spine. She finished cooking, plated the food and brought him a dish, placing it in front of him on the island like she wasn’t sure why she was doing it. He accepted it without a word.

The silence between them stretched for a few minutes as they ate. Comfortable. Strange.

Then, naturally, she ruined it. “So,” she said, dabbing her lip with a napkin, “what’s it going to take to negotiate a few minor adjustments to my prison sentence?”

Mitch didn’t look up. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Everything’s a negotiation.”

He set his fork down. “You want out of the loft today?”

“Yes.”

“Then you follow my terms.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Define terms.”

“We clear every location in advance. You don’t step outside without me or another Cerberus asset. You don’t argue in public. If I say it’s time to go, we go.”

“You left out the part where I have to ask permission to use the bathroom.”

His eyes cut to her sharply, but she was already smiling around her coffee.

“You want to be difficult,” he said evenly, “that’s your choice. But don’t mistake tolerance for weakness. I’m not one of your interns, Donato. I’m here to keep you alive. I’m not here to ask nicely while you risk your neck for the sake of image.”

She blinked, the smile fading. Then, quietly, she said, “You really don’t intimidate easily, do you?”

“No,” he replied. “But I do have a limit.”

She stared at him for a second longer than necessary. And he knew that underneath the sass and bite and layered defenses was a woman well worth having… he shouldn’t, but liked it and her.

The loft buzzed back to life when Maya arrived just after eight, laptop bag slung over her shoulder and coffee in hand. She barely waved at Mitch before she dropped into the open desk space at the far end of the room. Andi joined her there, leaning back in the leather office chair and booting up her tablet.

Mitch kept his distance, leaning against the pillar near the windows, arms crossed, eyes scanning. He didn’t have to be in the middle of the conversation to keep control. He just had to listen.

Maya pulled out a printout. “Here’s the rundown for today. We’ve got a meeting at the campaign office at ten, a luncheon speech for the downtown business coalition at noon, and a donor fundraiser at the Lakeview Club at six.”

“Locations?” Mitch asked without missing a beat.

Maya handed him a copy of the schedule. “Addresses, venue security contacts, estimated crowd size, all marked. I worked with Cerberus operations on it.”

Mitch nodded once, already planning the day in his head. “I’ll arrange transport. We’ll go tinted, armored, secondary route.”

“Cerberus has a vehicle?” Andi asked, glancing over at her tablet.

Mitch met her gaze. “I do.”

“You drive me now?”

“I drive you everywhere.”

Andi rolled her eyes but said nothing more.

Maya packed up her bag, clearly catching the shift in Andi’s posture. “I’ve got calls to make. I’m going to go out on the balcony to make them until you’re ready to leave.”

When she left the two of them alone again, the quiet wasn’t quite as comfortable.

Andi turned to him. “Do you do this with everyone?”

“What’s that?”

“Invade their space. Take over their life. Stare like you’re always five seconds away from giving orders they don’t want to follow.”

“Yes.”

“Do they always follow them?”

Mitch gave her the smallest hint of a grin—tight, restrained. “Eventually.”

The vehicle Cerberus issued him was exactly what the situation called for—black, armored, unmarked. No vanity plates. No flash. It looked like a delivery SUV with government secrets buried under the floorboards.

Mitch opened the passenger side door and waited. Andi stopped at the top of the short set of stairs outside her loft building, squinting into the sunlight, a file folder tucked under one arm and her phone in the other.

“You know, this ride doesn’t exactly scream campaign glamour,” she said.

“It’s not supposed to.” He motioned to the open door. “Inside. Now.”

She didn’t argue and that unsettled him more than if she had.

She climbed in with practiced grace, settling into the passenger seat with a soft sigh, the hem of her cream pencil skirt brushing just above her knees. It didn’t escape his notice—or his restraint. He shut the door and circled around, scanning the street one more time before sliding in behind the wheel.

Maya and a junior staffer followed in the campaign SUV two car lengths behind, per Cerberus protocol.

As Mitch pulled out into traffic, his voice was steady. “We cleared today’s route twice. No press knows you’re en route. Windows stay closed. If we’re stopped for any reason, you let me speak. Understood?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “You say that like I’ve ever let anyone speak for me.”

“I’m not just anyone.”

“Don’t I know it.”

He caught the edge in her voice—and something else beneath it. Awareness. That same damn spark from last night, alive and humming beneath the surface.

They didn’t speak again until they arrived at her campaign headquarters. The Cerberus field team had already swept the small office building that served as the heart of her operation. Nothing fancy—just exposed brick, worn floors, and a whole lot of people who believed in her enough to work long hours for little to no pay.

Mitch parked in the alley, in the shadow of a loading dock. He checked the building’s rear exit, then opened her door from the outside.

“Don’t wander,” he said as she stepped down.

She didn’t even pretend to hide her sarcasm. “God forbid I get near a vending machine without your tactical blessing.”

Mitch followed her in, his steps silent, his presence looming.

People noticed. Campaign staffers froze mid-task, half-smiles flickering across their faces as they took in the man in black, following their candidate like a second shadow. Mitch ignored them. He swept the room visually, noted the unsecured windows, the single, unguarded entrance, the total lack of any meaningful perimeter protection.

Someone coughed. Another whispered, “Is that him?”

Andi kept walking like she didn’t hear them.

“You’re drawing attention,” she muttered under her breath as they moved toward her office.

“So are you,” he replied, “from the wrong people.”

“Paranoia doesn’t make you right, Langdon.”

“No,” he said. “But keeping you alive does.”

She gave him one of those sideways glances again—sharp, assessing.

“Do you always talk in survival slogans, or is that just for the people who annoy you?”

“I don’t find you annoying... yet.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Not yet.”

They reached her office—bare walls, a messy desk, a whiteboard covered in campaign timelines and red circles where polling dipped dangerously close to Wexler’s name.

As she sat behind her desk and started fielding questions from Maya and her team, Mitch posted himself near the door. Quiet. Watchful. The shadow no one wanted to notice but couldn’t ignore.

He watched the way Andi worked—how she refocused after the crash, the threats, the debate ambush. She spoke clearly, handled pushback with ease, took notes and handed out action items like a general directing a war campaign, and in a way, she was.

But when a staffer handed her a water bottle, and she flinched slightly while twisting the cap—favoring her left side—Mitch stepped forward.

She froze mid-motion. He took the bottle, opened it with one smooth twist, and set it back in front of her.

Andi blinked. “Thanks,” she murmured. Barely audible.

He returned to the wall. No comment. No acknowledgment. Just control, restored.

The luncheon came next—a downtown event hosted in a glossy, high-rise club by a boardroom full of business elites in tailored suits and expensive watches.

Mitch stepped into the room first, eyes scanning every guest, every server, every angle of approach. There were no windows—good. Only two doors—better. He located the fastest route to extraction and noted the waitstaff uniforms: gray vest, white shirt, black pants. One bartender. Four servers.

When Andi entered, the room shifted. She’d changed into a dark green sheath dress that brought out the color of her eyes, heels that clicked confidently across the floor, and a smile that could sell legislation to a room full of cynics. The crowd leaned in. The press snapped photos.

Mitch stayed at the perimeter, arms crossed, watching it all.

When Andi took the mic and spoke about tax breaks for small businesses and sustainable development incentives, she didn’t just hold the room—she owned it. But every few minutes, her eyes drifted to where he stood—steady and silent—and then back to the crowd. Like she needed the confirmation.

She wasn’t alone.

Back in the SUV, she didn’t speak until they were several blocks away.

“You stared at me through that entire luncheon.”

“I stared at everyone . ”

“It felt personal.” He didn’t answer. She shifted in her seat. “You know, if you wanted to watch me like that in private, you could just ask.”

He looked at her then. Slowly. Deliberately.

“If I ever watch you in private, it won’t be because I asked.”

Her breath hitched, and for the first time since he’d walked into her life, she had nothing to say.