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The second our shift ends, she tries to vanish into the break room like the moment never happened. Like kissing me, claiming me—saying it—was some kind of glitch in her system she can override with enough sarcasm and sugar.

But I don’t let her. I can’t.

I’ve never felt like I belonged to anyone, mattered to anyone. Not until her. Even with all the close calls, even with the lingering bruises and the bite mark still on my neck—reminders of the risks that come with staying close to Parker.

The way she openly took what she wanted and announced it like that… It’s fucking got me in a grip I can’t ignore. It ignites an inferno that could be caveman instincts or simply just full on lust… Fuck, it could be love too.

I never know which way is up with Parker and I don’t even care, so long as she’s willing to keep me in her orbit like this.

That’s why I decide to be insistent, to make her realize how much she and I belong together, that she doesn’t need to run away from what she feels. Not anymore.

I follow quickly, right on her heels. When she reaches for the door, I’m already there—my palm flat against the wood, blocking her escape.

She spins, breath catching. Her back hits the door. She looks so fucking tempting like that too, looking up at me, flushed and flustered, strands of silver hair escaping her still damp pony tail. I had pressed her like this in the shower too before our shift, and she had chanted my name over and over as I worshipped every inch of her delicious pale skin.

I can tell that memory is also replaying in her mind so I take a step closer, pressing in, the heat or her body seeping into mine.

She just looks up at me—pale blue eyes wide. Scared.

But not of me.

Of what she did.

But she doesn’t push me away.

“Did you mean it?” I ask. No teasing. No smirk. Just raw, quiet truth.

She flinches. “I didn’t think.”

“No shit,” I murmur, taking a step even closer. “You looked Jenna dead in the eye and kissed me like I belonged to you.”

She shoves at my chest, more panic than protest and I take a step back, not because I want to, but to give her room to think. “Because you do.”

I blink. She freezes—like her body wants to suck the words right back in. But it’s too late. Those words are out in the open and they are fucking mine now.

“I mean—not like that,” she stammers. “Not in a possession way. I just?—”

She runs a hand through her hair, pacing now. Her voice climbs with each word. I let her process what she wants to say, give her room to think it all through, and hold myself back from telling her how much it all affects me with my mouth, hands, my cock. I promised understanding and patience. But dammit it all if I’ll let her try to justify pushing me away again. Not after everything we’ve shared.

“God, Hudson, I painted a target on you. You realize that, right? With everything going on—I practically branded you.”

She crosses her arms tight, curling in on herself like she’s bracing for impact. Spiraling.

And I get it.

I get it.

Because I’ve felt it too. The weight. The knowing. The helplessness. That I can't always protect her from what waits in the dark.

But this?

Her claiming me?

That doesn’t scare me. I want her brand on me, I want her to mark me, I’ll display it proudly and even fucking brag about it. I even want to smell like her delicious citrus scent, so there’s absolutely no confusion as to who I belong to.

I step in again, one hand on her waist, the other rising to cup her jaw. “I don’t care.”

She goes still.

Her lashes flutter, lips parting. “You should,” she whispers. “You really, really should.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t.”

I brush my thumb across her cheek.

“Parker... you could tattoo my name on your forehead, and I still wouldn’t care.”

She lets out a breath—shaky, disbelieving. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” I say. “You could paint me in neon and toss me to the monsters, and I’d still stand between you and them.”

Her breath catches. I feel it. Feel her.

“Because if being yours puts a target on my back…”

I step closer.

“…then let them come.”

I let the words settle in the space between us. Let her draw her conclusions, let her feel the weight of all the honesty and truth I put into them.

“Better me than you.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Eyes glassy. Lips parted.

Then she lunges.

Faster than I can blink, she grabs me by the collar of my shirt and yanks me into her. Our mouths collide, all teeth and heat and raw fucking need. She devours me.

And god, I need her to.

I groan against her lips, my hands finding her waist, dragging her tight against me. She presses in like she wants to crawl inside me, like claiming me once wasn’t enough—like she needs to feel it.

I allow her to flip our positions and my back hits the door, knowing she needs the control. Her fingers fist in my shirt, and when she tugs it up and over my head, I don’t even try to stop her.

She wants this.

She wants me .

And it undoes me. Completely. My very essence melts into something unrecognizable, something that simply becomes hers, molding into whatever she needs.

Her hands drag down my chest, nails scratching lightly over my skin. She’s not holding back.

She’s all in.

And fuck, I’m gone.

I slide my hands under her shirt, pushing it up, up, until it’s bunched at her ribs. Her skin is burning, silky and soft and mine. She arches into my touch, breathless, hungry, completely unhinged.

We’re not thinking. We’re not careful. Not about where we are. Not about who could walk in. We don’t care .

All that matters is the friction. The heat. The need.

My fingers find the waistband of her leggings, start tugging them lower—And that’s when it happens. A sharp, ear-piercing scream rends through the air.

Jenna.

The moment shatters. Parker stiffens. My head snaps toward the hallway.

Another scream—raw, primal. Pure fucking terror.

My blood runs cold. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.

I grab Parker’s wrist, shoving her behind me without thinking. My shirt’s on the floor—I yank it over my head as I move.

Footsteps. Fast. Panicked.

I brace.

Then—

Jenna.

She comes barreling into view, pale and wide-eyed, her entire body shaking like she’s about to collapse. She skids to a stop, locks eyes with me, and gasps—choked, breathless.

“H-He’s dead.”

My stomach drops.

“What? Who?”

She swallows hard, eyes filling with horror.

“D-Donovan… he’s dead.”