Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

23. Lula

23

LULA

I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching Kanyan stride across the courtyard. His shoulders are taut, tension radiating off him as he moves further away from me. Every step he takes feels like one more mile of distance between us.

His men stand waiting for him, their postures stiff, their faces grim. Mason and Jayson are there, as always, flanking him like sentinels. They’re his shield, his sword, his brothers in every way that matters. I’ve seen the way they move with him, their loyalty unshakable. For that, I’m grateful. But even their presence can’t fully ease the gnawing worry clawing at my chest.

Kanyan’s been shot, beaten, and burdened with more chaos than one person should ever have to endure. And now, another betrayal. Another traitor in his midst. How does he do it? How does he keep going when it seems like the whole world is set on breaking him?

I shift my gaze back to him. He’s speaking now, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the evening air. Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of his words. He’s laying down the law, making it clear that there’s no room for treachery in his camp. The men nod, their expressions solemn, but I wonder how many of them are truly loyal and how many are just biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The thought makes my stomach churn. Trust is such a fragile thing, and in Kanyan’s world, it’s practically nonexistent. How does he bear it? Always looking over his shoulder, always questioning, always preparing for the next attack. It’s no way to live. And yet, he does it. To protect what’s his. To protect me.

The weight of that realization settles heavily on my shoulders. I don’t know how entrenched Derin is with his cousin—the man who seems determined to destroy Kanyan and claim me like I’m some sort of prize. But I know this: if Derin ever got his hands on me, there’d be no salvation. He’s vile, despicable, the stuff of nightmares. And yet, I can’t condone Kanyan’s methods. Not fully. Not without feeling a pang of guilt twist in my chest.

Kanyan’s trying. He’s fighting battles on all fronts, and he’s doing it with blood-stained hands and a heart that’s far too good for the world he’s trapped in. I’ve seen that heart, even if no one else has. I’ve felt its warmth, its fierce determination to protect what’s his. And yet, every time he pulls that trigger, every time he steps deeper into the darkness, I can’t help but wonder how much of himself he’s losing. How much is already gone.

My reflection in the glass catches my eye. I look pale, fragile, like a ghost haunting this house. I hate it. I hate feeling helpless while he fights my battles, while he bleeds for my safety. But what can I do? Stand in his way? Tell him to stop? What right do I have to do that when he’s the only reason I’m still breathing?

My hand presses against the glass, as if I can reach through it and touch him, stop him from going down this path. But he doesn’t look back. Right now, he’s focused. Determined. Unyielding. It’s one of the things I admire about him, even if it scares me.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. The memory of his arms around me flashes in my mind, and for a moment, I feel safe again. Kanyan’s arms may be soaked in blood, but they’ve saved me more times than I can count. And that’s saying something.

When I open my eyes, he’s walking back toward the house, his face a mask of determination. I step away from the window, my heart pounding. I know I can’t change him. I know I can’t stop him from doing what he thinks is necessary. But I can’t stomach the thought of him sacrificing pieces of himself for me, for someone else’s selfish actions.

I meet him at the door, my hands trembling slightly as I reach out to touch his arm. He looks down at me, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

I nod, but the words catch in my throat. How can I tell him that I’m not okay? That the thought of losing him to this endless war terrifies me more than anything? Instead, I just tighten my grip on his arm, hoping he understands what I can’t put into words.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “It’s going to be okay, Lula,” he murmurs, and I want to believe him. I want to trust that he can handle everything without losing himself in the process.

But as he steps past me, heading deeper into the house, I’m left standing there, staring after him, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on me. And I can’t shake the feeling that, no matter how hard he tries, this life will take more from him than he’s willing to give.

Because I see his beauty. I see his heart. Even if no-one else does.

I’m sitting on the bed, my legs tucked beneath me, when the bathroom door creaks open. Steam rolls out in lazy swirls, and then he steps through it, a towel slung low around his hips. He doesn’t notice me at first. His head is bowed as he scrubs another towel over his dark hair, droplets of water clinging to his skin like tiny jewels. My breath catches, and I don’t bother to hide the way my eyes trace over him.

The way his muscles shift under his skin is mesmerizing, each movement fluid, powerful. He’s too big for the space, his presence filling every corner of the room, making it feel smaller somehow. Larger than life. Larger than anything I’ve ever known.

My gaze lingers on the tattoo curling up his right side, spilling onto his chest and back. A bird, its wings spread wide, like it’s ready to take flight. I’ve never had the chance to study it before, not like this, not when he’s completely unguarded. It’s beautiful, intricate, and I can’t help but wonder what it means to him. What stories it hides. His body is a canvas, all muscle and strength, without a single flaw. And somehow, this man chose me.

“You’re staring,” he says, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His head tilts just slightly, and I realize he’s caught me. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile that makes my cheeks burn.

“Am not,” I mumble, though it’s a weak defense, especially when my eyes betray me, flicking back to his chest again.

He steps closer, dropping the towel from his hair onto the chair. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, teasing, “if you wanted a better look, all you had to do was ask.”

“Are we okay?” I ask him, the words coming out softer than I intend. My pulse quickens as he moves closer still, until he’s standing right in front of me.

“We’ll always be okay,” he says, leaning down so we’re eye level. “As long as you don’t question the things I do.” There’s a heated spark in his eyes that sends a thrill down my spine.

“I don’t even know that much about you.” I tilt my chin up, trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

“You know enough,” he says, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch is so gentle, so unexpected, that it leaves me breathless.

I’m acutely aware of every inch of him, the warmth radiating from his skin, the faint scent of his soap mixed with the clean sharpness of him. He’s so close now, his knee brushing against mine as he leans in just enough to leave me wondering what he’ll do next.

“You’re impossible,” I whisper.

“And yet, you’re still sitting here,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Still staring.”

I don’t have a response for that. My brain goes fuzzy, distracted by the way his hand slides down, tracing a line along my jaw. He pauses, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip, and I feel the air between us charge, thick and heavy.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I lean forward, closing the distance between us. His lips meet mine, soft at first, testing, but it doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. His hand slips to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel the world around us fall away. It’s just him and me, tangled in this moment, his touch igniting something deep within me that I never ever want to let go of.