Securing Her Secrets (Secure & Sacred #2)

Chapter 1 Miller

MILLER

I’m a man of logic, data, and cold, hard facts. Or at least, I was.

For the last few weeks, the only thing that mattered was the four-name hit list we pulled from a Syndicate assassin's phone. The first name on that list, Annika, is secured by Kai, and now every man at Aegis Security is focused on finding the second target.

Ten minutes ago, I pulled up the file for the second name, Rya, and the world as I knew it shifted on its axis.

Rya. Even her name feels like a caress against my mind. What does that even mean? Why did I just think that? She’s already messing with my hardwiring without even knowing I exist. Who has that kind of magic?

I’m staring at my monitor, my fingers frozen over the mechanical keyboard that usually clicks with the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I’ve bypassed her security in seconds. Her security set-up isn’t bad, in fact, she’s actually quite brilliant.

But I’m better. It’s not bragging, it’s just a fact.

I’m the best tech-hunter Aegis Security has, and right now, I’m using every ounce of that skill to invade Rya’s privacy.

I shouldn’t be looking through her webcam.

It’s a breach of protocol. It’s borderline stalker behavior.

Ask me if I give one single fuck. The moment her image flickered onto my screen, I was done for.

I think I grew a heart for the sole purpose of giving it to this siren of a woman.

I still can’t comprehend how or what or where this obsession came from, but it’s spreading through my veins at an alarming rate.

She’s sitting in what looks like a library brea kroom, hunched over a laptop.

Rya is wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that should look nerdy, but on her, they’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

They frame her wide, soulful brown eyes that look like they’ve seen too much solitude.

I don’t know how I know that, only that I feel her loneliness through the screen.

It echoes the emptiness in my soul I’ve been trying to ignore for the last decade.

And then there are her curves.

My breath hitches, my chest tightening painfully.

Rya is damn near a foot shorter than me, lush, and soft.

Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, but a few stray curls frame a face with plump, rosy cheeks I want to bite.

She’s wearing a cardigan that’s strained against her chest, and every time she shifts, my pulse spikes.

She’s perfect. She’s mine. I haven’t even met her, and I already know I’d burn the world down to keep her safe.

Movement on my secondary monitor pulls my attention away from her beautiful face.

My blood turns to ice. The Shadow Syndicate is already there, trying to dismantle her security the way I just did.

They’re digital ghosts, but I see their fingerprints.

They’re trying to wipe her servers, trying to erase her existence before they move in for the physical kill.

"Not on my watch," I growl, my voice a low, guttural sound that vibrates in the empty room.

The thought of any of those fuckers putting their filthy hands on my woman…

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

If Rya is this potent through a computer screen, how am I ever going to survive being in her physical presence?

I grab my headset and patch into the main Aegis channel. Easton, Atlas, and the rest of the team are likely still debriefing from the last mission with Kai, but I don't give a damn about protocol right now.

"Easton, I've got the second target," I state, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Rya. The Syndicate is already knocking on her digital back door. I’m pulling myself off active rotation at the office."

"Miller? What are you talking about?" Easton’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge of confusion.

"I’m assigning myself to her protection. Twenty-four-seven. Effective immediately," I snap. Atlas walks into the camera frame of the office feed, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You're going rogue for a librarian, Miller?" Atlas teases.

I lean into my mic, my eyes fixed on Rya’s image. "She's not just a librarian. She’s mine. If anyone else touches her, Syndicate or Aegis, they answer to me. Am I clear?"

The silence on the other end is deafening.

They know that look in my eyes. They know I’ve moved past professional interest and into the realm of obsessive claim.

Easton sighs. "Another one bites the dust,” he grumbles, likely referring to Kai falling for his target, Annika.

“Fine. Do what you have to do, Miller. Keep her alive. "

I disconnect before he can say another word.

I don't need permission, but I appreciate the lack of interference.

I glance back at Rya. She looks tired, rubbing her eyes behind those glasses.

I get the sudden urge to rub the tension from her neck and shoulders.

Looking down at my rough, scarred hands, I wonder if they are capable of such tender things.

These hands have more blood on them than I care to remember, but for Rya? I can learn to be gentle.

My woman stifles a yawn, her nose scrunching up and somehow making her more adorable. Can’t say I’ve ever used that word before, but it fits. Rya has no idea she's on a hit list. She has no idea that a monster is coming to save her.

I stand up, my massive frame casting a long, imposing shadow over my desk. My house is a fortress of reinforced steel and encrypted sensors. A literal bunker buried in the middle of what passes for civilization.

For years, I told myself this isolation was a choice, a strategic necessity. I curated this silence, convinced that by cutting off every unnecessary human connection, I was keeping myself untouchable, sharpening my blade until it was lethal enough to handle any threat that came knocking.

But staring at these cold, grey walls tonight, the lie finally loses its edge. For years, I thought I was protecting myself, sealing out the rot of the world to remain pristine and prepared. Now, I see the truth: I haven’t been guarding a fortress; I’ve been maintaining a cage.

My routine, the daily check of the perimeter, the endless calibration of the security grid, the calculated, lonely meals…

It wasn't strength. It was atrophy. I was waiting for a war that never came, wasting my life in a vacuum of my own design.

I had become a prisoner of my own paranoia, forgetting that a weapon that is never drawn isn't a protector—it’s just a paperweight.

Then came Rya.

Seeing her on my screen, even through the sterile, grainy interface of a webcam, breaks the walls down more effectively than any breach charge.

She isn't just a target or a liability; she’s the only crack in this hardened exterior, a spark of life that makes the suffocating quiet of this place finally feel like the prison it truly is.

She’s the proof that I’ve been dead, just biding my time in the dark, and suddenly, the mission isn't just about survival anymore. It’s about tearing down these walls so I can finally walk out, and bring her into the light with me.

I move with practiced efficiency, grabbing my go-bag.

I don’t just pack a change of clothes, I pack for a several week trip, tossing all the clean laundry I can find into a duffel bag.

My tactical gear comes next. It’s lightweight, black, and designed to disappear in the shadows.

I’m a brute, all rippling muscle and height, and the gear is designed to make me lethal.

That includes my primary sidearm, a customized SIG Sauer.

My eyes flash to the monitor, where I have Rya’s webcam feed hooked up.

I can’t keep my eyes off of her for a second, apparently.

She shifts on her stool, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses.

The action is so mundane, yet my chest tightens with savage possession.

I pause my packing, just staring at the gentle sway of her body under that worn cardigan.

Mine. Every soft curve is a challenge, a secret I intend to unlock. My fingertips trace the line of her strawberry blonde hair on the screen, though I wish I could run my hands through the silky strands for real.

My vision tunnels. The edges of the screen blur, leaving only the soft focus of her face, those plush cheeks. The blood in my veins doesn’t feel like blood anymore; it’s a molten, driving force rushing through me, making my heart race like a trapped animal.

The sheer physical need to have her in my sight is overwhelming, but it’s the horror that truly consumes me.

I see the Syndicate’s hands on her, rough, uninvited, hurting her.

A cold sweat breaks out on my skin. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fists, imagining splintering bones, snapping necks, and tearing through flesh to get to anyone who dares put a mark on my Rya.

The snarl rips through my throat before I can catch it, a sound of pure, feral malice.

No. I turn the brutal, possessive intensity away from my rebellious imagination and channel it into action.

That twisted fantasy is a distraction, a weakness.

I need to be a wall, not a beast. Not yet.

The only way to stop those scenarios is to neutralize the threat. Now.

Shaking my head, I attempt to refocus on the task at hand.

Control, Miller. The last thing on the packing list is the surveillance equipment: micro-cams, signal scramblers, and directional mics.

Everything I need to turn Rya’s world into my unbreakable observation post. I’m a tech-hunter, and I’m bringing my entire arsenal to protect her secrets and claim her soul.

I sling the heavy bag onto my shoulder. It feels right, the weight of the mission grounding me, even as my mind spirals with images of her round, rosy cheeks.

Passing by the mirror, I stop and stare at my reflection. I look like a killer. Too big, too scarred, too intense. My chocolate brown hair is a little messy, making me look like a wild animal. Blue eyes stare back at me, guarded and determined. Will I scare her?

The thought makes my jaw clench. It doesn't matter. She can be as scared as long as she's safe. I'll earn her trust later. For now, I just need to get her somewhere safe.

I take one last look at the monitor, unable to go more than a few seconds without having her in my sight. Rya is finally packing her books and journals into her bag, and I know the laptop will be next, cutting me off from my watchful, possessive gaze.

Her movements are slow and solitary, and my heart aches for her. She thinks she's alone in this world. She’s wrong. I can’t stop picturing her in my space. I imagine Rya on my couch, wearing one of my shirts while I rub her feet and she tells me every single detail about her day.

Reel it in, buddy, I chastise myself. I haven't even officially met her. She doesn’t know I exist. But she will. Soon. "Hold on, baby girl," I whisper, grabbing my keys. "I'm coming for you."