Chapter 3
Raze
She was still out when I went into the office.
Seeing her there irritated me more than it should have.
She didn’t belong in my space, didn’t belong anywhere in my house—but I didn’t know enough about her yet to trust her anywhere else.
If she was going to wake up, it would be where I could see her, hear her, and end things fast if I had to.
My office was where I did my business.
Which meant, for now, so was she.
She was slumped in the chair like sleep had taken her apart and forgotten to put her back together properly.
Her head tipped forward, chin near her chest, hair falling loose around her face.
She wore jeans that had seen better days and a jacket a size too thin for the night she’d wandered into.
Civilian clothes. Cheap. Practical. Wrong for basements and guns and men like me.
Nothing about her announced that she was an asset. Which made the question itch.
I studied her the way I studied devices before detonation—looking for tells, flaws, strengths. Her breathing was uneven but steady. No tension in her shoulders. No fight coiled in her muscles, waiting. A faint crease sat between her brows, like worry had lived there a long time.
What the hell had she been doing in that warehouse?
I’d run the footage again while she slept.
Watched her get lost and then her hesitation as she pondered whether to go back or keep going.
I watched the moment that fear finally found her.
There was no training in it. No purpose.
Just a woman following a bad instinct into the worst possible place.
But it still didn’t tell me why she was there in the first place.
I leaned back against the desk and waited.
Eventually, she came back to herself slowly. She didn’t scream or thrash against her restraints. There was no sharp, panicked inhale the way most people woke when they realized they were tied down under unfamiliar ceilings.
Her eyes opened at a measured pace, fluttering.
Warm honey, catching the light as they focused on me—nothing wild or frantic about them. They moved around the room with intent, tracking corners, windows, the line of the ceiling. Cataloguing instead of begging.
Interesting.
Early morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, breaking into pale shards as it spilled across the floor. Dust drifted through the light, slow and unhurried, each particle briefly illuminated before slipping back into shadow.
A hush had crept over the house. I didn’t speak. I just watched as wakefulness found her.
She blinked once. Then twice. Her gaze found me.
“Am I dead?” she rasped.
I answered without moving. “No.”
She frowned slightly. “How can you tell?”
“You’d know.”
Her mouth twitched, like the answer amused her despite herself. “That’s… comforting. Where am I?”
Definitely not trained.
Trained people weren’t so chatty when they woke. They masked fear. They tested restraints without letting you see them think. She moved openly in the chair, tugged once at the bindings, then let out a small sigh like she’d confirmed something mildly inconvenient.
I crossed the room slowly, letting my boots sound against the floor on purpose.
She followed me with her eyes.
But instead of fear, all I got was curiosity.
That earned her another mark in the interesting column.
I stopped an arm’s length away. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her. Close enough to see the freckles scattered across her nose, the faint pulse jumping at her throat.
When her gaze lifted fully to mine, it hit like fire and ice at the same time—warm, sharp, unsettling. Not defiant. Not submissive. But present, real.
Whatever had brought her into that abandoned warehouse, it had been something messy.
And I had a feeling she was about to complicate my life in ways I didn’t have time for—and absolutely didn’t need.
Which, naturally, made me want to know everything about her.
“You’re in my house,” I bit out, as I loosened the ties at her wrists. I left the ones on her feet for good measure.
Her gaze stayed on me—open, unapologetic—dragging slowly over my face, my shoulders, the scars I didn’t bother hiding. I felt it like fingers tracing skin. Most people couldn’t hold eye contact with me for more than a second.
She didn’t even blink.
“You always knock girls out and bring them home,” she demanded, “or am I getting the deluxe package?”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “Depends how cooperative you plan to be.”
Her lips parted, then curved. “Figures.”
Still no fear. No shaking hands. No hitch in her breathing. Her pulse was steady at her throat, calm enough to be irritating. Either she was the best liar I’d ever met—or someone had sent her in dirty, untrained, and entirely disposable.
Both options annoyed me.
“Who sent you?” I challenged.
She laughed. Actually laughed—short and surprised, like the idea had caught her off guard.
I stepped closer, close enough that she had to tip her chin up to keep eye contact. “People don’t wander into abandoned basements by accident.”
“I wandered,” she spoke casually. “Not by accident.”
I watched her face carefully for any micro-movements. A flinch. A swallow. Anything. But there was nothing. I didn’t get the vibe that she was being deceptive or calculating.
“Try again.”
Her smile widened, slow and maddening, before she rolled her eyes. There it was—open defiance. It wasn’t rehearsed or clever. It was just real enough to get her killed quickly.
“You’re scary,” she said, “but you’re not very good at this.”
“At what?”
“Interrogation.” Her gaze flicked upward. “Also, you’ve got a piece of wire stuck back there.”
Before I could stop her, she reached up.
Fast. Casual. Unexpected.
Her fingers brushed my temple and plucked something free from my hair like she was fixing a loose thread.
I froze.
She held up a thin strip of copper between her fingers. “This.”
I took it from her slowly. Recognized it immediately.
“Leftover,” I revealed. “From the last place I blew up.”
Her eyes widened—not with fear, but curiosity. It flickered briefly before fading, her interest deflating as her mouth pulled into a frown.
“That’s… not reassuring.”
I leaned down until we were eye level, close enough that she could feel the threat settle in. “Neither is waking up restrained in my house. But here we are.”
She swallowed. Once. There was the crack.
“Tell me who sent you,” I rasped “or I’ll put you in a location where wire is the least of your concerns.”
Her gaze locked onto mine. Strong, defiant, and just as explosive as one of my own creations.
“You really think threatening me is going to make me helpful?”
“It usually does.”
“Well,” her voice was steady, “you should ask for a refund.”
I straightened slowly, a rough laugh dragging out of my chest before I could stop it. She was infuriating. Curious. Entirely wrong in this setting.
And standing right in the middle of it.
“You’re either very brave,” I told her, “or very stupid.”
She smiled—small, crooked, unrepentant. “I’ve been told both.”
And for reasons I didn’t like, I believed her.
I circled her once, unhurried, letting my presence close in without touching. I took her in again with colder eyes.
I couldn’t read her. Which meant she was unpredictable. And unpredictability meant danger.
“Someone put you in my path. On purpose or not, that part doesn’t matter anymore.”
Her smile faltered—not with fear, but with caution. Like she’d just realized the ground beneath her wasn’t solid after all.
“What does?” she asked.
I stopped in front of her, close enough now that the space between us felt charged. I could see the pulse jump at her throat, the slight hitch she couldn’t quite restrain.
“That you’re my prisoner, until I know why.”
The words settled between us.
Silence followed—thick, electric, but not hostile. She watched me the way I watched explosives before detonation—adrenaline rushing, aware that once this went off, there was no undoing it.
Her gaze held mine.
Then, impossibly, she tipped her head and asked, “Do I at least get breakfast?”
I stared at her. Actually stared.
Then I shook my head slowly, a short breath of disbelief escaping me. “You’re unbelievable.”
Her grin came back—quick, bright, entirely inappropriate.
And for the first time in years, something sharp and curious seized in my chest.
This girl wasn’t afraid of monsters.
Which meant she either didn’t understand them—or she was surrounded by them.