CHAPTER 3 #3
Alessia immediately drops into a defensive stance.
Her feet slide shoulder-width apart, her knees bend slightly, and her hands come up to chest level, open-palmed and ready to strike.
It’s textbook CQC. I almost want to laugh at how predictable she is.
My floorboards don't even creak under my weight, a testament to my own controlled movement.
"Nice stance," I mock her, taking another step. "Does it work on men who don't care about the law?"
She shifts her weight, her eyes tracking my shoulders.
"Don't bother," I tell her, my voice turning hard. "You're not going to win a physical fight with me. I've been waiting for this part."
I take another step, then another, systematically eating up the distance she tried so desperately to create.
I’m a wall of dark fabric and cold intent, looming over her.
The air between us vibrates with a new kind of tension.
It’s not just tactical anymore. It’s primal.
It’s violent. Alessia backs up until her heels hit the edge of the plush area rug. She has nowhere left to retreat.
"Nowhere left to go, Agent," I say, my voice dropping an octave. "The room is getting smaller, isn't it?"
She swallows hard.
"I can hear your heart from here."
I stop mere inches from her. My presence is suffocating. The heat radiating off my body clashes with the cold sweat on hers. I lean in, dipping my head until I’m right in her space, and I whisper her real name.
"Alessia."
I let the syllables linger in the air, tasting the word.
I watch the tiny pulse point in her neck jump frantically as I say it. "Alessia. It’s a strong name. Far better than Claire."
She glares up at me, refusing to flinch.
"You’re burned, Alessia," I tell her coldly. "You don't exist anymore. Your handler deleted your file ten minutes ago. You are officially a nobody."
I tower over her. My 6'3" frame casts a long, heavy shadow across her face under the harsh lights. I use my size to visually and physically pin her, my broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. She’s small compared to me, but she doesn't look away.
Her jaw is set so hard I can see the muscle jumping violently in her cheek.
I place one hand flat on the wall right behind her head.
I don't touch her, but I cage her completely.
"You're very small when you're not hiding behind a badge," I murmur. "Look at me. Look at the man who owns you now. You're not going anywhere."
My gaze drops from her furious dark eyes to her lips.
They are slightly parted as she struggles to keep her breathing steady.
I see a small, purple bruise on her lower lip from her earlier struggle in the lobby.
I feel the three-year-old hunger finally surfacing, no longer tempered by the need for her to remain a useful, clueless accountant.
I want to mark her. I want to taste the rage and the adrenaline literally sweating out of her pores.
The scent of her skin—a mix of sterile soap, pure stress, and the faint, metallic smell of gunpowder—hits my lungs and sets my blood on fire.
"I've spent three years wondering what you'd taste like when you're angry," I tell her, my voice rough. "You're not Claire anymore. I don't have to be careful with you. You smell like fear and gunpowder."
She bares her teeth slightly, a silent, feral warning.
I lean down further, my lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. I want to fuel her rage until she completely loses her mind.
"Five million, Alessia," I whisper directly into her ear. "That’s less than the commission on my last shipment. He sold you for the price of a mid-sized yacht."
She shudders, her hands clenching into fists between us.
"Is that what your loyalty was worth? Decades of service, all for pocket change."
I pull back just enough to look her dead in the eye. I brush a stray lock of dark auburn hair away from her face. It’s a deeply possessive gesture, and she recoils from my touch like I burned her.
"Two choices, Alessia," I state with absolute finality. "That's all you get. You can be a martyr for a Bureau that already forgot you, or you can survive with me."
Her eyes are wide, unblinking.
"Learn to submit, or learn to die."
My eyes flick down to her waistband one last time, where the .380 is still tucked uselessly against her spine. I let out a short, dry laugh that doesn't reach my eyes. I give her a mocking, pitying look.
"That gun is just a toy as long as you're afraid to use it," I tell her, attacking the very core of her identity. "Your badge is a leash, and I’m the one holding it. You're weak because you think you're good."
I see it. I watch the exact, precise microsecond her restraint shatters.
Her eyes flash with a wild, completely unhinged light.
Her weight shifts violently, her hips pivoting as her hand finally darts behind her back for the weapon.
I shift my feet slightly, my own muscles coiling tight, bracing to intercept her strike.
"Finally," I say, my voice a dark growl. "Show me, Alessia. Let the agent out."
She rips the gun free. I step into her guard. The safety of the rules is dead, and the reality of the violence is here.