Chapter 4
4
NICK
M onte Carlo, Monaco
Cherise. Recognition slams into me harder than any bullet ever has. The moment she crashes into me, I react on instinct.
She’s not exactly the way I remember—of course she isn’t. Time’s carved lines into both of us, and we’ve earned every single one. But it’s her. God, it’s her. But the eyes are wrong—she had green eyes and now they’re blue—colored contacts, maybe? But the mouth is the same with its full lips that used to ruin me with a single smile. Her body’s leaner now, more honed. There’s strength there—coiled muscle beneath worn fabric. She’s no stranger to survival anymore.
But it’s the scent that unravels me. Vanilla and something warm, earthy, uniquely hers. A scent I thought I’d buried with the man I used to be. It crashes into me like memory and grief and hunger all at once.
She stiffens in my arms, then goes completely still. Limp.
Too still.
She’s unconscious or close to it, and every part of me snaps to high alert. But under that, tangled beneath the instinct, is something darker.
How did it come to this? How did she end up here, mired in a world of shadow and violence?
I died for her or tried to. I let the world think I was gone to keep her safe from the life I was forced to choose, from the enemies I made. And yet here she is, wrapped in the danger I swore she’d never know.
Did she choose this, or was it thrust upon her? How did the woman I would’ve burned the world down to protect end up back in the fire?
Now’s not the time to ask. Not the time to stare. Not the time to bleed for the choices I made.
The train station is too exposed. Too many people. Too many goddamn eyes. If Hector’s men are watching, they could be closing in. I don’t hesitate. Bending, I lift her, securing her against my chest, and move through the station with controlled precision. The crowd barely registers her unconscious state—this is Monte Carlo, after all, where excess and bad decisions are as common as the sea breeze.
My SUV sits parked outside in a secure lot. I lay her across the back seat, checking the locks before pulling onto the road. She stirs, a soft murmur leaving her lips, but she doesn’t wake. Good. She needs the rest, and I need to get her to safety before she starts asking the questions I don’t want to answer.
Cerberus headquarters sits above Opus Noir, a front that serves both as a profitable venture and a perfect cover. The club’s security is second to none, and no one gets inside without clearance. When I pull into the private underground garage, Logan Radcliffe is already waiting.
"Jesus, Ryeland, you were supposed to escort her, not kidnap her," Logan quips, arms crossed as he eyes Cherise in my arms.
"Shut up and open the damn door," I bite out.
Logan grins but swipes his keycard, leading me to the elevator. The ride up is silent, save for the steady hum of the machinery. By the time we reach the floor where the Cerberus’ offices are, Cherise is stirring, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at me, dazed.
I push open the heavy oak door to one of our privacy suites and carry her inside. The room is opulent, the deep crimson walls warmed by the golden glow of chandeliers. Plush leather furniture fills the space, along with a four-poster bed draped in dark silk. And in the corner—a St. Andrew’s cross, an elegant display of polished mahogany and steel.
I set her down gently, but the second I step back, her eyes snap open, and she bolts upright.
Her gaze locks onto mine.
For a beat, silence stretches between us, thick, unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts. Then, before I can move, she launches herself at me.
I don’t stop her.
Her palm cracks against my cheek, the force of the slap sharp and precise. My head barely moves, but the sting burns.
"How dare you," she hisses, her breathing ragged.
I don’t flinch. I don’t speak. I let her fury wash over me.
"I stood at your grave," she seethes. "I grieved for you, Nick. I shattered for you. And the whole time, you were alive?"
Her voice breaks on the last word, and something inside me twists.
"I didn’t have a choice."
She lets out a broken laugh, shaking her head. "The hell you didn’t! You let me think you were dead!"
I take a step forward. She backs up, but I don’t let her escape.
"You weren’t supposed to grieve for me forever," I say, my voice low, rough. "You were supposed to move on."
Her eyes glisten, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. "Move on? You were my everything, Nick. And you let me mourn you like a fool."
She fists her hands at her sides, as if fighting the urge to hit me again. I almost wish she would. I’d rather take her anger than the raw, aching hurt I see in her eyes.
"You were better off thinking I was gone," I tell her.
She scoffs. "Better off?" She gestures wildly. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? How it destroyed me?"
I do. I fucking do.
Because I spent every night picturing the way she must have crumbled when they told her. I imagined the way she cried, the way she curled up in bed, alone, thinking I was never coming back. Until today, I wasn’t.
She takes a step forward, her face inches from mine. "Tell me," she demands, her voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "Look me in the eye and tell me why."
I don’t lie to her.
"They weren’t finished with me," I say. "The men who took me, who killed my team—they were still out there. Fitzwallace and Cerberus took me in, gave me the chance to take them down. I stayed dead because it was the only way to keep you safe."
Her expression flickers, like she wants to believe me but can’t.
"So, what now?" she whispers. "You come back after years, expecting me to just… what? Forgive you?"
"No," I say. "I expect nothing. Remember, you came to us, not the other way around."
That stops her for a moment as she searches my face, her own unreadable. Then, before I can stop myself, I reach for her.
She doesn’t move as I cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. Her lips part, just slightly, and I feel the way her breath hitches.
I lean in, close enough that I can taste the warmth of her skin, close enough that if I wanted to, I could claim her right now. For a moment, I think she’s going to let me.
But then—she brings her knee up and sends my balls back into my body cavity. I hiss and take a knee, one hand cupping my balls.
"No," she says, her voice trembling. "No way do you get to kiss me like nothing ever happened."
I exhale slowly; my control razor thin. "Cherise...”
"No," she snaps, turning her back on me. "I need space."
I don’t argue. I’ll back off.
For now.
Cherise is still angry. I’m the one who may never father children and she’s staring at me like she wants to set me on fire.
I let her. I take the fury in her gaze, the way her breath shudders with barely contained rage. I deserve it. Every ounce of it.
"Say something," she demands, her voice raw. "Tell me why, Nick. Why did you let me believe you were dead?"
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. "Because if I hadn’t, you would be."
She flinches, but she doesn’t back down. "That’s a load of bullshit."
I step closer. She stiffens, but I don’t stop. I make her tilt her chin to meet my eyes. "The men who took me were Somali pirates, and not just some random warlords. They were connected—mercenaries, arms dealers, ghosts who don’t leave loose ends.”
I shake my head before I continue. “When Cerberus pulled me out, they weren’t finished. Some of them scattered, some burrowed deeper, but they weren’t gone. If they had known what you meant to me, they would have come for you. At best, you would have been leverage, but more likely collateral damage. You would have been killed by them, and it wouldn’t have been a painless death.”
Her eyes widen slightly. She wants to argue. I can see it in the way she presses her lips together, the way her body vibrates with the need to push back. But she doesn’t, not yet.
"That’s the real reason I stayed dead," I continue. "Not because I didn’t love you. Not because I wanted to disappear. But because if I had let you know I was alive, if I had let you in, you would have been at risk, and I wasn’t willing to take that chance."
She shakes her head, laughing without humor. "How very noble of you—not to mention convenient. You really expect me to believe that you did this for me?"
"It wasn’t just about you," I admit, my voice low. "I wanted vengeance. The men who tortured me, who slaughtered my team—I needed to make them pay, and if I had let you know I was alive, I wouldn’t have stopped hunting. I would have hesitated, but I wouldn’t have stopped, and that would have meant leaving you alone and unprotected."
She glares at me, her body vibrating with restrained emotion. "So what, you thought I’d just move on? That I’d find a nice guy and live my life in blissful ignorance?"
I say nothing.
She laughs again, sharp and bitter. "Well, congratulations, Nick. You got what you wanted, at least partially. I moved on—right into a marriage with a man who turned out to be a monster."
My blood turns to ice.
"What?" My voice is low, lethal.
She steps back, her hand going to the small leather bag at her hip. "Hector. My ex-husband." She spits the word like venom. "At first, I thought he was just the bureaucrat he pretended to be. But little by little he tried to destroy me. I was nothing more than a prop for him in social situations and somebody he could fuck whenever he liked. Over the years, I started noticing things. Inconsistencies. Conversations that didn’t add up. And then I found this."
She pulls out a small flash drive and holds it up between two fingers.
I don’t move, don’t breathe. "What’s on it?"
Her gaze hardens. "Proof. That Hector and a man named René Vallois are in business together. That certain people within Interpol aren’t just investigating Vallois, they are working with him. Or at least, Hector is."
A slow, dark fury unfurls inside me. Vallois. The man is a goddamn cancer, infecting everything he touches. And Hector—this bastard, this piece of shit—had his hands on Cherise and in Vallois’ dealings the entire time?
I reach for the flash drive, but she tries to yank it back. I’m faster. I take it from her, wrapping my fist around it.
"Give that back,” she demands.
“No.”
“I want to know what happens next."
I stare at her, seeing more than just the woman I once loved. She’s changed. She’s harder, sharper. There’s no trace of the innocent, soft-hearted woman who used to melt under my touch, and I realize I’m responsible for that. My decisions, though they were right, had started a chain of events that had destroyed that innocence.
I start to say something—something raw, something real—but I think better of it. Instead, I let out a slow breath and nod.
"You’re safe here," I say finally. "I’ll see that this gets to Fitzwallace. We’ll decide the best way to proceed. But for now, you don’t go anywhere. You don’t contact anyone. Hector is looking for you, and if he has even the slightest clue that you’re here, he’ll send men. They won’t get to you, but a lot of civilians could get caught in the crossfire."
She narrows her eyes. "And what if I don’t want to stay?"
I step forward again, backing her against the edge of the bed, my voice dropping to a low command. "Then I make you."
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t try to shove me away. And just like that, the fire that had always burned between us reignites, scorching, impossible to ignore, but I have to ignore it… at least for now.
But first, I need to deal with Vallois. And I need to make sure that Cherise—my Cherise—stays alive long enough for me to claim what’s mine again.
I turn, the flash drive burning in my palm, and head for the door.
Behind me, Cherise watches.