Chapter 5
5
CHERISE
T he next morning, I feel more like a prisoner than someone Cerberus is trying to protect. Nick’s office feels colder than the Monte Carlo weather outside, or maybe it’s just him. He leans against the edge of the massive mahogany desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s already decided isn’t worth solving. There’s nothing soft in his posture, no sign of the man I once knew.
I sit in one of the leather chairs opposite him, hands folded in my lap, knuckles white from the pressure, and force myself to meet his gaze. It’s harder than I want to admit. It feels like standing in front of a firing squad, but I make myself do it. I’ve come too far, risked too much, to falter now.
He’s changed. The lines around his eyes are deeper, and the scruff on his jaw makes him look harder, more dangerous. His shoulders are broader, his chest thicker, and the sheer physicality of him is overwhelming. Muscles ripple beneath his dark sweater, and when he shifts, it feels like the entire room bends around him.
But it’s the eyes that do me in. Hazel with flecks of gold, sharp and unyielding. I used to get lost in them, back when they softened for me. They don’t soften now.
“Start talking,” he says, his tone even but razor-sharp.
No greeting, no pleasantries. Just that low, commanding voice that drags me back to a time when I would’ve done anything to keep him looking at me.
I clear my throat, pulling myself together. “As I told you, Hector is involved with René Vallois. Hector has been laundering money for Vallois through Interpol’s accounts for years, and now he’s facilitating arms shipments disguised as Interpol seizures. Weapons that should have been intercepted are ending up in René’s hands, and he’s selling them to God knows who.”
Nick doesn’t react, not a twitch, not a blink. He’s listening, but his face is a blank canvas.
“I didn’t know. Not at first,” I continue, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “But after the divorce, I went back to the house to get my passports. That’s when I found the files. Wire transfers, surveillance photos, contracts… proof that Hector and René have been working together. I didn’t mean to dig. I just...”
“Stumbled onto it?” His voice cuts through me like a blade.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt again.
“I was getting ready to leave when one of René’s men showed up. I barely got out of the house alive,” I admit. “Since then, I’ve been running. I can’t go to the police—someone has either bought them off, or they are too scared to pursue someone like René. They’ve tried to grab me twice already—once in Lyon and once when I was on the train from Lyon to Paris. They’re not going to stop.”
I pause, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “I need your help, Nick. Cerberus is the only thing standing between me and…”
“Death?” he finishes for me.
“Yes,” I whisper. I stand, unable to stay seated under his gaze, and I refuse to let him loom over me. I stifle a laugh. “You’re no Jedi knight, but I fear Cerberus is my only hope. I’m out of options.”
His jaw tightens, his gaze unrelenting. For a moment, the room is deathly silent. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, watching me with those hazel eyes that still seem to burn for me.
“Hector and René will kill me if they get the chance, and if they don’t, I’ll live every second knowing what they’ve done—what they’re going to do—because I didn’t try to stop them.”
I straighten, forcing my shoulders back as I rein in every damn thing Nick makes me feel. The anger. The pain. The undeniable pull that still crackles between us like a live wire.
He studies me, his gaze trailing over every inch of my face like he’s dissecting my words for truth. Then, without a word, he crosses to the desk and plugs the drive into his laptop. The room is still as he scrolls through the files, his expression unreadable. The screen casts a faint blue glow across his features. Each click echoes in the quiet, sharp and deliberate. After what feels like an eternity, he closes the laptop and turns to me.
“If this is legitimate,” he says, his voice softer but no less commanding, “you’re not just running from René. You’re a walking target for half the criminal networks in Europe.”
I exhale shakily. “I figured… that’s why I called JJ.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his sandy brown hair as he stands and comes around to the front of his desk. For the first time, he looks like he’s wrestling with something.
Leaning against the desk again, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Let me be clear, Cherise. You’ve started a ball rolling that will only get bigger as it picks up speed. There’s no way to exclude you, so from here on out, you play by my rules. No arguments, no questions, no stunts. You don’t question my methods, and you don’t make any moves without my approval. You do exactly what I tell you when I tell you to do it. Understood?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, relief washing over me.
“If you don’t, you’ll be out. Cerberus will keep you protected, but you won’t have a hand in bringing Hector down, other than providing us with the information you took from his safe.”
The air between us feels charged, like something unspoken is pulling us together and pushing us apart all at once.
“I understand,” I whisper.
He turns away, fingers flying over the built-in console lining the far wall. A few keystrokes and his laptop illuminates the screens, filling them with intelligence feeds—satellite images, encrypted messages, and security footage tracking Hector and Vallois’ last known locations.
His voice is calm, controlled. I don’t remember him being this way before everything went to hell.
“I want to make sure you understand…”
I don’t even let him finish. “I do. I’ve said that…”
“If you’re staying, we do this my way," he interrupts.
Silence stretches between us. I glare at his back, but when I speak, my voice is soft, measured. “Okay.”
He turns then, and the weight of his gaze pins me in place. Daring me to back down.
“You need to be very sure of that answer, Cherise. I’m not the same man you knew.”
His words slice through me, but I don’t flinch.
"I’m not the same woman you once knew either,” I say, my voice steady, even as something flickers behind his eyes. Recognition. A silent acknowledgment that the past we left behind is dead. “But I understand.”
He shifts his attention back to the screens. “Hector’s been moving erratically. He’s covering his tracks, but he’s also desperate. My team has eyes on a few of his men. Logan is already running intercepts on his accounts. We’ll have something solid soon.”
“And Vallois?”
Nick meets my gaze, his expression unreadable. “He’s untouchable. For now.”
My stomach knots. “Which means I’m not safe.”
“No, you’re most definitely not.”
And then he moves—closes the space between us in two strides, invading my world, my air, my sanity.
"But you will be."
My breath catches. I feel the moment of hesitation, the moment I realize just how much control I’m surrendering by trusting him. I should be afraid. I should tell him to go to hell. Instead, I do something far more dangerous.
“I never stopped loving you, Nick.”
His whole body goes rigid. For a fraction of a second, something raw flickers across his face, something dangerous, reckless, unguarded—but it’s gone before I can name it.
“I don’t want to hear that,” he grits out. “This isn’t the time. I can’t let it mean anything.”
Except we both know it does.
He exhales slowly, watching me, weighing the distance between what we were and what we are now. Then he turns back to the screens, issuing his next command without looking at me.
"Activate full surveillance on Hector Pardo. I want every conversation, every movement tracked. Vallois is a phantom, but we don’t stop digging until we find the chink in his armor." He pauses before adding, "And double the security around Opus Noir. They’ll be looking for Cherise. I have her in the club right now."
A female voice—his assistant, perhaps?—speaks calmly through the comms. "Already on it."
Nick cuts the feed, then turns to me with that same unreadable expression. “Welcome to the game, Cherise.”
My lips part, my breath catching as I realize just how deep I’m in. How far past the point of no return I already am.
My heart pounds, but I hold my ground. "You think this is a game? This is my life, Nick, and you don’t get to act like I don’t exist."
He’s pissed. I can tell he’s barely reining in his irritation. "I need to act like a professional. I need to keep you alive, Cherise. You don’t have to like me to be grateful for that."
My jaw tightens. “Grateful?” I scoff, heat flashing through me. "You think I should be grateful that you’re treating me like just another day at the office? Grateful that you let me think you were dead for ten years?”
His expression darkens, and then he moves again—closing the distance between us in an instant.
I suck in a breath as he towers over me, the scent of him, the sheer force of his presence a visceral assault on my senses.
"I’ve already told you why I did what I did," he says, his voice low, controlled. "There was no other choice.”
I stare at him, unflinching. "Bullshit. You’ll have to forgive me for not falling at your feet. While you’ve known I was alive, your miraculous resurrection is a bit new to me. You’ll have to give me time to adjust."
Tension crackles between us, thick, electric, unbearable.
Nick’s voice drops to a whisper against my ear. "You want a fight, Cherise?" His breath is warm, steady, deliberate. The way I used to love. The way that used to make me shiver. "Careful what you wish for. You might not like how I win."
My throat works around a swallow, but I refuse to back down. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
"You looking to get kneed in the balls again?" My voice is sharp, unwavering. "The fact is, Nick, you already lost a long time ago."
Something in his gaze shifts, sharp and lethal.
It shouldn’t hit him like a blow. But I see it—the flicker of something real before he locks it all down. The part of him that still remembers what we used to be.
He straightens, rolling his shoulders, shaking his head.
"Prepare yourself, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "You’re in my world now."
I blink. “What does that mean?” I ask, suspicion curling in my chest.
“Opus Noir is more than a cover for Cerberus here in Monte Carlo. It’s a lifestyle club to which I belong.”
He steps back, his expression cool, assessing.
"You want answers? You want my help? You want to be more to me than just another assignment?” His lips curve into something dark, something knowing. “If you want that… if you’re staying, you’ll act as my new sub.”
I stiffen, my mouth parting. I shouldn’t be surprised. Nick was always dominant and liked control. Even so, he’s now suggesting I will be his submissive partner? “Excuse me?”
"You heard me." He moves behind his desk, grabs a garment bag, and tosses it into the chair next to me. “We can’t move you to a safe house until after dark. You’re going to need something more appropriate to wear in order to move around the building without sticking out like a sore thumb.”
I unzip the bag, pulling out a corset, thong, and collar. My fingers curl around the fabric, my pulse hammering at the base of my throat.
“So that’s it? You’re giving me a collar and calling it protection?”
Nick arches a brow. "Would you rather I put you back on a train to Paris?"
Of course he wouldn’t. But I don’t answer. He lets the question hang in the air between us.
I glare at him, but I see the way his gaze tracks my every reaction—the way his pupils darken, the way his jaw clenches. He’s pushing me, waiting for me to fight him on this.
I don’t give him the satisfaction.
He walks me toward the security office—a much smaller space filled with computers and no windows—his presence a solid heat against my back.
"I’ll give you a little privacy," he says, voice dropping into something dark and low. Commanding. "You have ten minutes to make yourself presentable." He pauses. "Unless you’d rather I dress you myself."
“That won’t be necessary. I can do it myself,” I say as I snatch up the bag and storm past him, disappearing inside, relieved to find he has already cleared the room.
I exhale sharply the moment I’m alone, my hands gripping the bag tight.
What the hell have I just agreed to?