Chapter 13
CONNOR
Icouldn't believe the night.
Couldn't believe I'd somehow restrained myself when every instinct I had screamed to stay. To take what she was offering. To bury myself to the hilt in her and feel her body arch beneath mine, hands gliding over every inch of her skin.
But I'd seen something shift in Mila tonight. Watched her become another woman—stronger, even more enticing, if that was possible. A woman coming into her own, shedding layers she'd been carrying for too long.
And something about leaving that dessert for another night had seemed right in the moment.
But now, walking back toward The Sanctuary through streets that smelled like rain and stone, I wasn't so sure.
I'd have loved to be buried in her right now. Hands mapping her curves. Mouth tasting every sound she made. Feeling her come undone under my touch while she looked at me like I wasn't broken.
Get yourself together, Ward.
I shook my head, forcing my thoughts into line.
Remember why you're here.
I was on the run. Men from my past were hunting me. I had no business dragging Mila into this mess, no matter how much my body disagreed.
As if on cue, someone whistled from across the street.
Not just any whistle.
A familiar one. Three sharp notes, ascending. The kind we'd used as kids to signal each other at St. Paul's.
My heart sank.
I stopped walking, every muscle in my body going taut, and turned toward the sound.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, crossing the street with the same swagger he'd had at twelve years old. Cocky. Slick. Like he oozed the same olive oil we'd eaten at those traditional Christmas dinners they used to force on us.
Merrick.
Fucking Merrick.
He grinned as he approached, hands in his pockets, moving like he owned the city. Like he owned me.
"Connor Ward," he said, his voice smooth and wrong. "Been a long time."
I didn't answer. I was too busy scanning the area, looking for his backup. Merrick never worked alone. He'd always had lackeys—guys who did his dirty work while he stayed clean.
He must have read my mind because he laughed. "They're in the apartment across the street. Paying a young Parisian couple a visit. Making sure they stay quiet while we talk."
The casual cruelty in his tone made my jaw clench.
Merrick. Fucking Merrick.
The man had enraged me since we were kids. He'd been older, bigger, meaner. The kind of bully who smiled while he broke you. And now here he was, standing in front of me like no time had passed at all.
"What do you want?" I asked, voice flat.
His grin widened. "You know what I want, Connor."
"Say it."
"There's a debt to pay," he said, tilting his head. "All that education wasn't free."
My blood went cold.
Our ‘education.’
St. Paul's.
Fucking St. Paul's.
The name alone made my stomach twist. My parents had been ecstatic when I'd gotten in.
So, had I. St. Paul's was an athletic powerhouse—they only recruited the best athletes from across the Northeast. It was the prize gem for families like mine.
People who worked hard just to put food on the table.
People who wanted their kids to have a leg up in life.
And for a while, I'd believed it was exactly that.
Until I learned what it actually was.
"I'm still in the service," I said, keeping my voice even. "You know that."
Merrick laughed—a sharp, ugly sound. "Oh, we know all about it. About you and the others running off with the money. Enlisting and thinking you could just get away with it."
I wanted to flatten him right then and there.
There was a time when Merrick had flattened me. Those days were over.
"The money was ours," I said. "Rightfully."
Merrick shook his head, still grinning. "You know that's not the way things work, Connor. Never was. Never will be."
The comment wormed under my skin, sharp and unsettling.
We'd thought we'd crippled them. Thought we'd burned it all down when we left. The nine of us had planned it carefully—took what we were owed, scattered to the winds, built new lives.
But if Merrick was here—fucking Merrick of all the pricks—then shit was not good.
Not good at all.
"What do you want?" I asked bluntly.
Merrick's grin turned predatory. "What we've always wanted."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You."
Something in me went to ice.
The same cold that had settled into my bones the day I'd realized what St. Paul's actually was. A kid who just wanted to play sports in college, finding himself trapped in a wolf's den that wasn't voluntary at all.
If only I had more time.
Instead, I'd been gallivanting with a pretty girl. Letting my guard down. Letting myself pretend I could have something normal.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
Micah had warned me. Given me the resources I needed. And I'd wasted time on dinner and photography and kisses that made my chest ache.
I opened my mouth to ask what came next, but before I could speak, a heavy engine revved at the corner.
Both of us turned.
A black car barreled down the street, headlights cutting through the dark, moving fast—too fast.
Merrick's eyes flicked from the car to me and back again.
We both jumped back just as the car skidded to a stop, tires screeching, the back door on my side popping open.
Through a slit in the driver's window, I saw him.
Ellsworth.
Good old trusty former SAS butler Ellsworth.
"Get in, sir!" he barked.
I didn't hesitate.
I dove into the back seat, and Ellsworth didn't waste time. The car lurched forward, engine roaring, and I heard the sharp crack of gunfire behind us.
Bullets pinged off the armored body of the car—dull thuds that would have been fatal in any other vehicle.
We rocketed down the narrow street, Ellsworth handling the car like he was threading a needle at ninety miles an hour. Pedestrians dove out of the way. A parked scooter went flying.
We took the first turn hard, tires squealing. Then the second. Then a third.
Only after we'd put several blocks between us and Merrick did Ellsworth slow to a non-breakneck speed.
The silence in the car felt deafening after the chaos.
I sat back, breathing hard, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
Ellsworth glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression calm, almost serene.
"How was dinner, sir?" he asked, his British accent as casual as if he'd just asked about the weather.
I stared at him for a beat.
Then I laughed.
It was absurd. The whole thing. The violence. The near-death. The fact that Ellsworth had somehow tracked me down and pulled off a rescue like it was written into his job description.
"Dinner was great," I said, still laughing. "Right up until the attempted kidnapping."
Ellsworth's mouth twitched. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."
I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the roof of the car.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
Merrick had found me. That meant the others knew where I was. Which meant Paris wasn't safe anymore. Had it ever been?
Which meant Mila wasn't safe.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut.
I'd dragged her into this. Not intentionally. But proximity to me was dangerous. And tonight had proven it.
Merrick wouldn't stop. He'd keep coming. And if he thought Mila mattered to me—if he'd seen us together—he'd use her.
My hands curled into fists.
"Ellsworth," I said, voice tight.
"Yes, sir?"
"How did you know where I was?"
"GPS tracking in your card, sir," he said smoothly. "Mr. Dane thought it prudent."
Of course, he did.
Micah. Always three steps ahead.
"I need you to do something," I said.
"Of course, sir."
"There's a woman. American. Lives in the Marais." I rattled off Mila's address, my chest tightening as I said it. "I need her protected. Discreetly. She can't know."
Ellsworth was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "I'll arrange it."
"Thank you."
We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the city sliding past the windows like a fever dream.
Finally, Ellsworth spoke again. "May I ask, sir—what exactly did you do to provoke such a response?"
I huffed a bitter laugh. "I existed."
"Ah," Ellsworth said, as if that explained everything. "One of those."
"Yeah. One of those."
We pulled up in front of The Sanctuary, and I climbed out, every muscle in my body tense and sore.
Ellsworth lowered the window. "Shall I prepare anything for you, sir?"
"Bourbon," I said. "The expensive kind."
"Of course."
He drove off to park the car, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the building.
Inside, the Sanctuary felt too quiet.
Too safe.
Like a lie I was telling myself.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my mind racing.
Merrick had found me. Which meant the others would come next. And when they did, they wouldn't stop at a street corner conversation.
They'd come with force.
And I couldn't let Mila get caught in the crossfire.
Which meant I had two choices.
Walk away from her. Disappear. Let her live her life without the shadow of my past dragging her down.
Or bring her into The Sanctuary. Tell her the truth. Let her decide if she wants to stay.
The first option was safer for her.
The second was selfish.
And I didn't know which one I'd choose.
Ellsworth appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a glass of bourbon that looked like liquid amber in the low light.
"Your drink, sir."
I took it, downed half in one swallow, and felt the burn settle into my chest.
"Ellsworth," I said.
"Yes, sir?"
"If you had to choose between keeping someone safe and keeping them in your life—what would you do?"
Ellsworth considered the question for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he said, "I would ask myself which choice honors them more, sir."
I stared at him.
"And if I don't know the answer?"
Ellsworth's mouth curved slightly. "Then perhaps, sir, you ask her."
He left me standing there, glass in hand, the weight of the decision pressing down like a stone.
I walked to the window and looked out at the city.
Somewhere out there, Mila was in her apartment. Safe. Unaware that her life had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.
And somewhere out there, Merrick was plotting his next move.
I finished the bourbon in one long swallow and set the glass down.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
The answer came to me slowly, inevitably.
I was going to fight.
For her. For the life I didn't deserve but wanted, anyway.
And if Merrick wanted me?
He could fucking try.