6. Flynn
CHAPTER 6
FLYNN
Lyric didn’t go into the hotel.
She didn’t explain, simply climbed out of the limo and started walking. I didn’t argue. I didn’t say a word. I adjusted my still half-hard cock to avoid getting arrested for indecent exposure, then followed her, telling myself I wasn’t already in too deep.
Eventually, we ended up on the narrow, winding streets of Le Rocher.
The afternoon sunlight slanted between the ancient buildings, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Monaco’s old town was a stark contrast to the glittering casinos and modern yachts that dominated the harbor view. Here, centuries-old buildings pressed in close, their weathered facades telling stories that predated the principality’s reputation for excess and glamour. Silk-scarved tourists posed for selfies, shopkeepers called out in French, and the scent of salt and sugar drifted through the air.
And Lyric moved as if she were on a mission.
I kept a careful distance, close enough to protect her if needed, far enough not to crowd her space. Whatever was driving her away from the hotel clearly needed room to breathe.
Finally, she stopped in front of a stand offering everything from coffee to gelato, and stared at the faded awning fluttering in the breeze.
She looked almost… lost.
I stopped beside her. “You walked all the way up here for gelato?”
She shook her head. “I need to not be Elisa Deveraux for five damn minutes.” She approached the stand, ordering a pistachio gelato in flawless French.
When the vendor looked to me in question, I ordered an espresso, also in pretty damn flawless French.
“What?” I felt her eyes on me as I pulled a few euros from my pocket to pay. “You really think Grim would send someone in who doesn’t speak the local language?”
“No.” She took her gelato from the vendor. “But men like you usually—I just didn’t expect…” She trailed off, eyes dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before looking away.
I accepted the change and my espresso, then held out a hand, indicating she should lead the way. “Didn’t expect a brain behind all my devastating good looks?”
“Something like that.” A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Though I wouldn’t go as far as ‘devastating.’”
“You wound me, princess.” I watched as she licked a perfect stripe up the side of her gelato cone. The sight shouldn’t have been distracting. I shouldn’t have been tracking the movement of her tongue with such intensity. Definitely shouldn’t be picturing her doing the same to my cock.
I took a sip of my espresso, letting the bitter heat burn away thoughts I had no business entertaining. “Well, I didn’t expect you were a pistachio kind of woman. Figured you’d go for something more dramatic. Blood orange.”
“I like pistachio.”
“Is that Lyric talking, or Elisa?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
We kept walking, and I let the silence stretch while she processed that.
“How many aliases have you had?” I asked finally.
She exhaled hard. “Too many.”
“And do they all like pistachio gelato?”
She shot me a sideways glance. “Do all of yours like espresso?”
“There’s only one of me, sweetheart.”
She huffed a breath that might have been a laugh.
We ended up at a stone overlook behind the palace, where the cliff dropped straight to the sea and cannons stood guard, relics from a prettier, bloodier time. The hike up the hill had done little to dampen her restless energy. She paced. I leaned against the wall and finished my espresso while she wore a groove in the pavement.
She stopped suddenly and turned toward me. “I think I envy you.”
Not what I’d expected her to say. “Because of my devastating good looks?”
“Anyone ever mention you have an over-inflated ego?”
“It’s not ego when it’s true.”
She gave a soft snort.
I set my empty cup on the stone wall, studying her face. The afternoon sun caught in her eyes, turning them the color of sea glass. “So what do you envy?”
“The certainty. You’re Flynn. Just Flynn. Colt Mercer might be the cover, but you seem to have no trouble keeping Flynn and Colt separate.” She gestured vaguely with her cone. “I’ve been so many people that sometimes I forget which parts are actually me. I don’t even remember what my real laugh sounds like.” Her voice was low and sad and yanked at something in my chest I’d spent too many years trying to keep buried. “I don’t know who I am when I’m not playing a role.”
I pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “I know who you are. You’re a woman who likes pistachio gelato.”
She scoffed. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”
“No. Pistachio is the worst.”
“Excuse me?” She whirled to face me fully, genuine offense flashing in those sea-glass eyes. “Pistachio is sophisticated. Complex. It’s not some basic vanilla or chocolate?—”
“It’s green ice cream that tastes like nuts.”
“It’s nuanced.”
“It’s pretentious.”
“You’re an ass.” But she was almost smiling now, and something tight in my chest loosened. This fire—this passion over something as ridiculous as gelato flavors—this was real. This was Lyric.
“There she is,” I said softly.
Her smile faltered. “What?”
“The woman who will defend pistachio gelato to the death. That’s not Elisa Deveraux talking. That’s you.” I reached for her chin, gently, and made her look at me. Her eyes were wide and uncertain. I wasn’t the only one off-balance here.
She recovered first and stepped back on the pretense of discarding the rest of her cone.
“What about you, Shepherd?” she asked, brushing her hands together. “Got any ghosts you’re hiding from?”
“Sure. A whole goddamn platoon of them. But you’re right. I do know who I am.”
“And who’s that?”
“I’m the guy who keeps walking into shit he shouldn’t because I can’t seem to stop myself.”
She poked a finger at my chest. “That is a terrible character trait for someone in your line of work.”
“Yeah, well, at least my life’s never boring.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t mind a bit of boring.” She faced the sea, bracing her hands against ancient stone. The wind gusted, tugging her hair out of its neat twist, bringing with it the scent of the Mediterranean and a trace of that citrus and spice perfume of hers.
She breathed in deeply and lifted her face to the sky. She looked like she wanted to open her arms, throw herself over the edge, and fly away.
If she did, would I stop her?
Or join her?
I’d started freelancing after the military because I’d craved freedom. And I thought I had it. I took the jobs I wanted, turned down the ones I didn’t, and answered to nobody but myself. No uniform, no chain of command, no obligations except the ones I chose.
But, watching her, I realized I was as trapped in this life as she was. Trapped by the need to keep moving, to not look back, to never get too close to anyone or anything. Trapped by the boundaries I’d drawn to keep myself alive and sane.
After a long moment, Lyric exhaled softly and turned away from the view.
Guess we weren’t going over the edge today.
She wandered along the parapet, trailing her fingers along the rough surface. She eventually paused at a fountain tucked into an alcove between two buildings. It was nothing like the flashy monstrosities near the hotel and casino, with their music, lights, and perfectly timed water shows designed to impress drunk tourists.
This one was old. Simple. A sea nymph poured water from a chipped shell into a shallow pool, the stone stained green in places and worn smooth by time. The basin was filled with coins from all over the world.
It wasn’t trying to be beautiful. It just… was.
I liked it better than the others.
I dug a couple of coins out of my pocket and offered her one. “Make a wish?”
She shook her head. “I stopped believing in wishes a long time ago.”
“Let me guess… somewhere around the time you started carrying a weapon?”
That earned me another almost-smile. “Before. Way before.”
I tossed one of the coins in.
She leaned over to watch it disappear under the rippling surface, then sent me a sidelong glance. “Don’t tell me you believe in wishes.”
“I believe in hedging my bets.” I held out the other coin for her. “Can’t hurt, right?”
She hesitated before slowly taking it from my hand. “What did you wish for?”
“Breaks the rules if I tell you.”
“I thought you weren’t much for rules.”
“Some are worth following.”
She turned back to the fountain. The afternoon light glinted off her hair, turning it to white gold, and I wondered if that pale, silvery blonde was her natural color. It suited Elisa, but now that I knew her, I didn’t think it fit Lyric. If I had to guess, she was more fire than frost—something like strawberry blonde or copper, the kind of color that caught sunlight and burned with it.
“You know what I’d wish for?” She flipped the coin and caught it between her fingers. “One day where I don’t have to calculate every word, every gesture. One day where I could just… be.”
“What would that look like?” I asked, genuinely curious. “A day of being you.”
She closed her eyes, still clutching the coin. “I’d wake up late. No alarm. I’d wear clothes that feel good, not ones picked to create an impression. I’d eat whatever I wanted without worrying about maintaining a cover identity’s diet preferences.” She opened her eyes, looking almost embarrassed. “It sounds pathetic when I say it out loud.”
“Doesn’t sound pathetic to me.” I moved beside her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching. “Sounds human.”
She flipped the coin again, letting it dance across her knuckles. A small, impressive trick that revealed more training than she probably intended to show.
“I’m not supposed to be human in this job, Shepherd. I’m supposed to be whatever they need me to be.”
I watched her face as she said it—the way her guard dropped for a second, revealing something honest and hungry underneath. It wasn’t Elisa talking now. This was all Lyric.
“So take it,” I said.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “What?”
“Take your day. Right here, right now.” I gestured to the ancient stone around us, the sprawling blue horizon. “Nobody’s watching. No targets, no mission parameters. Just you and me and whatever the hell you want to do with the next few hours.”
She studied me as if I were a puzzle with missing pieces. “We have three days to find the drones before the auction, and Moreau could move them at any time. I don’t have the luxury?—”
“There’s always a reason not to,” I cut in. “Always another mission, another target. Another excuse to keep the armor on.” I touched her hand where she still held that coin. “But you know what happens if you never take it off? It starts to rust shut.”
She didn’t pull away. “Speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Or maybe I just want you to drop the armor so I can get you naked.”
A laugh escaped her—startled, genuine. The sound caught her by surprise, her eyes widening slightly like she’d discovered something long-lost.
“There it is,” I said softly. “Your real laugh.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then flipped the coin into the fountain without looking. The splash was barely audible. “You’re dangerous, Flynn Shepherd.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She turned back to the view, but something had shifted. The rigid line of her shoulders softened, and when she exhaled, it felt like she was releasing more than air.
“Four hours,” she said finally. “That’s all I can spare.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Her gaze met mine, still guarded. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“We’re in Monaco, princess. What do you want to do?”
She seemed startled by the question, as if no one had asked her that in years. Maybe they hadn’t.
“I want to see the aquarium,” she said finally.
I grinned and gallantly held out an arm. “Your wish is my command.”