15. Flynn
CHAPTER 15
FLYNN
I’d spent my entire adult life perfecting the art of waking up alone. I’d had my share of women over the years—good women, dangerous women, beautiful women, and everything in between—but I’d never been the type to linger the morning after. Not after missions, and definitely not after sex. I was always planning my exit before I even arrived. It was my personal code, my survival instinct, the reason I was still breathing while so many others weren’t.
I wasn’t looking for permanence. No roots or connections that couldn’t be easily severed. My life was compact by design—everything I owned fit in one duffel bag. My relationships were the same.
Clean. Uncomplicated. Disposable.
It was the way I liked it.
Until Lyric.
I blinked awake to light filtering through the terrace doors, painting the room in soft gold. My body ached in places I hadn’t noticed last night. Not from the chase, not from the fight, but from her. From the way we’d torn into each other like the world was ending.
Hell.
She was still sound asleep beside me. She lay on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath her pillow, the other stretched toward me. The sheet had slipped to her waist, exposing the elegant line of her spine, the soft curve of her shoulder blades. Her hair was a tangle of platinum and gold against the white pillowcase, and there was a mark on her shoulder where I’d gotten carried away with my teeth. She looked softer in sleep, the sharp edges and walls she kept so carefully constructed during waking hours momentarily dismantled.
An unfamiliar, unsettling sensation spread through my chest.
I wanted to stay with her.
The realization hit me like a suckerpunch.
I wanted to wake up next to this woman tomorrow. And the day after that. I wanted to learn the map of those freckles, memorize the sounds she made when she came apart beneath me, discover what made her laugh, what made her cry, what made her trust—and what had made her so afraid to.
Well…
Fuck.
I’d known Lyric Renard for less than a week, and somehow she’d already gotten under my skin in ways no one else ever had. It wasn’t just the sex, though Christ, that had been mind-blowing. It was everything else. The way she’d handled herself during the chase. How she’d fought beside me like we’d been a team for years. The way she never backed down, never flinched, never hesitated.
I imagined, for the first time in my adult life, what it might be like to have something real. Something that lasted beyond a mission or a night. Something that mattered. What if, after Sentinel was secured and Moreau was neutralized, there was... after? What if there was breakfast in bed and lazy Sunday mornings? What if there were inside jokes and favorite restaurants and a side of the bed that was mine?
What if there was a life beyond the job?
The possibility felt foreign, almost ridiculous, like trying on someone else’s too-tight clothes. I’d spent my entire career—my entire life—being the guy who could walk away. The one who didn’t get attached. The one who never looked back. It was what made me good at my job.
But looking at her now, I couldn’t imagine walking away. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home.
Christ. When had I turned into such a sap?
She stirred, her breathing changing rhythm as she drifted toward consciousness. I watched her brow furrow slightly, her lips part on a soft exhale. Then her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as awareness returned.
I watched the walls slamming back into place, her expression shuttering closed, her body language shifting from soft to guarded in the space of a heartbeat.
The change was immediate and heartbreaking.
“Morning,” I said, keeping my voice casual despite the sudden tightness in my chest.
“Morning.” She pulled the sheet up to cover herself, a pointless gesture after everything we’d done last night, but telling all the same. She sat up, gaze darting around the room like she was assessing threats and exits.
I’d seen that look before. Hell, I’d worn it myself enough times. But seeing it on her face now, directed at me, felt like a knife between my ribs.
She finally exhaled hard and shoved her hair back from her face. “What time is it?”
“Just after seven.”
Lyric nodded and got out of bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around her like armor. She didn’t look at me as she reached for her phone on the nightstand, scrolling through notifications with more focus than the task required. “Ethan’s pissed.”
“Of course he is.” I flopped back against my pillow and stretched my arms over my head. “I expected nothing less from Grim.”
“He wants a full debrief at eight.”
Jesus, the ice in her voice could freeze a guy at ten paces. This wasn’t the woman who’d moaned my name last night, who’d laughed breathlessly as we collapsed in a tangle of limbs. This was Siren—professional, detached, and completely unreachable.
“Hey,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word was clipped, dismissive. “Just trying to figure out what I’m going to say to him. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fire me on the spot.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She finally looked at me. I would’ve preferred to see annoyance or anger or anything else other than that carefully neutral expression. “Look, Flynn. Last night was... intense. The chase, the fight, the adrenaline. Sex was a natural release valve.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “A release valve?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.” I swung my legs over the bed and stood, not bothering with modesty. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Her gaze dropped down my body, but she caught herself and quickly looked away. She tightened her grip on the sheet like it could protect her from this conversation.
“It was good. Really good. But it was just sex.”
Just sex. My chest tightened. Not with anger, though there was plenty of that brewing, but with something that felt dangerously close to hurt. “That wasn’t ‘just’ anything and you know it.”
“Oh, don’t make this complicated, Flynn.” She sighed, turning away to gather her scattered clothes from the floor. “It was the circumstances. The danger. The near-death experience. It’s textbook. A biological imperative to affirm life after facing mortality. Let’s just chalk it up to a heat-of-the-moment mistake and move on.
“A mistake?” I echoed, disbelief crawling up my throat. “Which part exactly? When you begged me to fuck you harder? Or when you came screaming my name the second time? Or maybe the third?”
Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes went cold. “Don’t be crude.”
“Don’t be a coward.”
That hit. I saw it in the way her jaw tightened, the slight flinch she couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not afraid of you.” She turned away. “And we don’t have time for this. I’m going to shower.
“No?” I moved around the bed, positioning myself in her path. “Then look at me.”
“Flynn—”
“Look at me, Lyric.”
Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to mine, and for a split second, I saw it—that flash of vulnerability, of want, before she buried it beneath layers of ice.
“Tell me last night meant nothing to you,” I challenged, stepping closer. “Tell me you don’t feel this—whatever the hell this is between us—and I’ll walk away. I’ll back off. We’ll be nothing but colleagues.”
She didn’t respond, her throat working as she swallowed.
“You can’t, can you?” I pressed. “Because you’re lying to yourself.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked on barely a breath of sound.
What did I want? The question hammered against my ribs. I wanted her—not just her body, but all of her. The vulnerability beneath the armor. The woman who fought like a demon and kissed like she was drowning. The one who placed charges with surgical precision and laughed in the face of danger.
“I want you to be honest,” I said finally. “With yourself, if not with me.”
She shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “Honesty is a luxury in our line of work. You know that better than anyone.”
“Not with each other. Never with each other.” I reached for her, my fingers grazing her cheek. “I don’t do this, Lyric. I don’t stay. I don’t... feel. But with you?—”
“Don’t.” She jerked away from my touch and held up a hand as she backed. “We have a mission to complete. Let’s focus on that.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click that might as well have been a gunshot. I heard the shower start, water drowning out whatever sounds she might be making in there.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying to process what had just happened. Last night, she’d been all fire and need, wrapping herself around me like she couldn’t get close enough. This morning, she was treating me like a regrettable one-night stand.
I knew this dance. I’d choreographed it myself more times than I could count. The morning-after retreat, the casual dismissal, the strategic withdrawal. I was the king of emotional distance.
So why did it feel like my chest was caving in?