Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stryker
In my arms, Lyra has gone rigid, her spine tight as a drawn wire.
Lyra thinks she’s dead.
That Bratva is coming, and she’s their next target.
But she’s wrong.
Every bit of focus I have narrows to her. I stroke her back, making steady circles. I’ve got hold of her, keeping her anchored. Keeping her from slipping under again.
She’s dealt with the unimaginable today.
“Look at me,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t.
Not until I tilt her chin up with two fingers, guiding her without force, giving her no place to hide.
Her eyes lift—wide, glassy, terrified.
“You’re not going to die.” I keep her gaze ensnared. She needs to hear this. “You’re not marked. You’re not bait. And no one is coming for you.”
Her voice cracks. “You don’t know that.”
“Actually I do. Our rabbit is dead.”
While she finally slept—exhausted from the adrenaline crash and shaking herself apart—there was a soft knock at the bedroom door.
Inamorata let herself in and quietly beckoned me to join her, her expression sharp and businesslike.
In her no-nonsense way, she informed me they eliminated the one who ran. That meant that no one knows what happened, who fired the shots.
I didn’t breathe for almost a full second before the full weight of news nearly knocked my knees out from under me.
Now, Lyra starts shaking her head, refusing to believe it, refusing to accept anything resembling relief.
“But—”
“Once the locket and the fob are in the open, the danger will vanish completely.”
She shakes her head, as if unable to believe.
A minute drags by, a second, a third as the implications sink in. “But there are other heists. My name is on a wanted list.”
“It will be dealt with.” I make my voice firm and certain, as reassuring as I possibly can. “All of it.”
Her eyes brim again, but for a different reason this time.
I cup the side of her face, stroke my thumb along her cheek. “I need you to trust me, Lyra.”
“Stryker—”
“I know this is the biggest ask of your life. But I’m asking anyway.”
“Why?” Furrowing her eyebrows, she studies me. “Why are you doing this for me?”
And that’s when it hits me—hard, fast, unavoidable.
The truth is already in my throat before I can stop it.
“Because I love you.”
Her breath catches like I’ve punched all the air out of her lungs.
She just stares at me, unmoving, unblinking, eyes wide with something that looks like shock—or maybe devastation—or maybe awe. I can’t tell. I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that. I’ve never given anyone the chance.
A part of me wants to take the words back—jam them down my throat—pretend they never escaped.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Because the moment I said them, everything in me…settled.
There’s no other way to describe the sensation.
It’s as if my bones are finally aligned in the right order. Like I’ve been walking crooked for years without realizing it.
A part of me has always been empty, but Lyra—with her stubborn courage, her reluctant trust, the way she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to disappoint her and hoping I won’t—has filled the void.
She swallows. Once. Twice.
“Stryker…” Her voice is a rasp of disbelief. “You don’t—you can’t—”
“I do.” My hand is still on her cheek, and I trace her lips. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. Hell, I fought it harder than I’ve fought anything. But it’s the truth.”
Her lips part, trembling.
“I don’t—no one—No one has ever said that to me.” The words come out small, frayed, broken down the middle.
And it shreds me.
I lean in, our foreheads brushing, and I keep my voice low. “Then I’m glad I get to be your first.”
Just like the mirroring, the unbridled sex. And I want to claim another dozen firsts with her. First engagement. Marriage.
Child.
Fuck.
A child. With her.
A soft exhale quivers against my thumb, and she curls her fingers around my wrists, holding on—not pushing away, not resisting—holding.
“Why?” she whispers again, but it’s different now. Not demanding. Not afraid. Just…stunned.
“I don’t have a good answer,” I admit. “I just know that I want you safe. I want you with me, at my side, arguing with me and pissing me off and making me crazy, and”—I exhale sharply—“and I don’t ever want to picture a future without you in it.”
Her eyes fill instantly.
Damn it all.
That undoing—right there, happening in her face—almost drops me to my knees.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says, voice cracking. “I don’t know how to… be someone that someone loves.”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
She flinches, like the promise itself is too sharp to touch.
“Stryker…”
I slide my hand into her hair, tilt her head back gently, my lips brushing hers but not quite kissing—my breath mixing with her uneven one.
“You don’t have to love me back yet,” I murmur. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to be anything. Just stay. That’s all I want.”
Her breath catches.
Then she surges upward—small, desperate, like she’s drowning and I’m the air—and her mouth presses to mine.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Hungry.
God, I feel it everywhere.
She grabs hold of my shirt, and I fist a hand into her hair.
Her beautiful lips part on a broken gasp, and I take her in, every trembling inch, every jagged breath, kissing her like she’s become oxygen.
Her body melts against me, warm and alive and needing.
I deepen the kiss. She’s mine. For life. Now that I have her, I’ll never let her go.
Then, shit—
There’s a hard, impatient pounding on the bedroom door.
Lyra jerks like she’s been shocked.
A snarl tears out of my throat before I can stop it.
I pull away, only far enough to breathe, my hands still on her cheeks, her breath still mingling with mine.
“Ignore it,” I growl.
A second knock follows—louder, sharper, unmistakably authoritative.
I grind my teeth.
She blinks. “Stryker… Someone—”
“Oh I goddamn know who someone is.”
And I’ve never wanted to kill a coworker more in my life.
Reluctantly I ease her back onto the mattress, and I let my hands linger on her for a second longer than I should.
As I stand, she trails her fingers down my wrist.
Her light touch is a tether that I need like my next breath.
“Come back to me,” she whispers.
My chest caves in on itself. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. That’s my promise.”
I stalk to the door, fury vibrating under my skin.
Inamorata stands there, arms crossed, unimpressed.
Hawkeye is beside her, arms also folded, looking like the storm front that murders lesser men for sport.
Hawkeye lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve had three hours and seven minutes, Stryker. Company protocol dictates twenty.”
My response is short.
Sharp.
Unfiltered.
“I wasn’t leaving until Lyra was ready.”
“Lyra?” Hawkeye and Inamorata exchange glances.
“She needed me more than you needed to meet your damn timeline.”
A long beat.
Hawkeye’s jaw tightens.
“And this has been well worth the wait.” I reach into my pocket and hand over the wrapped locket and ceramic fob.
Hawkeye unwraps them halfway, pauses. “The hell…?”
“If I’m right,” I say quietly, “if your intel is correct, they’re the keys to the Tsar’s Tear.”
Even Inamorata goes still.
Hawkeye lifts his gaze, slow and calculating, the weight of a hundred classified missions in his stare.
“That’s…significant,” he says.
“It’s also why Lyra needs to join us,” I add. “She has other intel that you need to hear.”
From behind me, she draws a sharp breath—but she doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t hide.
She steps out of the bedroom, chin lifted just a fraction.
Hawkeye assesses her for three seconds. Then he nods once.
“She comes,” he agrees.
Lyra looks stunned, maybe a little shaken.
I step behind her, my hand on the small of her back—quiet, steady, grounding as we follow Hawkeye and Inamorata toward the dining room that’s now become the command station.
Just before crossing the threshold, I stop us, and she turns to face me. “You okay?”
“I can do this.”
I smile—small, fierce, real.
“Good. I promise you, Lyra; I’ll always have your back.”
When she speaks, her voice is soft. “Stryker…”
Her eyes are wide, trusting, and for the first time, I see hope in them.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Her breaths come in shallow bursts. “I can’t imagine my life without you either.”
Goddamn. I need to get her alone.
“Lyra…” And in that moment, my entire life makes sense and the future falls into place.