CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Shoomaker doesn’t say a word at first. He stands in the dim garden light, eyes sweeping over us like a judge weighing a verdict—or a predator deciding if he’d join the hunt.
His gaze drops slowly to Montgomery’s hands beneath the hem of my shirt, the way he cradles me—like I am fragile, already half-claimed.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Shoomaker says at last, voice low, sharp, edged with steel. “I wonder though if either of you remember there’s still an operation going on.”
Montgomery straightens, but his hands don’t release me. “She needed space.”
Shoomaker’s brow quirks, cold and calculating. “Is that what we are calling this?”
Montgomery’s jaw tightens, his tone sharpening. “Were you watching from the hedges? Is that your idea of protection now—or are you hoping to insert yourself into this?” He pauses, gaze cutting. “She is mine, Captain. Step back.”
I slip back half a step, breath ragged, my shirt clinging to me like second skin, heat still burning where his hands have touched. I want to scream. To vanish. To rip them both apart for what they’d made me.
“You okay, Daya…I mean…Starling? What do I even call you?” Shoomaker’s voice softens—almost gentle.
It cuts me. Not because of what he said, but because he still doesn’t see me. I’m not Daya. I’m not Starling. I’m not some file or mission code. I am the girl they’d failed, the woman standing before them now—deciding how to pick up the broken pieces.
Montgomery steps closer, voice low and possessive, “Her name is Starling.”
Shoomaker doesn’t flinch. “In her own words, Starling died,” he says evenly, as if he’s referencing something written down, something he’s read and filed away. “Though I suppose that’s what we were supposed to call her—Starling. From the file.”
A faint pause.
“But I guess she only answers to you now.”
They circle like wolves, neither willing to surrender, nor willing to back down. Not prey. Not now. Not ever.
“Enough,” I choke on my words, voice cracking and breathless.
They don’t hear. Or don’t even care.
Montgomery snaps, “You think this is about a name? You’re the one who punished her almost as cruelly as the Warden himself.”
Shoomaker fires back, voice like a bullet, “And you fucked her like some corner hussy. Don’t pretend your hands are clean.”
I freeze, breath catching in my throat.
Montgomery takes a step forward, threatening. “Careful with your words, Captain.”
“Or what?” Shoomaker challenges, voice rising. “You’ll ruin her again?”
“Stop it!” I snap, fierce and wild.
They both freeze.
I stand there trembling, wrapped in thin cotton and a storm of broken memories, shaking beneath the weight of everything they had done—and hadn’t.
“This isn’t about who owns me,” I say, voice breaking. “Not names, missions, or who got here first.”
Their eyes are locked on me. Good.
“Because you both failed me—each in your own way. You both crossed lines. And now you act like this is love? It’s not.”
Silence.
Shoomaker looks away first, jaw tight, regret etched deep.
Montgomery stays still, but I step forward, every inch of me burning with everything I have become.
“I was never yours,” I tell Shoomaker, my voice catching before I can steady it. “And whatever I felt… it wasn’t that simple.”
My breath shakes as I turn slightly, like I can’t hold both of them in the same moment.
“And you—” I look at Montgomery now, something in my chest tightening painfully. “I was in love with you. I think I have been for longer than I’ve been able to admit, but I never belonged to you.”
A pause swallows the room.
“And Shoomaker…” My throat works around the words. “What I felt there—what I thought was safety, or connection—it wasn’t clear. Nothing about it ever was. It was survival more than anything I understood at the time.”
I exhale, unsteady.
“But none of it makes me something that belongs to anyone.”
A long pause.
Shoomaker swallows hard. “So what now?”
I look between them, heart racing. “Now? I want to stop being a tool with a heartbeat.”
Silence again.
Montgomery’s eyes soften with anguish. “Say the word. I’ll walk away. From the operation, the cover—everything.”
“Same,” Shoomaker says, voice rougher. “You want out? We burn it all down. Just say the word.”
I stare. Two men from rival bureaus. Two men who lied, watched, touched, and stayed. Both calling me theirs in different ways.
For a moment…I don’t want either to leave.
Maybe I don’t have to choose yet.
I step between them. Shoomaker’s breath catches as I reach out—one hand resting on Montgomery’s chest, the other brushing Shoomaker’s wrist.
“You want to protect me?” I whisper. “Stop tearing each other apart.”
Their eyes meet over my head. Something unspoken passes between them—a truce neither wants to admit.
Shoomaker speaks first, voice lower, colder, “You think you’re the only one who’s watched her suffer?”
Montgomery doesn’t answer, but his hand rests on my back again—as if he needs it to stay steady
The tension between them is suffocating.
Before I can think better of it, I turn toward Shoemaker, rise onto my toes, and kiss him.
The kiss is soft and slow, full of quiet longing and everything I don’t know how to say.
He stills for a moment, surprised, then gently cups my waist and kisses me back with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
When I pull away, my lips are tingling and my heart is pounding.
I turn immediately to Montgomery, drawn to him like gravity. He’s already watching me with dark, burning intensity. I don’t hesitate. I slide my hands up his chest, rise onto my toes again, and kiss him.
The moment our lips meet, a soft, needy moan escapes me into his mouth.
Montgomery reacts instantly—one arm bands tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against his body as he deepens the kiss with raw hunger.
His other hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there as he claims my mouth like he’s trying to erase every trace of Shoemaker.
I melt into him, moaning again, softer this time, as heat floods through my entire body.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, lips swollen, caught between the two men who both own pieces of me.
“You both think you’re my cage,” I say. “But just maybe you’re just the only ones who know where the keys are.”
Then, just as quietly, I turn and walk away—barefoot on the grass, shirt catching the breeze.
But because Shoomaker, always the possessive alpha, doesn’t intend to share.
He steps forward, pushing Montgomery back again with a force that brooks no argument.
Turning his eyes to Montgomery, his voice drops low and authoritative. “This is how it’s done.” The words are sharp, almost a lesson.
Montgomery remains silent, watching, his expression unreadable but tense as he takes in everything.
Shoomaker’s hands are suddenly everywhere after he spins me to face him—one cupping my jaw with firm control, tilting my face upward so his piercing eyes could drink in every flicker of emotion, every breath I struggle to contain.
His other hand slides beneath the edge of my shirt, fingertips trailing down the delicate curve of my inner thigh, igniting waves of electric heat with every touch. His fingers are ruthless, but there is no hesitation in them. No second-guessing. Only absolute certainty.
His thumb finds the wet, sensitive spot between my legs, pressing slow and firm, coaxing a gasp from deep within me.
My breath hitches, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure tangles with the raw authority of his touch. Shoomaker’s lips brush my neck, warm and possessive, sending a fresh shiver racing down my spine.
“I want you to feel what it means to be claimed,” he whispers, his voice rough with command and promise.
Without breaking contact, his fingers slip inside me—curling expertly, moving with a precision that both demands and delivers pleasure.
I gasp again, arching up involuntarily into the pressure, my body trembling as I give in to the fire consuming me.
Montgomery’s eyes never leave us. He watches silently, every muscle taut, every breath held, absorbing the lesson in dominance and control.
Shoomaker’s other hand grips my hip, steadying me as his thumb circles mercilessly over my clit, stoking the burning fire building deep inside until my body clenched tight, the tension snapping free in a wave of shattering release.
I cry out, lost in the raw intensity of the moment as Shoomaker catches my lips in a fierce, claiming kiss—one that leaves no doubt about who holds the power here.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, satisfied, and filled with something possessive and undeniable. Montgomery averts his gaze, swallowing hard as if the sight has stripped him bare, leaving something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between them.
step back from Shoemaker’s offered hand, and then further from Montgomery’s shadowed presence. Neither man reaches for me as I turn and begin walking down the garden path, the cool night air brushing over my flushed skin.
I leave them both standing there—Shoemaker with his steady hand still half-extended, Montgomery rooted in the shadows, watching me go.
I don’t choose. Not tonight.
My bare feet move quietly over the path as I head back toward the house, feeling the eyes of both men burning into my back.
For once, I’m the one walking away.