Chapter 6
Six
The gear-up room smelled of sweat, soap, and paint.
Walls lined with lockers and hanging gear gave the space an industrial feel, but someone had tried to brighten it: neon graffiti tags wrapped around exposed beams, and an old boombox in the corner played a steady rhythm of reggaeton.
Fluorescent strips flickered overhead, casting an uneven glow as Kiki pulled open a wire locker and handed Nikos a padded vest and face shield.
“You’re gonna want this, this, and this,” she said, tossing him a dark-blue jersey, chest protector, shin guards, and a few other pieces. “Those welts are no joke.”
He caught each piece one-handed, fluid as ever, and started to unbutton his wool coat. She grimaced when she saw his clothing—but he didn’t hesitate as he stripped down to the black undershirt beneath, revealing lean muscle.
She looked away, pretending to focus on loading neon pink paintballs into her hopper.
God, he has no right to look this good.
“Jose, Pedro, and Luis built this place a few years ago,” she said casually, needing the distraction. “They partner with a non-profit that helps keep kids off the streets. This gives them something to do. Something that feels powerful, without being destructive.”
Nikos nodded, pulling the vest over his head. “That’s smart. Keeps their energy focused. Gives them a pack that doesn’t require a blood oath.”
She glanced at him sideways. “That’s… surprisingly insightful for a billionaire.”
“I try to be more than my bank account,” he murmured.
There wasn’t a hint of ego in his tone. She liked that. He was infuriatingly magnetic.
Her stomach did a weird twist as she stepped into her own padded jumpsuit, tugging the zipper up. She grabbed gloves and extra CO? cartridges, placing them in her utility belt, then passed Nikos a chest rig with loaded pods.
He clipped it with the experience of an expert. He wasn’t a novice when it came to handling weapons.
Maybe he’s more than just the brains behind his security firm, she thought, pausing to watch him.
“You’ve done this before,” she said.
He shrugged. “Used to play in tactical drills.”
Her fingers froze mid-strap. “Military?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Six years. My brother Markos and a few of our friends joined up together.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. We were… well, let’s just say discipline wasn’t our strong suit growing up. Too much money. Too little accountability. It took nearly dying on a ski trip in the Alps to realize we needed a reset.”
He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
She tilted her head. “What happened?”
His jaw worked for a second before he looked past her, through the thick plexiglass to the field. On the other side, two players were helping a third limp behind a bunker.
Something flickered in his expression. Something haunted.
“Some risks change you,” he said at last.
Kiki swallowed hard, the air thickening. She knew that look. That haunted distance. She’d seen it in her own reflection—and in Brie’s eyes.
It made something soft and stupid in her twist with compassion—and fear.
She couldn’t afford to care. Not like that. Not for anyone.
There were too many powerful people who would use her emotions against her.
Before she could say another word, Jose popped his head in. “Kiki! You’re up. Got a fresh team waiting—six players. It’s a larger team than normal, but I figure you can handle them.”
“Sounds good. We’ll be out in a sec,” she replied, adjusting the hopper on her marker.
She grabbed her helmet and turned to face Nikos. But before she could pull it on, he stepped in close—closer than she expected.
“What—?”
Then he dipped his head… and kissed her.
Her breath caught. Everything inside her stilled.
His lips were warm. Firm. Gentle, but possessive. It was a slow, sensual kiss that claimed her with its certainty. Like he already knew the shape of the chaos churning inside her and didn’t care.
Damn her traitorous body… she melted.
Just for a second.
When he pulled back, her eyes searched his, the world spinning slightly off axis.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “For luck.”
Then he turned, pulled on his helmet, and stepped out into the staging hall.
She stared after him, her heart slamming against her ribs, her nerves frayed, her brain scrambled.
He wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Smart. Wounded. Funny. Kind.
Sexy.
She needed him to be shallow. Arrogant. Forgettable.
Instead, he was becoming special.
She cursed softly and jammed her helmet down, tugging the face shield into place. The air inside was warmer, stifling—but not nearly as suffocating as the feeling in her chest.
She followed him out.
Two minutes later, the whistle blew, the match began, and all hell broke loose.
Kiki darted left, her heart pounding hard behind her ribs.
The air inside the arena pulsed with the sound of hissing CO?, rapid-fire splats, and the muffled thud of feet pounding over rubber-padded concrete.
The shadows were deep and fractured, broken by flickering light from overhead panels that hadn’t all been replaced since the last team brawl.
She moved fast—low and smooth—around a rusted-out barrel stacked with tires, her paintball marker tight to her chest. To her right, Nikos peeled off toward higher ground, his movements clean, efficient… trained.
She didn’t want to admire it.
She did anyway.
“You didn’t say you were good,” she muttered into the mic clipped to her collar.
His voice came through the earpiece, low and amused. “You didn’t ask.”
“True.”
A shot zipped past her shoulder, paint spraying the wall behind her. She dropped, rolled, and came up behind a low barricade. One kid—Dante, she thought—was trying to flank her.
“Right side. Dumpster. Orange stripe.”
“Got him,” Nikos replied.
Two seconds later, a yelp echoed across the space and Dante was out.
Kiki’s brows lifted. “Color me impressed.”
“Neon pink, wasn’t it?”
She grinned despite herself, even as she ducked under incoming fire. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Surprisingly… yes.”
The match escalated. Two-on-six wasn’t exactly fair odds, but she and Nikos moved like they’d trained together for years.
When she slipped, he was there—pulling her behind cover with a hand at her waist. When he charged, she covered him with sharp, surgical fire.
They moved in sync, reading each other’s intentions before they were spoken.
It was terrifying.
Because it felt good.
Too good.
And that scared the hell out of her.
They moved upward, checking the upper floors. They took out three more opponents hiding in the various sections.
“Two more. Top floors cleared,” he murmured, swinging around and holding his gun at the ready.
“They must’ve gone to ground—either waiting for us to circle back or trying to outflank us,” she said.
He nodded, his gaze locking with hers for a second. Kiki looked away when she saw the questions burning behind his mask.
“There’s an old fire escape slide in the floor in the right corner that goes to the basement. I’ll take it down and come up the east stairwell. You climb down the scaffolding on the west side,” she instructed.
“Could be a trap,” he warned.
She shook her head. “Both are shielded from view. Or, we can do it the hard way, retrace and make sure they haven’t come up behind us.”
“I go for that,” he said. “Once we’ve made sure, we’ll do the slide and climb and come up on each side.”
“Roger that,” she murmured.
They re-swept the upper level, tension building in both of them.
The four players they had already taken out had been jumpy.
These last two had more skill. Kiki itched to spread out her senses, but this was a game—and she wouldn’t cheat.
Once they made sure their last two opponents hadn’t tried to sneak up behind them, they parted, each heading in a different direction.
Kiki jogged on silent feet to the end of the corridor where a large, black hole gaped like a monstrous mouth in the wall.
She gripped the bar above the hole, slid her feet in, and hugged her gun to her chest before she tucked her elbows and feet and slid down the winding tube.
Near the end, she spread her feet, slowing until she stopped.
She breathed, listening, before she inched her way down until she emerged feet first on the thick, padded cushion. She swept the area, keeping behind the crates that had been erected in front of the hole. The rest of the room was a large, empty area with no hiding spots.
She exhaled, resisting the urge to reach for Nikos through their link.
“He’s good. He’ll make it,” she whispered, focusing on the stairs across from her.
Taking the steps two at a time, she rolled under the bar behind a stack of crates the second there was enough room. She crawled on her belly, peering through a gap in the crates.
A flash of movement to her left showed their two opponents were circling for a crossfire on Nikos.
“Nikos, double left, warehouse wall!” she called out, breaking from cover.
He turned. He was at the wrong angle to hit them. For a split second, the world turned to a red haze around her. This was no longer a game. The bullets weren’t paintballs.
“They’re flanking you!” she hissed into the mic.
Adrenaline pulsed through her as she leaped out into the open. Sprinting towards him, she dropped and slid at an angle as if she were coming into home base.
She tagged both opponents before they could fire. Paint exploded in vibrant pink across their chest plates and helmets as she emptied her hopper. Splashes of brilliant blue followed half a second later.
Nikos had heard her warning and moved with fluid grace in an arc, diving for cover as he released his own volley of paint.
Silence fell.
Then Jose’s voice boomed through the arena speakers. “That’s it! Match over. Team Kiki wins!”
Kiki collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. The smell of sweat and paint filled her nose while adrenaline pulsed through her body.
Her head turned.
Nikos was lying a few feet away, where he had dropped and rolled. His head was angled toward her. Their helmets were still on, their face shields fogged, but she could feel his eyes.
Burning. Searing. Seeing.
Too much. He knows. He can sense it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She rolled to her feet with a silent curse, tugging at the chin strap until her helmet popped off. Her curls clung to her face, damp with sweat. Her heart was still hammering from more than just the match.
She’d made a mistake. A massive, tactical blunder.
She should’ve taken him to a bookstore. The planetarium. The damn zoo.
Not a battlefield.
She’d underestimated him, and it was going to cost her. He knew she wasn’t just some zealous paintball fanatic. Their moves had been too synced, too precise for a civilian. He would know.
Damn it!
She moved stiffly, unzipping her vest and pulling it over her head. The air was cooler in the prep room, but it did little to cut the heat in her chest. She tossed the gear onto the table for used equipment and grabbed her hoodie, yanking it over her tank top.
Behind her, Nikos entered. Quiet. Controlled.
She could feel his gaze on her like a live wire, running down her spine, igniting every nerve. She busied herself organizing her gear, pretending she didn’t feel his gaze tracking her every move.
Watching.
Thinking.
Judging?
No, calculating. Analyzing her.
“I should have done more research,” she muttered under her breath. “Would’ve found out he was a freaking ex-commando instead of wasting time on his damn dating history.”
Her fingers fumbled with the elastic strap of her gloves. Her movements were jerky now. Too fast. Too clumsy.
She couldn’t look at him.
Because if she did, she might… crack.
And she didn’t crack.
Not for anyone. Not anymore.
She glanced over her shoulder when she heard footsteps hurrying towards them.
“Holy hell!” Jose burst in, his wide grin lighting up his weathered face. “That was insane! Seriously, Kiki, I’m gonna need to hire a medic to resuscitate Luis and Pedro. They’re crushed. They were bragging about how they were going to take you down today. That was glorious.”
She forced a smile, tugging her sleeves down. “I noticed you gave them a head start.”
“I was trying to give them a fighting chance,” Jose chuckled before he turned to Nikos, his eyebrows raised in admiration. “You. You’re scary good. If you ever want to come train some of our older kids, man—we’d be honored. I’ve offered Kiki the same gig, but she just enjoys shooting people.”
“I noticed. She’s surprisingly good at it,” Nikos replied, his voice smooth but heavy with unspoken meaning.
It shot straight through her, low and hot.
Her stomach twisted.
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
She couldn’t do this.
“I’m heading outside to cool off,” she said abruptly, stuffing her gloves into the gear bin and adjusting her hoodie.
Nikos inclined his head. “I’ll be out in a few.”
“Great,” she said—too quickly, too sharply. “Take your time.”
She shoved her hair out of her face and bolted for the exit.
Outside, the air was cool and breezy. The brisk chill felt good against her overheated flesh. She leaned against the brick wall and pulled in slow, shaky breaths.
She closed her eyes, drew a steady breath, and rebuilt her walls one layer at a time.
Because if she didn’t… she’d fall.
And if she fell, it wouldn’t be into something safe or soft.
It would be into something complicated.
Something dangerous.
Something that looked an awful lot like Nikos Aeto.
Falling for Nikos would be like falling into fire—beautiful, bright… and deadly.