Chapter 8
Callum
I kill the engine, get out of her car, and shut the door soft behind me. My boots echo off the concrete of the underground garage, the air cool and sharp. She follows me, but her steps are uneven. Still tryin’ to wrap her pretty head around what just happened.
"Why me?" Her voice cuts through the space, tight with suspicion. "Why the hell were you even watching me to begin with? What do you care if I walk into Kellen Raye’s life? It’s not your business."
I stop cold. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. Her words tumble out, fast, desperate. Demanding answers I’m not sure she’s ready to hear. Not here.
I turn back slowly. "This isn’t the place for that conversation, love." My voice is low, calm. "Let’s get upstairs."
She opens her mouth again, probably ready to hurl another dozen questions, but I close the distance and reach for her hand.
My fingers lace with hers. Tight. Possessive.
She doesn’t pull away—shock still hangin’ thick in the air around her.
I guide her toward the elevator, punching in the code without askin’. Her code.
The lift doors close. She’s silent beside me, but I can feel her fury simmerin’. Her body’s taut with it. The kind of rage that only comes from feelin’ exposed.
When the doors open to her penthouse, I walk in like I’ve done it a hundred times. Confident. Controlled. Because I am. This is the only way to keep her steady—by bein’ the eye in the center of the storm.
She closes the door behind us with a loud snap.
"Start talking. Now."
I face her, still holding her gaze. "You were my assignment."
That knocks the breath from her lungs. I see it—the stagger in her expression, the tremble in her fingers.
"You’re lying."
"I’m not." I move further into the living room, but stay within reach. "You were flagged. High probability of being connected to underground movement in Sector Twelve. Smart. Slippery. And too close to something Blackdawn wants buried."
Her arms cross over her chest. Defense mechanism. "And you were going to what? Eliminate me? Spy? What was the play?"
"I was meant to observe. Gather data. Determine if you were a threat."
"And?" she bites out.
I step closer, keeping my voice low, edged in steel. "And I found nothin’ that matched the brief. You weren’t unstable. You weren’t reckless. You were curious. Controlled. And brave in ways they didn’t count on."
Her eyes flash. "You could’ve told them I wasn’t a threat and walked away."
"Aye," I say quietly. "I could’ve. But I didn’t."
She stares, waiting for the rest.
"Because I saw what you were really doin’. Tryin’ to crack Facility E. On your own. With nothin’ but blind instinct and that clever brain of yours. And I knew the second you got close, they’d either disappear you or use you as a message."
Her chin lifts. "I don’t need a man’s help."
I huff a quiet laugh. "Didn’t say you did. But I’m offerin’ it anyway. I’ve got resources you don’t. Contacts that don’t bleed Blackdawn’s colors. I’ve trained for ops like this since I was barely out of the cradle. If you go in alone, you’ll die. Or worse."
She folds her arms tighter, like it’s the only thing holdin’ her together. "And what do you expect from me in return?"
My jaw tics. I step closer, voice dropping a level. "I won’t ask you for a damn thing, Seraphina. Not your body. Not your trust. But you’ll give it to me eventually. You will. And when you do, it’ll be because you want to. Not because I demanded it."
Her face flushes—anger, humiliation, and something else she doesn’t want to name.
"Cocky bastard," she mutters.
I let the corner of my mouth tilt up, just slightly. Then I reach into my jacket and pull out a small, encrypted data chip. I toss it to her. She fumbles but catches it.
"What’s this?"
"Intel. On Facility E. The kind that’ll melt your brain if you’re not careful. You’ve been diggin’ at the surface. But it goes deeper. Tunnels. Labs. Experimental testing grounds. Things that ain’t meant to see the light of day. And that," I nod at the chip, "is just a taste."
Her face pales.
"Facility E isn’t the endgame, Seraphina. It’s the bloody doorway. There’s more. Levels underneath that, hidden transport hubs. Off-record transfers. Whatever they’re doing there—it’s bigger than anything Blackdawn’s admitted to."
She sinks onto the edge of her couch, chip clutched in her fingers like it might detonate.
"You’re serious."
"Deadly."
She lifts her eyes. "If I let you in on this—fully—you don’t get to control it."
I kneel down in front of her, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on hers. "I don’t want control, love. I want you alive. And I want the bastards behind this to burn. That’s it."
She breathes in slowly. Out.
And for the first time since I met her, she doesn’t push me away.
It’s a start.
I watch her fingers close 'round the chip. She studies it like it might bloody explode in her hand. Smart woman. What’s on that chip would make hardened men piss themselves.
And still… not a flinch.
Christ above, she’s stronger than any of them warned. Stronger than I expected.
I lean back against the arm of her couch, crossin’ my arms, doin’ my damndest not to let my eyes stray to where the silk of her shorts hugs her thighs. Sweet hell.
“She’ll be a liability,” they told me. “A pampered brat who got too close to things she’ll never understand.”
But what I saw? What I see now?
Is fire. Pure, controlled chaos.
And feck me—I want to protect that.
You’re not supposed to care. That voice again. Cold. Flat. Like an echo from a briefing room I never really left. She’s a mission. A job. Move the pieces. Burn the rest.
But they didn’t watch her in that café. Didn’t see her alone, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp, diggin’ into the darkest corners of our world like she belonged there.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already at war.
And I can’t let her walk into it alone.
I step closer, crouchin’ beside her again. Her eyes flick up, full of suspicion and somethin’ else—hope, maybe. Hope that I’m not another bastard with an angle.
“Facility E…” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “It’s not just a feckin’ blacksite, darlin’. It ’s a portal. They use it to test operatives, erase memories, rebuild people from nothin’. What you’re diggin’ into—it’s the feckin’ centre of the rot.”
Her knuckles go white on the edge of the table, but she doesn’t break eye contact.
“I don’t need protecting’,” she mutters, defiant.
“Aye,” I say with a nod, “maybe you don’t. But I’m not here to shield you with feckin’ bubble wrap. I’m here to give you the truth—and the means to survive it.”
She looks at me like she’s waitin’ for the punchline. Like no one’s ever offered her that before without a price tag.
And she’s right to wonder.
Because the truth is—I don’t just want to help her.
I want to keep her. Close. Safe. Mine.
I bite down hard, tryin’ to swallow the weight pressin’ in my chest.
This isn't about her. This is about the job. She’s in over her head. You’d help any woman caught in this mess. This is no different.
But it is.
I feel it in my bones.
When she looks at me like that—defiant and raw—it wrecks me.
She’s not afraid. She’s furious .
And I respect the hell out of her for it.
“You don’t trust me,” I say, softer now.
Her chin lifts. “Why the hell would I?”
I smile faintly. “Fair ‘nough.”
Her gaze drifts back to the chip.
“So, what’s the catch then?” she asks. “No man just swoops in to help a woman like me. Not without wanting something in return.”
I let out a low laugh. Dry as aged whiskey. “You think this is charity, love?”
“I think it’s suspicious as hell.”
I nod once, leanin’ forward just a hair. “I’m offerin’ you a choice. I know what’s comin’. You don’t. And bein’ clever won’t be enough once you’re in the belly of Facility E.”
Silence stretches, and I feel the tension in her shoulders.
And all I can see is her—hair mussed, breath shallow, still grippin’ that chip like it holds her fate.
She’s not just another target. She’s the exception. And you know it.
I push up to my feet and head toward her kitchen. I don’t need food. I need space. Distance. Somethin’ to stop me from makin’ promises I won’t be able to walk away from.
But the truth is already carved into my chest like one of my feckin’ tattoos:
I’ll burn every last piece of this world to protect her.
Even if she never asks me to.