Chapter 3 #3
A slow grin spread across her face. Wicked. Knowing. "Oh, I can be a good girl. Though it depends on how nicely someone asks. And what's in it for me."
Fuck. She was actually going to kill me. Standing there with that bratty smile and challenge in her eyes, practically daring me to show her exactly what was in it for good girls who followed directions.
"What would make you feel safer without feeling trapped?" I asked instead.
She blinked again, that surprise flashing back. "You're serious. You actually want my input."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because most people—" She shook her head. "Never mind. Okay. Let me think."
She hopped up on the counter, legs swinging as she considered. I tried not to notice how the action made her jeans ride lower, revealing the angel wing tattoos on her hips. Tried not to imagine tracing them with my tongue.
Failed miserably.
"Cameras in the art," she said suddenly. "I've got all these weird sculptures and paintings. Nobody looks twice at them. We could hide cameras inside, get angles people wouldn't expect."
Brilliant. I nodded encouragement.
"And instead of scheduled checks, what about random ones? Like, I roll dice each morning, whatever number comes up is how many hours between checks. Harder to pattern."
"Smart. What else?"
She was warming to the topic now, that defensive bristle smoothing out as she realized I genuinely valued her ideas.
"Panic buttons are fine but make them look like something else. Maybe built into jewelry? I wear enough weird shit that no one would notice another ring or bracelet."
"I can work with that."
We spent the next few minutes redesigning security together. Her suggestions were clever, creative, completely outside standard protocol. And better for it. She knew this space, knew herself, knew what she could actually maintain versus what would make her feel caged
Before too long, we'd redesigned everything. Lena had pulled out a cherry lollipop from somewhere—probably specifically to torture me—and was gesturing with it as she explained her ideas.
"See, if we put a camera in that gargoyle's eyes"—she pointed to a grotesque sculpture perched on a high shelf—"we'd get the whole entrance plus anyone trying to come through the back hall."
I nodded, trying to focus on security angles instead of how her tongue swirled around the candy. Red staining her lips. Little kitten licks that were absolutely, one hundred percent intentional.
"Makes sense," I managed, voice steady despite my jeans feeling two sizes too small. "What about the piercing station?"
She pulled the lollipop out with an obscene pop. "Already thought of that. Tanya's got this creepy Victorian doll collection on display. Perfect hiding spots."
Jesus Christ. The way she sucked that candy back in, cheeks hollowing slightly. Looking at me through her lashes like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"You're enjoying this," I said.
"The security planning?" All innocence. Another slow lick. "I'm finding it surprisingly engaging."
"That's not what I meant."
She grinned around the lollipop. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Soldier Boy."
But she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, making sure I noticed. Making sure I suffered.
"You know," I leaned back, forcing casual into my voice, "you're one of the smartest tactical minds I know. You just hide it under . . ."
I gestured vaguely at her whole setup. The organized chaos. The deliberately bratty attitude. The sex-on-legs thing she had going with that damn lollipop.
"Under my devastating beauty and artistic genius?" she supplied, batting her eyelashes.
"Something like that."
I didn't deny it. Couldn't, really. She was devastating. Beautiful. Some kind of evil genius specifically designed to make me lose my mind.
The bell chimed before I could say something stupidly honest, and Mia burst through the door like sunshine incarnate.
"Lena! Ready for bridesmaid tattoo planning!" She bounced—actually bounced—across the shop, tote bag swinging. "Brought my coloring books in case we run long. Duke's parking—"
She noticed me and smiled, all warmth and innocence.
"Oh hey! You doing security stuff?"
But I wasn't watching Mia. I was watching Lena.
And what I saw made everything click into place.
Her entire demeanor shifted the second Mia mentioned coloring books. The bratty confidence vanished like smoke. Her shoulders curved inward, making her seem smaller. Younger. Her fingers tightened on the lollipop stick until her knuckles went white.
Longing flashed across her face so pure and desperate it took my breath away. Then envy, sharp and bitter. Then want—deep, aching want for something she wouldn't let herself have.
All in maybe two seconds before she slammed the mask back down.
But I'd seen it. Seen her.
How had I never noticed it before?
"Yeah, just going over some upgrades," I said to Mia, keeping my voice normal while my mind raced.
Lena pulled the lollipop out, tossing it in the trash with forced casualness. "All done here anyway. Ty was just leaving."
Ty. Not Tyson or Soldier Boy. Just Ty.
"Actually," I said, standing slowly, "I need to grab some measurements for the window sensors. Won't take long."
A lie. I'd gotten every measurement I needed. But I wasn't ready to leave. Not when I'd just figured out the puzzle that was Lena Rivera.
She was a Little.
All the pieces fell into place like dominoes.
The way she bristled at strict protocols—someone had used rules to control her.
The flashes of vulnerability under the bratty armor.
How young she looked when scared. The longing in her eyes when Mia casually mentioned something as innocent as coloring books.
She was a Little without a Daddy, and it was killing her.
My protective instincts roared to life, twice as powerful as before.
Not just the need to keep her safe from external threats, but to provide what she desperately needed.
Structure without strictness. Rules that freed instead of caged.
Someone strong enough to handle her bratty testing while gentle enough to soothe the frightened girl underneath.
Someone like me.
"The windows can wait," Lena said, but uncertainty colored her voice. "Mia made an appointment."
"It's fine!" Mia chirped, already pulling coloring books from her bag.
She spread the books on the counter, and I caught another flash of that desperate want on Lena's face. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach out but couldn't let herself.
"These are nice," I said carefully, picking up one of the books. "Good quality paper."
Mia beamed. "Right? I found this little shop that specializes in adult coloring books, but they have some that are just . . . softer, you know? Not so complicated. Sometimes you just want something simple and pretty."
Lena made a small sound. Barely audible. But I heard it. Heard the need in it.
"I should—" She started to move away, but I shifted slightly. Not blocking her. Never that. Just . . . present. Solid.
"They're good for anxiety," I said, flipping through pages of flowers and butterflies. "The repetitive motion. Having something to focus on. My therapist recommended them after my last tour."
Lena's eyes snapped to mine. "You color?"
"Well. No. She suggested them, but I didn’t follow the suggestion.”
“Weird.”
“More of an advice giver than an advice taker.”
“It helps me,” said Mia, simply. “Something about staying inside the lines when everything else feels chaotic. We color together sometimes while watching movies—Duke and me."
Another desperate sound from Lena. Quieter. Sadder.
She wanted it. Wanted someone to color with. Someone to provide that simple, innocent intimacy. Someone to tell her she was doing a good job staying in the lines. Someone to hang her pictures on the fridge and call her their good girl.
Someone to be her Daddy.
And fuck me, but I wanted to be that someone. Wanted it with a ferocity that should have scared me. Instead, it felt like finally finding true north after years of spinning.
"I should get those measurements," I said, moving toward the windows. "You two plan your tattoos. I'll be quiet."
As I pretended to measure windows I'd already assessed, I listened to Mia chatter about tattoo ideas while Lena gave half-hearted responses. But I caught her watching me in the window's reflection. Saw her fingers still twitching toward those coloring books.
Soon, little artist. Soon I'll give you all the coloring books you want. Build you a whole room full of soft things and safety. Show you what it's like to have rules that protect instead of punish.
But first, I had to keep her safe from the Serpents circling outside.
Because now that I knew what she was—what she needed—letting anything happen to her wasn't an option.
Lena Rivera was mine to protect. She just didn't know it yet.