Chapter 28
VI
I don’t realize Sting has followed us until he’s already there.
He’s standing at the mouth of the narrow passage, half in shadow, one shoulder resting against the wall as if he belongs there.
From where I’m sitting, tucked into the recess Armen chose, I can see him clearly.
The half-skeleton mask catches the light, pale against the concrete, hollowed eyes fixed on me.
It’s designed to intimidate, which it does.
It also excites me. Which is not good.
Armen doesn’t turn right away. He must sense Sting the way I do, his presence and attention.
“That area’s restricted,” Armen says calmly.
Sting’s gaze flicks to him for a moment, then slides back to me. “Didn’t see a sign.”
“You saw me move her,” Armen replies. “That’s the sign.”
Sting smiles. I can’t see his mouth, but I can hear it in the slight lift of his voice. “I was curious. She looked uncomfortable.”
“I’ve got her,” Armen says.
The words are flat. Procedural. They aren’t a challenge, and that somehow makes them heavier.
Sting pushes off the wall and takes a step closer. Not rushing. Not crowding. Just close enough that I feel the change in space, the subtle shift in how much room I have to breathe.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says mildly.
Armen’s weight changes beside me, a small adjustment I wouldn’t have noticed an hour ago. Now, I feel it immediately. “This isn’t your call.”
Sting tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving my face. “You’re funny, Armen.”
A pissing match. Lovely.
Before I can pipe up, before I even decide whether I should, Sting steps fully into my space.
His hand comes up fast, fingers closing around my chin, firm and sure, pressing just beneath my jaw. The touch isn’t rough, but it’s intimate in a way that makes my breath catch.
“Hey—” I start, ready to yank my head back.
I can’t let this guy turn me on. Armen is bad enough.
But his grip tightens, cutting me off. He holds me there, gaze searching mine like he’s looking for something.
Armen starts toward him.
“I’ve got her, brother,” Sting says evenly, his voice carrying just far enough to be heard beyond the passage. “You can fucking relax.”
Sting holds my face for another second, his gaze searching mine like he’s looking for a reaction he can use. I don’t give him one. I keep my expression neutral, my breathing shallow and controlled, even though my pulse is pounding and my skin tingles where he’s touching me.
He lets go.
Armen hasn’t moved either. But I feel his attention shift, not to Sting, not to the hand that was just on my face, but to me. To my stillness. To the fact that I didn’t immediately speak or flinch.
“That,” Armen says, “was a mistake.”
Sting finally looks at him. “C’mon man. Get over yourself.”
Armen steps forward, just enough to put his body between us again. Not aggressively. Not dramatically. Just enough to reclaim the space. “She didn’t consent to that,” he says.
Sting shrugs. “She didn’t consent to a lot of things that are going to happen here.”
I open my mouth to answer, but Armen cuts in before I can. “We’re done here,” he says.
Sting’s gaze slides back to me one last time. There’s no apology in it. No regret. Just a sharp, unsettling satisfaction, like he got what he came for. “See you around.”
Then he steps back, retreating the way he came, unhurried, his presence fading only when he’s fully out of sight.
The corridor returns to normal, as if it’s reacting to the strange tension between the guys.
Armen doesn’t speak right away. He crouches in front of me, blocking my view of the passage entirely, his mask level with my face.
“Did you want him to touch you?” he asks.
“No,” I say immediately.
“Did you feel threatened?”
I hesitate, then answer honestly. “Um. I guess.”
He nods once, like that confirms something he already suspected. “That’s what I needed to know.”
He stands and takes up his position again, body angled protectively but without touching me. “We’ll talk later,” he adds. “About reactions.”
“Are you mad?”
“No,” he says. “I’m informed.”
Okay. Whatever that means.
I sit there afterward, my skin still buzzing where Sting’s hand had been, the echo of his grip pleasantly lingering in a way I wouldn’t dare let Armen see.