CHAPTER 14 #3
Leon steps out from cover, his gun trained on the last remaining shadow, but he pauses.
He looks over his shoulder at me. I’m standing barefoot on the asphalt, the wrecked SUV smoking behind me, the Glock still aimed downrange, my auburn hair wild and my face splattered with Vanya’s blood.
The look he gives me makes my skin flush.
The power dynamic from the penthouse completely shatters right here in the dirt.
He is looking at me with pure hunger—not as a captive, but as a violent equal.
"Nice shot, Agent," he says, a dark smirk playing on his lips before he slams a fresh magazine into his gun.
"Check your six, Leon!" I warn him, keeping my weapon raised.
"I've got it. We're finishing this."
Before we can advance, the distant, lonely wail of a police siren begins to rise through the city grid.
The last surviving hitman hears it too. He knows the ambush has catastrophically failed.
He doesn't stick around for a heroic last stand.
He scrambles back toward the surviving black sedan, diving into the driver's seat.
The tires scream in protest as he peels out, the car swerving wildly before disappearing around the corner into the concrete labyrinth.
I keep my gun leveled squarely at the fading red taillights until they completely vanish.
"They're running," I say, my voice sounding hollow in my own ears.
"They'll be back with more. We need to go," Leon says, walking back toward me.
"Sirens are three minutes out, maybe less," I compute automatically.
The immediate tactical threat is gone. The adrenaline that was keeping me sharp abruptly drains out of my system, leaving a massive, freezing void behind.
My arms suddenly feel like they weigh a hundred pounds.
I lower the Glock, and a violent, uncontrollable tremor starts in my fingertips and travels straight up my spine.
I look down. I am standing completely barefoot in a massive pool of thick, dark blood.
I just executed a man. I didn't try to arrest him.
I didn't read him his rights. I put two bullets in him to protect a syndicate boss, and the most terrifying part is that I didn't feel bad doing it. I felt alive.
I try to slot the Glock back into the waistband of my skirt, but my hands are shaking so violently I can't find the edge of the fabric. I give up and just let the gun drop. It hits the asphalt with a heavy, final clatter.
"Alessia? Alessia, look at me," Leon demands, closing the distance between us.
"I... I killed him," I whisper, my vision starting to blur at the edges. "I didn't even hesitate."
"You did what you had to. You survived," he says, his voice devoid of judgment.
He doesn't offer me a soft, comforting hug.
He stalks right into my personal space with a raw, aggressive energy that instantly commands my attention.
He kicks the dropped gun away into the shadows and shoves me back against the unyielding metal side of the wrecked SUV.
He pins me there with his massive body, his hands coming up to roughly frame my face.
His chest is heaving against mine, and he presses his bloodied forehead directly against my own. Our shared breath mists in the cold air between us.
"Don't you dare go quiet on me," he orders, his thumbs pressing into my jaw.
"I can't... I can't breathe," I gasp, the panic finally clawing up my throat.
"Breathe with me. Right now. Do it," he commands, taking a massive, exaggerated breath.
I pull the air in, mirroring him, the crush of his weight forcing me completely back into the present moment.
His hands leave my face and begin moving over my body with a frantic, rough efficiency.
He sweeps his heavy palms down my ribs, presses hard over my stomach, and drags his hands down the length of my legs, frantically searching for hidden bullet wounds.
It’s an incredibly intimate, possessive pat-down that feels dangerously close to foreplay.
He’s growling under his breath, a low sound of pure animalistic territoriality.
My body reacts instantly to the danger and his dominance. A sharp, unwanted spike of wet arousal pools low in my stomach. His hand hitches on the waistband of my silk skirt, his long fingers dipping unapologetically beneath the fabric, sliding against my hip bone for a second to check the joint.
"Where are you hurt? Tell me where!" he demands.
"I don't... I don't think I am," I stammer, the slide of his palm over my skin short-circuiting my brain.
"Don't lie to me. I saw you flinch."
His hand moves up, clamping down hard on my upper left arm.
"Fuck!" I let out a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain.
Leon immediately recoils, pulling his hand back.
His eyes darken to pitch black as he looks at his palm.
His fingertips are coated in fresh, bright red blood.
He grabs the silk sleeve of my jacket and rips it violently upward, tearing the fabric to reveal a long, jagged graze on my bicep where a piece of shrapnel or a stray bullet tore right through the top layer of skin.
The sight of my blood completely breaks something inside him.
The cold, calculating syndicate boss vanishes entirely.
He is consumed by a murderous, white-hot rage.
He raises his hand, deliberately licks his own thumb, and smears a drop of my blood directly onto his bottom lip in a dark, feral gesture of union that makes my breath hitch.
"You're bleeding," he states, his voice a lethal whisper.
"It’s just a graze. It doesn't even hurt," I lie, the air stinging the open flesh.
"You bled for me," he says, stepping so close his hips grind against mine, pinning me flush against the metal. "Do you have any idea what that means?"
His breathing turns into a low, jagged rasp.
He cups the back of my head, his fingers tangling roughly in my messy hair, and pulls backward just enough to force my throat entirely exposed to him.
The sexual tension in the air is a suffocating, physical weight, fueled by the intoxicating high of having just murdered people together.
I don't pull away. I reach up, my bloody, shaking fingers clutching at his ruined designer tie, and I yank him down toward my mouth.
"You’re mine now, Alessia. Truly mine," he promises against my lips.
"Then take me away from here," I demand, the FBI agent I used to be entirely dead and buried.
"I’m going to burn the world down for this," he vows.
Twin beams of blinding LED headlights suddenly cut through the smoke beneath the overpass.
A pristine black SUV screeches to a halt just twenty yards away.
The doors fly open, and Sven alongside three heavily armed syndicate men pile out, immediately sweeping the perimeter with assault rifles raised.
Leon doesn't let go of me. He shrugs off his heavy, expensive wool overcoat and wraps it tightly around my shoulders, effectively swallowing me in his warmth and scent.
Before I can even protest, he practically lifts me off my bare feet, hauling me against his chest as he marches toward the extraction vehicle.
"Sven, clean this mess. I want names by morning," Leon barks as we approach.
"She okay, boss?" Sven asks, keeping his eyes on the street.
"She’s perfect. Move!" Leon answers, tossing me into the back seat before climbing in right behind me.
I pull my legs in, leaning my head against his solid shoulder. The heavy, armored door slams shut, locking the sirens and the bodies out, leaving us completely encased in the dark.