13. Aiden
Aiden
It’s been eleven days since rescuing Isabel from that nightmare. Standing at the window, I stare out at the gray stretch of morning light over the empty shoreline. The low crash of waves is the only sound in the room.
Her injuries, what she went through, are burned into my memory. Every mark. Every bruise.
I’ve seen violence, lived it during my military days. Things most men wouldn’t walk away from, but none of it sits like this. Not when it’s someone you love; that hits you differently.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake off those images so I can concentrate.
We’re off grid. Exactly where we need to be. No one knows where we are. Not Trent. Not Silas. Not even Darius Falcon. My men are here, but we ditched Marty, Ryan, and Zander immediately after.
Zander was the easiest to cut loose. One look at Isabel and he didn’t even make me say it. Taking her to Trent’s wasn’t an option. Once we picked up Pauly and Teddy, he volunteered to get the hell out of there.
Teddy took my Jag and dropped him off fifteen miles from where it all went down. Zander spun a story about me ditching him. Something wild enough Trent would believe it. The road rash helped sell it—a reminder of the stunt he pulled jumping from the speeding Jag that left him hurt but breathing.
Marty and Ryan were a different story. They argued that ensuring Isabel’s safety was their job. That’s when I lost my shit, pointed at the woman out cold in the backseat of Lane’s truck, then fired them.
Fury twisted their faces as they unsheathed their weapons. The glint of steel reflecting the anger in their eyes as they demanded I back away from the princess because they were taking over.
Like hell they were.
There was no way I was letting them take over. Clueless about my true identity, I can’t blame them. To them, I’m the dangerous force they swore to protect her from. Even if they’d done their research, it would’ve led them back to the man they believe I am. My cover is that solid.
I stared down the barrels of their guns, daring them to pull the triggers, while I laughed like a madman.
And when they didn’t act fast enough, I moved.
Disarmed them, the weapons clattering to the ground, before knocking them on their arses with a couple of well-aimed blows.
The impact of them hitting the ground was a satisfying thud.
It wasn’t really fair, both men were in rough shape from when they got jumped. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t letting them come with us. I didn’t trust Ryan, and after what happened with Marty’s twin, I wasn’t taking chances. Not with her.
The boys helped me tie them up and leave them on the side of the road.
Not my cleanest move, but it got the job done.
Twenty minutes out, I called Darius. Told him to have Isaac collect his men.
Men who never should’ve been responsible for Isabel in the first place.
I ended the call before he could ask questions.
We’ve been on radio silence ever since.
I don’t know what’s coming next. Don’t know where I stand with either of my bosses. Right now, I don’t care.
The only person who matters is Isabel and what she needs.
Everyone else can fuck off.
I’ll deal with them when she’s ready to face the world again. And right now, she’s not. She’s recovering. Quiet, fragile in a way I don’t like thinking about, but real all the same.
My only job now is to keep her safe.
That doesn’t mean I’m just sitting around twiddling my thumbs. She gave me a name right before passing out.
Rurik.
He’s a fucking ghost. Not a common name, but there are enough of them to make tracking him down a nightmare. Every lead I chase dies the same way, cold and useless. It’s starting to piss me off.
Who the fuck is Rurik?
My attention shifts from my laptop when Isabel steps into the kitchen. The air in the room turns heavy.
A tangible stillness follows her, a stark contrast to her normally chatty self. She keeps to herself, spends most of the day in her room, only coming out when she needs something. Food. Water. Her meds. Then she’s gone again.
There’s a darkness inside her that wasn’t there before. I see it in her eyes, hollow and distant. The way she avoids prolonged eye contact, quick glances to acknowledge I’m still around.
I don’t push. Not yet. She’s working through something I can’t fix for her.
When she’s ready, she’ll come to me—I have to believe that.
Until then, I’ll respect her need for space. Even if it’s the last thing I want.
“How’s Alma feeling this morning?” Closing my laptop, I grab the empty mug beside me and stand. “Misty said she had a rough night.”
When I needed a safe place to take her, I brought her here.
Same place we stashed Alma. Isabel’s injuries required treatment, and with Misty being a nurse, it was a no-brainer.
It also keeps Alma close. Gives Isabel one less thing to worry about.
We’re safe at my brother’s. It’s the last spot anyone would search.
Rural Wales makes it easier for me and my men to keep it that way.
As the coffee machine gurgles and hisses, Izzy leans against the counter, her eyes on me, this time longer.
Hope blooms in my chest.
“Misty’s with her now,” she says. “They’re on the deck, listening to the birds. Grams is confused. We’re both grappling with a lot right now… trying to find our footing.”
Setting my mug on the counter, I stop a few feet in front of her. Close enough to reach out for her, but far enough that I don’t. “Anything I can help you with?”
Silence stretches between us, thick enough to feel. An ache inside me longs to pull her into my chest to comfort her, but that damn unspoken barrier holds me back.
Her forehead wrinkles as she thinks, working through whatever thoughts are running through her head. I stay where I am, giving her the space to choose if and how she lets me in.
“Was this all a game to you? So you could—”
“Hell no. Do you really believe I’d play games with you?”
With a subtle, almost imperceptible shrug, her gaze drifts away, a wordless dismissal.
Not happening.
I close the distance between us, slow enough not to spook her, but deliberate enough she knows I’m not backing down. My knuckle hooks her chin, lifting her face back to mine, caging her in without touching the rest of her.
I don’t know what happened during the hours she spent with those monsters. She’s not said. The ugly purple and black bruises speak for themselves. They’ve lit a fire in me that demands justice.
“Absolutely not.” I keep my voice low and calm to avoid startling her. “I didn’t mean to fall for you. Knew better than to do something so stupid.”
She flinches at my words and tries to remove my finger from her chin.
Adding my thumb to keep her still, I continue. “But it happened anyway. This thing between us… it’s real.”
I angle in a little closer, a low growl rumbling in my chest. “Mine.”
The word is quiet. Certain.
“Anyone who touched you without your permission…” My jaw tightens. “They don’t get to keep breathing. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”
Her eyes meet mine again, and there it is, that flicker I’ve been waiting for. Small. Fragile. That light I haven’t seen for days is back, and it hits me hard in the gut.
“Kiss me,” she whispers. “Prove it.”
“Gladly.”
I don’t rush it. I lean is slow, giving her every chance to stop me. When she doesn’t I brush my lips against hers—soft, controlled, testing.
Because she’s not the same woman she was eleven days ago, I’m not about to take anything she doesn’t give me freely. When she parts her lips and her tongue grazes along my bottom lip, I take it as permission, deepening the kiss just enough to meet her where she is.
Not pushing. Not taking. Just… there with her.
Her quiet sounds break through my control, sending a surge of heat through me I clamp down on immediately. This isn’t about me or my needs; this is all about hers.
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me is the only reason I draw back. Catching the flush in her cheeks, I smirk. “Believe me now?”
With a second shrug, a glint of mischief flickers behind her gaze. “Maybe.”
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wylan says with a chuckle as he talks to Izzy. “Misty mentioned that Alma would like her favorite blueberry pancakes. I can’t deny that lovely woman. Are you hungry for something besides Aiden?”
With a grumble, I step back and grab my mug. “Fuck off.”
Isabel snatches her steaming cup from under the machine, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the space as she moves toward the sugar and cream. “Your pancakes are delicious. I could be persuaded to eat a few.”
“Give me fifteen minutes to whip up a batch.” He opens the fridge. “You can wait, or I’ll call you when they’re done.”
Stepping up behind her, I place my hand lightly on her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine. “Why don’t we finish talking while he cooks? Someplace private.”
“Is that what the kids are calling that today? Talking?” Wylan snickers. “Misty and I love talking out in the garden. Nice and quiet. A pebbled path leads you to a great spot others can’t see. In case you wanted to know.”
Picking up an apple, I throw it at his head. “Fuck off.”
Wylan catches it easily, laughing, but keeps his mouth shut.
Izzy slips past me with her mug, a quiet snicker under her breath as we head outside. The air hits, cool and damp, the kind that settles into the bones. Nothing we aren’t used to living in London.
My focus is on her. The way she moves, the way she’s starting to come back, piece by piece.
We follow the path to the garden, finding the secluded spot Wylan mentioned. Isabel takes a seat on the bench and sips her coffee while staring straight ahead.
I take a seat beside to her, slower this time, giving her time to adjust. When I rest a hand on her knee, I watch for a reaction.
There isn’t one. A small victory.
My thumb rubs over her jean-clad knee, slow, steady, trying to pull something out of her. “You ready to talk about what happened?”
“Do I have to?” Her gaze drifts skyward, and she closes her eyes, letting out a sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world. “Isn’t it bad enough I relive it every time I close my eyes?”
“Did they…” The word sticks. I can’t force it out.
“Rape me?” Lowering her cup, she cradles it with both hands.
“No. He tried. The one I killed. But I fought with everything I had in me. Got lucky. Grabbed a shard from the broken vase before he tossed me on the bed.” Her grip tightens, slightly.
“If I hadn’t… you would have witnessed it firsthand when you barged into the room. That would’ve fucked both of us up.”
Her eyes find mine, steady despite everything. “How do you do it? Kill a man without feeling guilty?”
I take the mug from her, setting it aside before turning toward her fully. When she lifts troubled eyes to meet mine, I gently cup her neck, my thumb caressing along her throat, doing my best not to glare at the healing fingerprints left behind by that sick bastard.
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I’m a doctor. My job is to save lives, not end them.
” Her eyes take on a new, unwelcome iciness.
“I aimed for his jugular because I knew that would be fatal. I stayed there, pinned beneath him while he bled out on top of me. When his body became heavier, relief washed over me. The stench of death filled my lungs, and this time, I didn’t fight it.
I welcomed it. Found comfort in its familiarity. ”
Her tears fall, each one heavy, breaking my heart into a million pieces.
“Come here.” Gently pulling her onto my lap, I hold her close, tracing my fingers down her spine before intertwining our hands. “Listen to me. You only did what you had to do. You survived. He doesn’t get your guilt.”
My jaw tightens as I force the rest out, quieter now. “If it had been me, he wouldn’t have died so quickly. He should’ve suffered. Begged for death. Known what was coming before it ended.”
I lean in and press my lips to the side of her head. “Don’t waste a single tear on him.”
She sniffles against my chest. “The blood… I can still smell it on me. Will it ever go away?”
I wish I could tell her yes, but the truth is, I don’t think it does. I’ve killed more than my share of men, and the stains of their blood haunt me most nights.
“It fades,” I say instead. “You learn to come to terms with it. Death can be a blessing and a curse. When it creeps in, focus on what you stopped. Think about the ones you saved. You weren’t his first, and you wouldn’t have been his last.”
When she shifts in my arms, I glance down and wipe away her last tear. “We need to talk about why they took you. Do you know why?”
“Do you?” Her brows draw together. “How long have you known?”
“Known what exactly?”
She leans forward, changing her posture so she can look me directly in the eyes. “Don’t be coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about. How long?”
“Easy.” My hands settle at her waist, steadying her. “Tell me what you know, and I promise to fill in the rest.”
I pause, then add, “And for the record, I haven’t known long. I stumbled upon some papers in your grandfather’s office. I’ve learned more since then. But I’m not guessing blind anymore. I need to know what you know.”
“I don’t even know if it’s real. It could be a setup to get me to turn on my family. I only saw one document, but it could’ve been a forgery.”
She’s watching me. Testing. Waiting for me to slip.
“What did you see? Who showed it to you?”
Exasperated, she pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Rurik slipped a folder under my door after we had words. Told me he was my father. Said it had all the answers.”
A bitter edge slips into her tone. “At first, I didn’t open it. Threw it across the room. But curiosity got the better of me. When I studied the pile, one page caught my eye.”
She bites down on her lower lip, drawing a deep, shaky breath that catches in her throat. “Adoption papers. Mine.”
I don’t react. Not outwardly.
“And that’s all you saw?”
Her nod reveals the pain and confusion she’s been burdened with ever since.
“I’ve seen them,” I say quietly. “Same papers.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“Are they authentic? I don’t know yet,” I continue. “But I know who can verify them.”
I let that sit for a second before adding. “I didn’t want to do that until you were ready.”
My grip tightens at her waist. “So, I’ll ask you again. Are you ready?”