Chapter 48 Ace
The black SUV pulls into the underground garage beneath Blackwood Industries. Cyrus sits beside me, scrolling through the mission reports Felix compiled. Neither of us wanted to leave Keira alone so soon after her kidnapping, but Xavier’s summons brooked no argument.
“She has three armed guards and a panic button,” I remind myself aloud, more for my own benefit than Cyrus’s.
Cyrus nods. “Still don’t like it.”
We exit the vehicle in synchronized motion, our footsteps echoing through the concrete structure as we approach the private elevator.
The weight of my Glock against my ribs provides minimal comfort.
After Volkov, I’d added an additional knife to my ankle holster and a garrote wire in my watch.
Excessive, perhaps, but the image of Keira bound to that chair has burned itself into my mind with permanent precision.
Xavier is waiting in his office, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Ravenwood’s skyline. He doesn’t turn when we enter.
“Eight of Kozlov’s men eliminated, including Dmitri Volkov.” His voice is cool, matter of fact. “Efficient work.”
“The immediate threat has been neutralized,” I report, remaining standing rather than taking a seat. “Kozlov himself has retreated to Moscow, according to our intelligence.”
Xavier finally turns, his gray eyes assessing us both. “And your girl?”
“Recovering,” Cyrus says, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“I see.” Xavier walks to his desk, trailing his fingers along the polished surface. “You know, when Knox suggested you two for the Hunt, I had reservations.”
I feel my spine straighten imperceptibly.
“The Dexter twins have always been our most reliable assets precisely because you remained... uncompromised.” He looks up, his gaze penetrating.
“Yet here we are, with you conducting a rescue operation that put three of my men in the hospital, all for a Hunt prize you were supposed to simply fuck and discard,” Xavier continues, his voice cutting through the silence.
“Believe me, I understand your situation more than you might think, but I recognize a liability when I see one.”
I feel Cyrus tense beside me. My own hand drifts imperceptibly closer to my weapon.
“Relax,” Xavier says with a dismissive wave. “If I wanted Ms. Valentino eliminated, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
He takes a seat behind his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“I’m offering you a choice, gentlemen. Continue as my elite operatives, the positions you’ve held with distinction for years, with the understanding that your.
.. attachment... to Ms. Valentino creates a permanent vulnerability.
One that our enemies will exploit repeatedly. ”
He leans forward. “Or retire from active assassination work. Maintain your security contracts, your legitimate business interests. Live a life less likely to result in Ms. Valentino being bound to a chair in an abandoned warehouse.”
Cyrus and I exchange a silent glance, a lifetime of communication passing between us in seconds.
“How long do we have to decide?” I ask.
“Seventy-two hours.” Xavier stands, signaling the end of our meeting. “Choose wisely.”
The drive back to the penthouse passes in tense silence. Our lives have always been defined by death—dealing it, avoiding it, living in its shadow. The thought of walking away leaves an unexpected hollowness in my chest.
“We need to tell her,” Cyrus says as the elevator climbs to our floor.
Keira is waiting in the living room, reading a book with her legs curled beneath her. She looks up, eyes instantly assessing our expressions.
“What happened?” she asks, setting her book aside.
I sit beside her while Cyrus paces. “Xavier gave us an ultimatum. Continue as his assassins, knowing the danger will always find you through us, or retire from active work.”
Cyrus stops pacing. “We need to decide what matters more—our old life or our new one with you.”
Keira’s expression hardens. She stands, moving between us. “I don’t want you changing who you are for me. I fell in love with you both—exactly as you are. Killers and all.”
I watch Keira’s face carefully, knowing what we’re about to share goes deeper than the sanitized version we gave her before.
“There’s more to our past than what we told you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “The Architect Program didn’t just train us. They broke us. Rebuilt us. Over and over.”
Cyrus moves closer, his shoulder against mine. “They started with isolation. Separate cells, complete darkness, for days. I was seven the first time.”
“They’d flood the cells with ice water when we fell asleep,” I continue. “By eight, we could stay awake for seventy-two hours straight.”
“At nine, they gave us our first kill assignment.” Cyrus’s voice drops. “A homeless man. They told us he was practice.”
“When I hesitated, they beat Cyrus instead of me.” The memory still burns. “That’s when we learned our pain was connected. Missing a target meant watching each other suffer.”
“By twelve, we could disassemble and reassemble any weapon blindfolded,” Cyrus says. “At thirteen, we’d mastered sixteen methods of killing with our bare hands.”
“The real training wasn’t physical,” I admit. “It was turning off your humanity. Making death mechanical. Calculated.”
“Handler Seventeen,” Cyrus says, his voice catching. “What he did in those rooms with …me, it wasn’t just torture. It was abuse similar to what Henderson did to you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Keira says, taking his hand.
“How can you look at us like that?” I ask. “Knowing everything we’ve done?”
“Because I see you,” she says simply. “Both of you. Not just what they made you.”
Cyrus and I exchange glances, something settling between us — quieter than the conversation we’d had over dinner, but no less significant. That had been the decision. This feels like something else. Like the weight of it finally becoming real.
“We meant what we said tonight,” I say, taking her hand. “It wasn’t just words over a meal.”
“I know.” Keira’s eyes move between us. “Neither was my answer.”
Cyrus exhales slowly, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “Our world is dangerous. That doesn’t change, even if we step back from active work. You understand what you’re really agreeing to.”
It isn’t quite a question, but she answers it like one anyway, reaching up to touch his face and then mine, her palm warm against my jaw.
“I understand who I’m choosing,” she says quietly. “Both of you. All of you.”
I watch Cyrus guide Keira to the couch, his hands gentler than I’ve ever seen them. The fierce protector who once snapped a man’s neck without blinking now treats her like blown glass, his fingers skimming her bruises with calculated care.
“We won’t let anything happen to you again,” he promises, his voice breaking slightly.
Something shifts in my chest, witnessing this—a tightness unrelated to Keira. It’s Cyrus. My twin. My other half. The realization hits with startling clarity: loving Keira hasn’t just made me vulnerable to her; it’s stripped away the armor I’ve maintained even with him.
For twenty-four years, we’ve operated as extensions of each other, perfectly synchronized yet carefully bounded.
Now those boundaries blur. His pain becomes mine in ways too intimate to measure.
His tenderness toward her awakens something primal in me that has nothing to do with possession or control.
When he catches me staring, neither of us looks away. Something unspoken passes between us—acknowledgment of this shift, this new terrain we’re navigating without maps. His eyes hold mine, and for the first time in our lives, I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking.
Keira looks between us, seemingly aware of the tension. She stands, taking both our hands.
Cyrus’s breath catches. “How?”
“I want to feel you both...” She hesitates, then continues with characteristic boldness. “Inside me. At the same time.”
My pulse quickens, heat pooling low as I instantly understand her meaning. It hasn’t happened often — only a handful of times since the Hunt ended — but the memory of it is seared into me completely.
“It’s been a while,” Cyrus says quietly, his voice already rougher than it was a moment ago.
“I know.” Keira holds his gaze, then mine. “That’s why I need it. I need to feel whole again. Filled completely. By both of you.”
Cyrus and I exchange a look over her head — the kind of wordless conversation we’ve had our whole lives, except now she’s at the center of it.
“You’re sure?” I ask, already guiding her toward the bedroom.
“When have I ever not been sure about this?” she murmurs, reaching for the buttons on my shirt while Cyrus’s hands slide beneath her sweater.
We undress her slowly between us, two sets of hands taking their time with every inch of skin revealed. When she’s finally bare, Cyrus lifts her onto the bed while I move to retrieve the lubricant from the nightstand.
I position myself between Keira’s spread thighs while Cyrus moves behind her. The bottle of lubricant clicks open, and I watch Cyrus drizzle the clear fluid between her ass cheeks. His fingers circle her tight entrance with practiced precision.
“Relax for me,” he murmurs against her neck, pressing a single digit against the resistance.
I lower my mouth to her pussy, drawing my tongue through her folds. She’s already wet, her body responding to our combined attention. Her back arches as Cyrus works his finger deeper into her ass, stretching her carefully.
“Such a greedy little hole,” Cyrus says, adding a second finger. “Opening up for me so perfectly.”
I suck her clit between my lips, feeling her thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her taste floods my mouth—familiar yet intoxicating every time. I slide two fingers inside her pussy, curling them upward to find the spot that makes her gasp.
“Please,” she whimpers, her body caught between our relentless attention.