Chapter 21
The van’s engine thrummed through the floor, steady as a heartbeat. He sat opposite Clara, the glow of the dashboard lights painting her face in soft amber. She kept her gaze mostly on the window, but every so often, he felt it slide back to him, light as a touch.
The memory of last night clawed at him still. Her mouth on his, the heat of her pressed against him, the sound she made when he pushed her to the door. It had lit him alive. And then the panic, sharp, cold, absolute, had snatched it away.
He’d left her standing there, lips swollen, confusion in her eyes, and hated himself for it.
Now she sat beside him, back straight, hands clasped tight in her lap. As if holding herself together.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But words were dangerous things, and his never came out right when it mattered.
Bishop cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. “We’re making good time. Should hit London before traffic clogs us.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Assuming Lotus doesn’t get us pulled over again,” Bishop added dryly.
Lotus lifted her chin, affronted. “That copper had it in for me. You saw the way he looked at me. And, anyway, I’m not even driving, so don’t start on me, jerk nozzle.”
“You were doing eighty in a forty zone,” Bishop shot back, “and jerk nozzle? Really?”
“It was sixty and yes, jerk nozzle.”
“Forty,” Bishop repeated firmly.
Clara’s lips twitched. For the first time since she climbed in, Watchdog could see her shoulders ease a little.
Watchdog kept his eyes on her, pretending to scan the feed scrolling across his tablet. The banter was background noise, familiar, grounding. But his focus stayed on the way her mouth curved, the way she looked younger, freer, when she smiled.
She turned then, catching him watching.
He dropped his gaze instantly, heat crawling up his neck. Idiot.
Her question caught him off guard. “Isn’t this overkill? Two vans, drones, the whole army, just to meet my friend?”
He lifted his eyes, met hers squarely. He let her see it, just for a moment, the truth carved into him. “These men are evil personified. I’m not taking the chance they’ll get to you. Not after what I personally know they’re capable of.”
Her expression faltered. Her throat worked as she looked away quickly, staring hard out the window.
His stomach twisted. She knew. Or she guessed enough.
He braced his hand against the window ledge, fingers curling tight. The van’s vibration buzzed through his bones, but it wasn’t enough to steady him. He wanted to go back, to the simplicity of drones and code, numbers that didn’t judge, facts that didn’t pity.
Instead, he was here. Opposite a woman who had kissed him, who looked at him with soft eyes that terrified him more than any enemy ever had.
And then the thought landed, sharp and unwelcome: he’d given her the clue.
The words he’d chosen, the way he’d let the truth bleed into his tone. He could’ve kept it clinical, vague, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted her to see. Wanted her to know.
His chest tightened. Why?
He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want questions. He didn’t want anyone prying open the wound he’d locked away so tightly it was suffocating him.
And yet… a part of him, the same reckless part that had kissed her back like a drowning man, wanted her to understand. To see him, scars and all.
That realisation rattled him more than the memory itself.
Because letting her see him meant letting her in.
And that might be the most dangerous thing he’d ever done.
The safe house was a narrow townhouse tucked into a quiet London street, curtains drawn, the air outside thick with drizzle and exhaust fumes. Inside, the lights were dim, the walls bare, a staging ground rather than a home.
Bás gathered the team in the front room, his presence commanding even in the cramped space.
“Duchess, you and Bein handle perimeter contacts. Reaper, Bishop, you’re backup on exit routes.
Titan, you’re with me. Val, dogs ready, secondary sweep if needed.
I want everyone ready to move the second we see something going south.
I want eyes on Clara at all times. Lotus, you know what you have to do.
Stay with Clara. If Lena asks, she’s a new friend from the Museum. ”
Heads nodded. Everyone knew their part.
When it came to the tech, all eyes shifted to him.
Watchdog straightened, his laptop already open, screens flickering to life. “Drones are calibrated. I’ve got eyes on three streets out in every direction. Comms are tight, nothing leaks. Any unusual chatter, I’ll see it before they do.”
“Has there been any chatter overnight?” Bishop asked, cracking his neck as he paced.
“Nothing unusual and nothing pertaining to this.”
“Got it.”
The hum of readiness filled the room. This was his element. This was where he excelled, his comfort zone.
But when Bás spoke again, a fissure cracked through the calm. “You’ll run comms from here,” Bás said firmly. “It’s where you’re needed most.”
Watchdog hesitated. “I want to be close.”
Silence stretched. It was the first time he’d ever questioned an order. The first time he’d ever asked to leave his station.
Bás’s frown cut deep. “You’re the best at this. You know it. We need you here, not playing watchdog in the bloody street.”
Conflict ripped through him. Logic said Bás was right. The team depended on him. His mind was the shield that kept them safe. But his chest burned with something stronger, the pull toward Clara.
Lotus stepped close, her hand brushing his arm. “I’ll be right beside her,” she said gently. “That’s why I’m dressed like this.” She flicked a finger at her plaid trousers and leather jacket, a grin tugging at her lips. “Nobody’s looking at the girl when I’m walking next to her.”
It was true. Lotus could draw every eye in the room and still slip out unseen when she wanted.
He clenched his jaw. Torn. Finally, he nodded once. “Then I’ll run comms from the van. Close enough to see.”
Bás studied him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fine. Van.”
The orders broke, team members moving to prep. Clara lingered near the wall, pale under the dim light. Her hands twisted together, the nerves written plainly in her posture.
Watchdog crossed the room before he’d thought it through. “Clara. Outside.”
She blinked, startled at his abrupt demand, but followed him into the drizzle. The air smelled of wet soil, cool against his overheated skin.
He turned to her, every muscle tight. “I shouldn’t say this now,” he began, his voice rough, “but I can’t not…not anymore.”
Her eyes widened.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.” The words scraped out of him, unpolished, raw. “I wasn’t looking for you. God knows I wasn’t. But now you’re here.” He broke off, shaking his head. “It terrifies me. But I can’t look away.”
Her breath hitched, her chest rising sharply.
He didn’t give her time to answer. His hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face up, and then his mouth crashed down on hers.
The kiss was hard, fast, consuming. Not tentative like before. This was possession, desperation, fire poured into flesh.
She gasped against him, lips parting, and he swallowed the sound. His other hand gripped her hip, pulling her closer, holding her as though he could anchor himself to her.
Her fingers curled in his shirt, clinging, breathless as his kiss devoured hers.
When he tore himself back, both of them were panting, their foreheads pressed together. Her lips were kiss-bruised, her eyes wide, dazed.
“Now you know,” he whispered, his breath hot against her mouth. “Whatever happens in there, you know.”