38. Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Alex
Driving back toward town, the sky begins to soften at the edges.
I know where Lina is without checking. She’ll be at the shop, moving through her morning routines long before the doors open. That’s who she is. Even after everything, she shows up.
I don’t go straight there like I usually do.
Instead, I return to the Airbnb to clean up, to reset. To release The Wraith.
Reese is already watching the feeds I set up around the shop and nearby streets. If anything so much as blinks wrong, I’ll know. Still, I don’t like the distance. Even a few blocks feels like too much right now. The anxiety jitters my bones.
Well, that’s fucking new.
I’ve spent my life compartmentalizing. People, places, jobs. Care has always been a liability. Yet, somehow, Lina slipped past every wall I’ve ever built.
It started before we touched, before the night blurred into hours of exhaustion and something gravely close to comfort.
I can still hold the memory of her in my arms. The way she fits there so naturally. Small but all curves and warmth. The way she smells. The way she trusted me without knowing the full truth of who and what I am, and then how she didn’t recoil as I let her see more of me.
I’ve dated. I’ve had good sex. I’ve cared a little before. But this is different.
With her, I felt…open. Like I could tell her anything and not be reduced to what I’m capable of doing. At first I was afraid, more than I want to admit. That if she knew the full scope of my work, she’d see me as something fucked-up. Hazardous. Unfit for anything normal. Instead, she listened.
She didn’t excuse it. She didn’t flinch. She drew her own line. And somehow, it aligned with mine.
You only hurt bad people.
That mattered to her. It mattered to me that it mattered.
As I finish cleaning up, my phone buzzes.
I exhale, tension easing slightly. I’ll head over soon.
Somewhere between protecting her and wanting her, the line disappeared.
I know this: My desire for her will never be satisfied. I am endlessly amazed by her.
Whatever this becomes—whatever it costs, I’m in. I’m already too deep to pretend otherwise.
I step into the shop after opening, a small bell over the entrance chiming softly behind me.
Sunday mornings are quiet—at least until church lets out. It’s barely eight, only a handful of customers scattered at tables, coffee steaming in their hands. The place feels calm. Normal.
I see Lina. She’s behind the counter, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, already in motion. She looks tired. Bruised beneath the surface, but steady. Alive. When her eyes meet mine, something unspoken passes between us. A look. A decision.
We both know we need to talk.
She rounds the counter without hesitation and heads straight for me. She grabs my hand, and I follow her through the back hallway, past the familiar hum of the kitchen, until we reach the office. She pulls me inside and shuts the door firmly behind us.
The tension is immediate. She’s still mad. It’s written all over her. But she’s here.
I don’t give myself time to overthink it. I reach for her and kiss her.
It’s instinct more than choice—our bodies recognizing each other before our minds can interfere. For a split second she freezes, breath catching between us, and then she kisses me back with the same need. All that frustration, the fear, the things left unsaid pour straight into it.
Her mouth opens under mine, warm and urgent.
I taste her—coffee, sugar, something unmistakably Lina—and the kiss deepens, turns hungry.
She grips my shirt as if she’s looking for a reliable anchor, and I pull her closer, chest to chest, feeling the way she fits against me, as if this has always been where she belongs.
I lift her without thinking and set her on the lip of the desk.
She makes a soft sound as her hips meet the wood, her hands sliding up my arms, fingers curling at my shoulders.
I step in closer, crowding her space, and kiss her again—slower this time.
Deeper. I take my time with it, drawing it out, nipping lightly at her bottom lip before soothing it with my mouth.
She exhales against me, breath shaky.
I kiss along the corner of her mouth, then back again, letting the tension stretch, letting her sense how much I want her without rushing it. My hands brace on either side of her, caging her in without touching, making her tilt her chin to meet me.
She’s intoxicating like this—angry, soft, wanting, resisting. Appealing such that restraint feels like a losing battle.
I want her. All of her.
The kiss turns heavy. Less about urgency now and more about control—about how long we can stay right here before one of us breaks. Her breathing turns uneven, her forehead brushing mine as our mouths linger close, brushing, teasing, not quite pulling away.
Then she presses a hand to my chest.
Gently requesting a small amount of distance.
I still instantly, though every part of me wants to ignore it, wants to pull her back into me and finish what we started.
I force myself to step back, to give her space, even as my body protests the distance.
I stand there like that for a moment—foreheads nearly touching, breaths mingling, the air thick with everything we haven’t said yet.
“Tell me,” she says, voice steady but firm as her fingers stay curled in my shirt. “What do we know?”
I search her face. No fear. Just resolve.
“I want to know,” she adds.
I nod, understanding her request.
“Never again will I keep anything from you,” I say quietly. The significance of that promise stretches between us, unspoken but understood.
I lay it all out for her. Everything Reese and I have pieced together so far. The contracts. The broker. The money trail. The scope of it. I keep it clean, clear, and honest.
When I finish, Lina doesn’t appear frightened. She looks focused.
“We should confront him, David,” she says. “Now. Not later.”
I expected that.
I bob my head. “Not yet, love. There are too many moving parts. If we go at him now, we tip our hand and lose the bigger picture.”
Her jaw tightens. She hates waiting. It’s evident in the way her fingers curl into her palm.
“Reese needs time,” I continue. “He’s following the information we got last night. If we’re patient, he can get us to the source. The person who makes this possible for people like them.”
She exhales, frustration flickering across her face. But then she nods. She gets it, even if she doesn’t like it.
My phone buzzes.
I look at the screen, then back at her. “Looks like I’ll be busy today,” I tell her. “Chasing a few threads.” She studies me, my phone, and then nods.
“Reese is watching for me,” I say. “All the cameras. If anything looks even slightly off, he’ll have backup here quickly.” That eases her a little.
She pulls me closer, lowering her voice. “I want to see you tonight.”
I instantly smile.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I tell her honestly.
For a moment, the office feels too small for everything we’re holding. Fear, want, unfinished business. She reaches for my hand, squeezing it once.
“Be careful,” she says.
“I will,” I promise.
And as I step out of the office, leaving her to the day ahead, I feel comforted by the fact that we are moving forward. Together.