Chapter Ten #3
I stand, the chair scraping lightly against the floor, and lean down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head.
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t tense. She just breathes, steady and present, and that warmth spreads again, slow and sure.
I walk out of the kitchen, letting her stay in the moment with Will, letting her have that piece of safety she’s been starved of.
Jaxon is standing outside, arms crossed, watching, waiting. His eyes flick to mine, reading everything without me having to say a word. “She seems better.” His voice is low, hushed, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly might undo whatever progress she made in the last ten minutes.
“Yeah,” I say, cracking my knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway. “She’s getting there. She wants to go home today.”
He nods once, jaw tight. “Are you going back to work any time soon?” He doesn’t mean the auto shop.
We both know that. He means the other work.
The kind that doesn’t get written down. The kind that leaves stains you can’t scrub out.
The kind we’ve been doing since we were old enough to understand what men like Crane do when no one’s watching.
I nod. “I’ve got a few names I’d like to check up on.”
Realization paints his features, slow and heavy.
He knows exactly what I mean. He knows exactly who I’m talking about.
Every person who had a hand in her childhood.
Every person who looked away. Every person who let it happen.
Every person who benefited from her silence.
It only began with Crane. But it doesn’t end with him.
It ends with every single name wiped from the face of the earth.
I owe her this. I owe her more than this.
And maybe, when she’s ready, she can join me.
She can take back everything they stole.
She can release the force that is Mara Thorne on the upper class in this city, tear through their polished fa?ade and their expensive lies, carve her future out of the rot they built their power on.
Paving her future with blood.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But soon.
And when she’s ready, I’ll be right beside her.
Mara
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The drive north feels unreal. The city blurs past the windows, all steel and glass and noise, but none of it touches me.
I sit curled in the passenger seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands, watching the skyline shift as we leave the familiar parts of town behind.
Kade doesn’t speak. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, close enough that I could reach for him if I needed to.
I don’t. But the option sits there, steady and quiet.
We don’t go to my apartment. He doesn’t even ask.
He takes a turn I don’t recognize, heading toward the north side of the city, where the buildings get taller and the streets get cleaner and everything feels colder in a way money always makes things cold.
I don’t question it. I don’t have the energy to.
I just watch the world rise around us until the car pulls into a private underground entrance, sleek metal doors sliding open like something out of a movie.
Security stands in the foyer. Not rent-a-cops.
Not bored men with clipboards. Real security.
Black uniforms. Earpieces. Eyes sharp and assessing.
They nod at Kade the moment he steps out of the car, like they’ve been waiting for him, like they know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of.
One of them glances at me, not with suspicion, but with recognition.
Respect.
Protection.
It’s strange. It makes my stomach twist.
The elevator opens with a soft hum, the interior lined with brushed steel and dark glass.
Kade guides me inside with a hand at my back, gentle but firm, like he’s making sure I don’t drift away.
The elevator rises fast, too fast, my ears popping slightly as the numbers climb.
When the doors slide open, I step into a space that doesn’t look real.
His home is a fortress.
Floor to ceiling windows wrap around the entire penthouse, the city stretched out beneath us like a map. The lights look distant, muted, almost harmless from this height. The air feels different up here, cleaner, colder, untouched by the chaos below.
The floors are dark polished concrete, smooth and cool under my shoes. The walls are a mix of steel and matte black paneling, broken only by subtle lighting strips that glow softly, guiding the eye without overwhelming it.
Everything is high-tech.
Not flashy.
Not gaudy.
Functional.
Precise.
Controlled.
A biometric lock sits on the door. Security cameras are tucked discreetly into corners. A silent alarm system hums faintly beneath the walls. The windows are reinforced—thicker than they look. The entire place feels like it could withstand a war.
It’s nothing like my childhood home. Nothing like my apartment. Nothing like anywhere I’ve ever been.
I stand there, frozen, taking it all in.
The space feels too big, too open, too sharp.
But it also feels safe. Safe in a way that makes my throat tighten.
Safe in a way that feels deliberate. Like he built this place to keep danger out.
Like he built it to keep himself alive. Like he built it to keep someone else alive too.
My eyes drift across the room.
The sleek black sofa.
The glass coffee table.
The massive screens mounted on the wall.
The kitchen tucked into the corner, all stainless steel and clean lines.
The hallway leading deeper into the penthouse, lit softly like it’s waiting for me.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just stand there, letting the reality of it settle.
Kade watches me from a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he’s waiting for my reaction. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t explain anything. He just lets me look, lets me breathe, lets me exist in the space he calls home.
And something inside me shifts. Not fully. Not cleanly. But enough that I feel it.
This place is nothing like the world I grew up in. But it feels safer than anywhere I’ve ever been.
The words slip out of me before I can stop them. “It’s… you.”
It feels too small for what stands in front of me. This place radiates him. Every surface, every shadow, every breath of air feels careful, controlled, deadly. A world built by his hands, shaped by his discipline, sharpened by the life he’s lived.
He rounds the couch with that quiet, predatory grace he has, the kind that never announces itself but always arrives exactly where it intends.
His hand finds the small of my back, steady and warm, guiding me deeper into his space.
I don’t resist. I let him. I let the scent of him wash over me, settle into my lungs, wrap itself around my nerves.
It’s everywhere.
Consuming.
Unmistakable.
I turn to face him, drawn by something I don’t have a name for. My eyes find his, those silver irises that have grounded me more times than I’d ever admit out loud. They catch the low light, reflecting it back like metal warmed by touch, like something forged rather than born.
His words settle over me like a weight and a promise. “I have wanted to bring you here since I first laid eyes on you, to keep you here, safe.”
He sits, pulling me between his legs with a certainty that feels older than this moment, older than us, older than anything I’ve ever been offered. His hands bracket my hips, steady, grounding, as if he’s afraid I might vanish if he doesn’t keep contact.
“I knew that I was limited as to how I could care for you at your apartment,” he continues, voice low, deliberate. “The security, the structure, none of it worthy of you. This place is ours, Bunny. Ours.”
The finality in his tone hits something deep inside me. Something stills. Something blooms. Something dangerous and warm and terrifyingly welcome.
He wants me here. Not as a guest. Not as a responsibility. Not as a fragile thing he’s obligated to protect.
He wants me here because he’s chosen it. Because he’s built this space with intention. Because he sees me as someone worth fortifying a world around.
The realization stops me in my tracks. My chest tightens, not with fear, but with the sharp, startling ache of being wanted in a way that feels immovable. He wants me safe. He wants me close. He wants me here.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run from that.