Chapter three

The bullet hole in the window spiderwebbed outward like a crack in reality.

Kael moved fast, pulling Rowan down behind the leather couch as another shot rang out. Glass rained down around them, and Rowan felt the sting of a cut on his cheek.

This is real. This is happening. I'm going to die in a stranger's penthouse.

"Stay down," Kael hissed, his body covering Rowan's. The weight of him was both comforting and terrifying. "Marcus!"

A door slammed somewhere in the penthouse, and footsteps approached. Rowan tensed, but Kael's hand on his shoulder kept him still.

"Boss?" Marcus's voice was calm, professional. "We've got company."

"How many?"

"Three. Roof access. Elena's men."

Kael's jaw clenched. "Get the car ready. We're leaving."

Marcus disappeared, and Kael turned his attention back to Rowan. "Can you run?"

"I can fight."

Kael's smile was grim. "Good. Because we're about to."

They moved together, Kael leading the way through the penthouse with military precision. Rowan followed, adrenaline making everything sharp and clear. This is what Kael's world looks like. This is what I'm signing up for.

The elevator ride down was tense. Kael's hand never left his gun, and Rowan found himself studying the other man's profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes never stopped moving, assessing threats.

"Why are you helping me?" Rowan asked quietly.

Kael's eyes flicked to him. "Because you're useful."

"Bullshit."

Kael was quiet for a long moment. "Because you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"Someone I lost." The elevator doors opened, and Kael stepped out first, checking the hallway. "Stay close."

The parking garage was dimly lit, shadows stretching like fingers. Kael's car—a sleek black sedan that probably cost more than most houses—waited near the exit. Marcus stood beside it, gun drawn.

"Clear," Marcus said.

They were halfway to the car when the attack came.

Three men emerged from the shadows, guns raised. Rowan recognized the Voss family crest on their jackets. Elena doesn't waste time.

Kael moved like liquid violence. His first shot took one attacker in the shoulder, sending him spinning. The second attacker fired, and Rowan felt the bullet whiz past his ear.

Move. Move. Move.

Rowan tackled the third attacker, using the element of surprise to knock the gun from his hand. They grappled on the concrete, and Rowan felt the man's fist connect with his ribs. Pain exploded through his side, but he held on.

Kael appeared above them, gun pressed to the attacker's temple. "Enough."

The man froze. Kael's eyes were cold, calculating. "Who sent you?"

"Go to hell."

Kael's finger tightened on the trigger. "Wrong answer."

"Wait," Rowan gasped, struggling to his feet. "We need him alive."

Kael's jaw worked. "He tried to kill you."

"And now he's going to tell us everything." Rowan met Kael's gaze, and something passed between them—understanding, maybe respect. "Trust me."

Kael lowered his gun. "Fine. But if he so much as twitches wrong, he's dead."

They bound the attacker and loaded him into the trunk. Marcus took the wheel, and they sped out of the garage into the night.

Rowan sat in the back with Kael, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His ribs ached, and he could taste blood from a split lip. This is my life now. Running from assassins, making deals with devils.

Kael's hand found his in the darkness, fingers intertwining. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding." Kael's thumb brushed over Rowan's split lip, and the touch was surprisingly gentle. "I should have protected you better."

"You did protect me." Rowan leaned into the touch despite himself. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Kael's eyes darkened. "Barely."

The car swerved suddenly, and Marcus cursed. "We've got a tail."

Kael's hand tightened around Rowan's. "Hold on."

The chase through the city was a blur of screeching tires and near-misses. Rowan found himself pressed against Kael's side, the other man's body a solid anchor in the chaos. This is what it feels like to trust someone with your life.

They lost the tail in a maze of back alleys, and Marcus pulled into an underground parking structure that smelled like oil and desperation.

"Safe house," Kael explained, helping Rowan out of the car. "No one knows about this place."

The apartment was small, cramped, nothing like the penthouse. But it was warm, and it was safe, and Rowan found himself relaxing for the first time in hours.

Kael disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a first aid kit. "Sit."

Rowan obeyed, too tired to argue. Kael's hands were gentle as he cleaned the cut on Rowan's cheek, his touch clinical but somehow intimate.

"You don't have to do this," Rowan said.

"I want to." Kael's eyes met his. "I want to take care of you."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Rowan swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Because you're mine." Kael's voice was rough. "Even if it's fake. Even if it's temporary. Right now, you're mine."

Rowan felt something crack open in his chest. This is dangerous. This is real. This is—

Kael kissed him again, and this time it was different. Slower, deeper, a promise instead of a claim. Rowan melted into it, his hands fisting in Kael's shirt, pulling him closer.

They moved to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, hands fumbling with clothes, desperate to feel skin against skin. Kael's body was a map of scars and muscle, and Rowan traced each one with reverent fingers.

"Tell me what you want," Kael growled against his neck.

Rowan arched beneath him, desperate and aching. "You. I want you."

Kael's smile was sharp and satisfied. "Good."