Semua Bab Falling for my Saviour: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Damien Wolfe “And?” Ethan had barely stepped through the door before I asked. I didn’t look up from the screen in front of me I didn’t need to. The tone was enough. He knew exactly what question I meant. He crossed the room quietly, set a folder down on the desk, and said, “You were right about the number.” I lifted my eyes. “Whose is it?” “Javi León,” he replied. “Goes by Vega. Low-profile, but old in the game. Logistics handler for Rivera.” That name hit something in me too familiar, too close to everything I’ve spent years burning to the ground. Ethan continued . “Trafficking, ports, border transport. He’s been running operations out of Chicago and New York for a while. Keeps his hands clean enough not to be in the system, but his prints are all over a few offshore accounts. He’s careful.” I leaned back in the chair. The leather complained under the motion. “So she called one of them.” “Almost called,” Ethan corrected. “Didn’t get through. I checked signal logs. No

Damien Milo “Knox” Santana. I hadn’t seen him in two years. I hadn’t wanted to see him unless it was for a reason that cut clean through old memories and left them raw. This was that reason. He didn’t bother with a handshake. He didn’t waste words. He reached into the inside of his coat, pulled out a photograph with edges softened by too many thumbs, and held it toward me like the paper might burn him. His eyes caught mine and stayed there, hard and flat. “She’s alive.” He said it like a fact, not a hope. My hand hovered a second before I took the photo. The sentence landed in my gut and sat down. For a moment it felt like the room shrank the rest of the world narrowed to the face in that frame. I had just come from the interrogation room. Emilio had finally talked after the right kind of pressure and his voice had broken into pieces of information like someone squeezing a stone until water ran out. A name had come out. A place. A whisper. I’d chased that whisper until it l

Damien Wolfe The scream cut through the walls like something alive. Not a small sound, not startled it was deep, torn from somewhere you don’t come back from. I was halfway out of the chair before I even realized I’d moved. Papers hit the floor. The gun was already in my hand. Instinct it always comes before reason. Her door wasn’t locked. I kicked it open hard enough to crack the frame. She was sitting upright in the bed, tangled in sheets, eyes wide but not awake. Her breath came fast and broken. She clawed at the fabric like it was binding her. The sound coming out of her wasn’t words just raw panic. I crossed the room in two steps and caught her shoulders. “Aria.” No response. Her head jerked to the side, eyes rolling like she was trapped inside herself. The trembling wouldn’t stop. I gripped tighter, shaking her once too rough. “Aria.” Her body went still for a heartbeat, then she gasped, eyes snapping open. For a second, she didn’t see me she saw someone else, s

Damien Wolfe I didn’t touch her again that night. Not the back, not a hand, not even the place at her waist where a man’s thumb could tell her the world still belonged to him. We left the gala without the usual little pretenses I didn’t offer her my coat, she didn’t ask for it, and the silence between us was not the kind I command this was the kind that sits too close and smells like the fuse on a bomb. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring through the tinted glass like the world outside was someone else’s memory. The kiss we’d shared five minutes earlier hadn’t erased the tremor that ran through her when the lights hit the gold fabric of the dress every time a streetlamp cut across her thighs it showed me how much of her was still raw. I watched the line of her jaw, the way she kept her chin stubborn, and I understood in a way that made me grind my teeth she was falling apart, quietly, and I wasn’t going to let her do it in my car without answers. Ten minutes into th

Aria’s POV I woke up drenched in sweat, my chest tight and my stomach twisting as if it hadn’t quite realized I was safe yet, and even though the nightmare was over, the memory of glass shattering and bullets screaming past my head refused to leave me, pressing itself into every nerve in my body until I thought I might not be able to breathe. My hands shook as I clutched the blanket around my shoulders, holding it close as if the wool itself could protect me from the panic that still sat heavy in my chest and the trembling that made my legs feel weak and my arms too heavy to lift. It was a full blown panic attack from that trauma . Across the room, Damien lay on the couch, sleeping, his chest rising and falling slow and even, and though I knew how dangerous he could be, how sharp and cruel he could be when he wanted to, there was something almost gentle in the way he rested now, something that made my heart skip and my mind pause for a fraction of a second before the fear rushed ba