Page 61 of Black Heart

Kaden snarls, “I’ll desecrate every trace of him until even his memory will bleed out and die.”

Kaden stands motionless as the assassin stumbles to his feet, then limps out.

Then, when we’re alone, a sound rips from him—part wounded animal, part breaking man. His fist collides with the wall. The impact shudders through the room, through me. Again. And again. Plaster rains down, pink with his blood, a macabre snowfall.

I’m rooted to the spot, lungs forgetting how to work. Each blow seems to punch through my own chest, a skewering of splintering drywall and disintegrating control.

When his assault on the wall finally ceases, his mask swivels to me. The blank face is more haunting now than ever before. In its emptiness, I see a truth laid bare: the Scythe—the name that makes hardened criminals tremble—is a man undone.

Pain slices through my heart, white and sharp.

Kaden’s shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath, his fists still pressed against the crumbling wall. The sanctuary of my bedroom has become distorted, as if the violence has left an electric residue in the air.

An irrational urge to comfort him surges through me.

It’s madness. Kaden’s a killer, a threat. Yet my feet carry me forward, ignoring every instinct screaming for self-preservation.

“How many more will die?” I whisper, staring at the blood on his hands.

“As many as it takes to keep you safe.”

I should be horrified, but instead, I feel ... protected. Cherished.

“And what happens when there’s no one left to kill?” I whisper.

“I will always kill for you.”

Kaden doesn’t move, but the set of his shoulders tells me he’s acutely aware of my approach. I pause just behind him, close enough to catch the scent of blood and sweat clinging to his tactical gear.

My hand hovers near his shoulder, uncertainty staying my touch. When I finally make contact, the Kevlar feels cool beneath my palm. He tenses but doesn’t pull away.

“Face me,” I say. “I need to see you.”

He pivots slowly, the expressionless metal on his face a safeguard against the devastation I sense lurking beneath. But I’ve seen enough cracks in his facade, glimpsed the festering anguish he hides, and that knowledge hardens my determination to stay firm.

My fingers find the edge of the mask, tracing its contours.

Kaden’s hand clamps around my wrist, halting my movement. His grip tightens in warning. But before fear can fully take hold, his fingers loosen, thumb brushing over my pulse point.

I lift the mask, revealing him gradually. The sharp angle of his jaw. The jagged scar carving a path on one side of his face. And finally, his eyes—blue as frosted cyanide and brimming with emotions too complex to name.

The mask clatters to the floor, forgotten. His exhales are warm against my palm.

“Talk to me,” I say, cupping his face, my thumb following the ridge of his scar. “Let me in.”

A muscle in Kaden’s jaw twitches. He leans into my touch, the movement so subtle I almost miss it. His eyes flutter closed, a shuddering breath escaping his lips.

He leans forward, his forehead resting on mine. Thecontact makes my heart leap, sparks racing through my veins, and I shut my eyes, too, just to know what it’s like to feel the man and not the monster.

My forehead goes cold, and I open my eyes to see that Kaden’s lifted his head, the anguish in his eyes hardening into such rage, it’s like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I need to get to Morelli before he dies and kill him myself. I’ll kill them all,” he grinds out. “Every last one.”

I take a deep breath.

“I know.” My thumb traces the ridge of muscles in his scarred cheek. “But you’ve never told me why.”

I brace myself for the surge of anger at the question, the intrusion into his life. But Kaden doesn’t recoil. His gaze remains steady, his hold on my wrist reassuringly firm, before something breaks in him, like glass against steel.

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