Page 47 of Dangerous Devotion

We glared at each other, both too stubborn to back down. But as I looked into her fierce green eyes, I felt my resolve weakening. She was infuriating, yes, but also brave and loyal. And, God help me, that’s exactly what I loved about her.

Finally, I let out a long exhale. “Fine. You want to help? We do it together. No more secrets, no more pushing each other away. Deal?”

Her expression softened slightly. “Deal. But that means you have to actually talk to me. No more brooding alone in your art studio all night.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t brood.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever looked in the mirror? Or seen your paintings?”

I rolled my eyes but pulled her closer. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to be more…open.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, leaning into me.

Suddenly, I heard the creak of the greenhouse door. I tensed, and every single muscle in my body tightened.

Jemma must’ve felt the change in me because she looked up at me, her eyes full of questions.

I shook my head at her. We weren’t immediately visible so whoever had entered might not even know we were in here.

I held my breath and strained my ears to catch any sound that might betray the intruder who was coming in. Who the hell would dare to step foot in here? This wasn’t one of my people—they knew better than to disturb me here. But what about Hawk or Donnelly?

I pulled Jemma down into a crouching position and instinctively reached for the gun holstered at my ankle, my fingers brushing against the cool metal.

“Pssst,” I whispered into her ear, my voice barely audible. I felt her nod against my chest, then focused back on listening.

The footsteps drew closer—slow, deliberate, making their way between the flower beds. Soon, they would reach the open space in the middle—and us.

My fingers tightened around the grip of my weapon.

I tapped Jemma’s shoulder, pulled her up, and pushed her in the direction and through an opening between the flower beds. This was not ideal but the best we could do for now. I pulled her down into a crouch next to me, then positioned myself so I had a clear line of vision through the greenery.

The intruder came into view—a shadowy figure. As soon as he came into full view, I knew we were fucked. Dressed in all black—including his face covering—this was not one of us.

His fluid and barely audible movements through the easelsand canvases told me this was a professional. And where there was one, there might be more.

In one swift motion, I took aim while I raised my left hand and covered Jemma’s eyes. I didn’t want her to see this. Didn’t want her to bear witness to the violence that was about to unfold.

The sudden shift in my position must’ve caught the intruder’s attention because, in an instant, he swung around and trained his weapon in our direction.

I could see the black steel of the silencer pointed directly at us, unwavering. He was good.

And then we locked eyes, and when his gaze moved to Jemma next to me, I didn’t hesitate.

In this world, hesitation meant death.

I fired twice in rapid succession, just as he fired his weapon, as well.

The sound, along with Jemma’s suppressed shriek, was deafening in the enclosed space of the greenhouse.

The sharp, acrid scent of burnt gunpowder, mixed with the chemical undertone of gun oil, filled my nose.

The figure crumpled to the ground, a bright red stain spreading across the stone floor. I kept my gun trained on him and kept my hand still, shielding Jemma and blocking her sight.

Until she pulled my hand off her face, crawled behind me, gripped the back of my shirt, and pressed her face against my shoulder blade.

“Don’t look,” I murmured, my eyes never leaving the fallen intruder. “Just stay exactly as you are.”

I kept my weapon up, firmly gripping the gun, then pulled out my phone with my free hand. My fingers flew over the screen, sending out an alert to my men. “Possible second shooter. Secure the perimeter. Greenhouse compromised.”

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