Page 13 of Beckoning Liam

“How does that threaten people’s lives?”

“If they can disrupt the economy of a country or even a large city, people can easily fall into violent behavior. There’s also some indication that in some instances they are prepared to destabilize an area and then introduce their own violence—a bomb, an assassination, or something along those lines.”

Liam nodded. “The more violence, the more disruption, and vice versa.”

The weight of unspoken implications settled around them. Each revelation was woven into the tapestry of corruption and power that they were unraveling thread by delicate thread.

A pop-up notification suddenly splintered their focus. A secure message from an unknown source, flagged with urgent crimson. Liam reached from behind her, clicking it open, her pulse accelerating as she scanned the contents.

"An attack," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor that threatened to betray his calm exterior. "Berlin. Imminent."

"Do you know the source?" Becks asked, her body tensing until his hand, resting on her shoulder, grounded and comforted her.

"Anonymous.”

“Hmm… the encryption pattern looks similar to one I know. It's legit." Becks looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the seriousness of the moment. "We need to get to Berlin, Liam."

“Why? Cerberus…”

“Can’t decrypt anything that’s transmitted there in real time. I can. I need to be there, and my guess is you have no intention of my going anywhere without you.”

"Correct." He straightened, slipping back into his role, the protector, the dominant force she both challenged and craved. There was no time for hesitation, no space for doubt.

"We left all our clothing and things at the cottage. We’ll need to get some gear," he said. “We travel light, nothing fancy.”

"You mean I can’t get fitted for one of those expensive custom corsets?” she teased, and he grinned. “Understood." Her heart picked up in rhythm, not just from the threat of danger but from the anticipation of the submission she would willingly give to him if and when the time came. For now, though, there were lives at stake, and they were the only ones standing between order and chaos.

As the Parisian afternoon and weather deepened outside, casting shadows across the hotel room, Becks and Liam prepared to step into the fray: the pursuit of justice laced with the thrill of the forbidden.

The damp air clung to their skin as they left the hotel. Becks and Liam wound their way through the streets of the Marais District. Its historic charm was a stark contrast to the urgency quickening their steps, each echo on the cobblestone a reminder of the stakes at hand.

"Here," Liam said, his voice a low rumble as he gestured towards an inconspicuous used clothing store tucked between a boulangerie and a modern art gallery. Its window displayed a curated chaos of eras past and present.

Becks nodded, her gaze scanning the street for any sign of pursuit before they slipped inside. The bell above the door tinkled, announcing their entry into a sanctuary of forgotten fashions and memories stitched in fabric. As much as she longed to peruse the racks, time was a luxury they didn't have.

"Keep it efficient," Liam instructed, his eyes never still, even as his hand brushed against her lower back—a fleeting touch that promised more.

"Of course," she replied, the underlying tension threading her voice with steel. She reached for a sturdy-looking weekendbag, its leather worn in places that told of countless journeys. "This will do."

"Good choice," he murmured, approving her practicality while his gaze lingered, darkening with an intensity that belied the mundane task at hand.

They moved through the store, picking up essentials—a few changes of clothes, a scarf that could double as a disguise, a pair of boots that looked comfortable enough for their impending trek. Each item was a piece in their elaborate game of deception, their survival hinging on the personas they were about to assume.

"Anything else?" Becks asked, her question laced with an undertone that had nothing to do with their shopping list.

"Nothing," Liam answered, his lips curving into a grin that made her wonder if he wouldn’t have rather been shopping for a custom corset for her as well. They approached the counter, and the transaction unfolded in silence, coded in the language of fugitives.

Once outside, they hailed a cab under the glow of a streetlamp that was just coming on. Their bodies were close in the backseat, every shift and turn accentuating their need for caution—and each other.

"Train station," Liam said to the driver, his command veiled in the casual tone of a tourist, though his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on his thigh.

Becks watched him, the interplay of shadow and light from passing streetlamps revealing the contours of his face. The world outside blurred into a streak of colors as they raced towards their next step in this dangerous dance.

At the Gare de l'Est, the hustle of travelers swirled around them, a sea both of potential threats and anonymity. Liam led the way to the ticket counter, his stride confident, his demeanor that of a man in control.

"Two to Berlin, via Frankfurt. Private sleeper car," he requested, presenting the false documents with practiced ease.

"Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Lachlan," the attendant replied, oblivious to the lie woven into the passports she returned alongside the tickets.

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