Page 54 of Hero Worship

"There you are, chéri," Roche's voice was silk over steel as they appeared in the doorway. "I was getting worried."

Two bodyguards flanked Roche, their presence turning the spacious bathroom claustrophobic.

"Just sharing beauty secrets," I said lightly, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "Your muse was kind enough to recommend his favorite products."

"How thoughtful." Roche's smile never reached their eyes as they crossed to us, wrapping an arm around Misha's waist. The younger man sagged against him, barely conscious now. "Though I'm afraid Misha isn't feeling his best. Perhaps we should continue this discussion tomorrow evening? When everyone is more... present."

The threat beneath his words was clear. I forced myself to smile, channeling every ounce of training into appearing oblivious. "Of course. Looking forward to it."

Ash was on his feet the moment I returned to Roche’s table, reading the tension in my shoulders. "Everything alright, precious?"

"Perfect," I purred, letting him pull me close. "Though I think we should head back to the hotel. I have some ideas I'd like to explore in private."

Roche's eyes followed us as we made our goodbyes, their hand never leaving Misha's throat. The possessive gesture wasn't just for show anymore. It was a warning.

The night air couldn't wash away the memory of Misha's drugged desperation as we slid into our waiting car. Anton's partner did another sweep for surveillance devices before I finally let myself crack.

"He's going to kill him," I whispered, remembering the possessive way Roche had gripped Misha's shoulder. "If we don't move fast enough..."

"We'll get him out," Ash promised, pulling me close. His touch was different now, less performative, more protective. "You did perfectly in there. Drew him in without seeming eager. Made him want to possess you while establishing clear boundaries." His lips brushed my temple. "My perfect weapon."

I leaned into his warmth, letting his presence chase away the chill of Roche's calculating gaze. We'd made contact, established our cover, confirmed Misha was alive if not exactly well. Phase one complete.

Now came the dangerous part: making Roche believe he could take what belonged to someone else. Making him believe I was just another beautiful thing waiting to be preserved in his collection.

Another buzz in my clutch. I checked my phone. Three missed calls from Xavier, plus a string of texts:

Xavier

At least tell me how the internship is going.

Xavier

Papa's worried too. You still haven’t called.

Xavier

Something feels off. You're never this distant.

Xavier

Fine. Do what you want. But we're not stupid, Dee.

I turned off the phone completely. Xavier's empathy had saved my life more than once. He'd been there through my worst episodes, talked me down when everything felt too much, too overwhelming. Now I was the one choosing to break that trust, to shut him out when he was clearly worried. But his gift for reading people was too dangerous right now. If he sensed what was really happening, he'd try to help, and the less he knew about this mission, the safer he'd be. Still, the guilt of betraying our always honest, always there for each other pact sat heavy in my chest.

The car wound through Paris's glittering streets, but I barely noticed the view. My mind was already racing ahead, planning the next phase of our dance with a killer. One wrong step and we could lose everything.

Xander's slept curled againstmy chest. My fingers traced the mark I'd left high on their throat last night. It was a deliberate display of possession that had made Roche's eyes gleam with interest at the club.

But somehow, one mark didn't feel like enough. Not with Roche's predatory gaze still burning in my memory. Not with the knowledge of what awaited us at tonight's private showing.

I shifted closer, studying the contrast of my hand against his pale skin. The memory of Misha's vacant stare haunted me. He'd swayed against Roche like a puppet with cut strings. The designer collected beautiful things, preserved them in glass andpoison until nothing remained but the shell. The thought of Xander ending up like that, empty-eyed and hollow...

"You're thinking too loud," Xander mumbled against my chest, though his eyes remained closed. "I can feel you brooding."

Instead of answering, I rolled them beneath me, pinning their wrists above their head. The movement made them gasp, eyes finally fluttering open. My mouth found his throat, teeth scraping over the single mark I'd left there before latching on, sucking hard enough to make him gasp. The need to claim, to mark, to possess overwhelmed every other thought.

"Daddy," he whimpered, but I was already moving to the unmarked skin beside that first bruise, desperate to cover every inch of him in my claim.

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