Page 65 of Ruthless

He turned to me, his gaze thoughtful. "About Michael. About Jasper. About all of this."

I reached across the console, finding his hand again. "We're going to make this right. Whatever it takes."

Vincent's fingers threaded through mine. "I know." He squeezed gently. "Thank you. For doing this. For risking everything."

"Not everything," I replied, the words escaping before I could analyze them. "You're the everything, Vince."

The admission hung between us, raw and honest in a way I'd never allowed myself to be. Vincent stared at me, eyes widening slightly before his expression softened into something that made my chest ache.

River City's skyline grew larger, jagged teeth against the darkening sky. An animal need to return to safety clawed at me. Twenty-six years prowling alone, and suddenly my lungs seized at the thought of facing anything without Vincent beside me.

For the first time since I'd seen Michael's body hanging from that shower rod, I felt something dangerously close to hope.

We returned to ourapartment past midnight, Luka checking security before we both stumbled through hasty showers.

I crawled into bed, my body aching for sleep while my mind raced. What if Michael wasn’t the only one who suffered because of me? What if Prometheus went after my other patients?

Luka slid under the covers beside me, keeping a careful distance. After a moment's hesitation, I moved closer, my back against his chest, pulling his arm around my waist. If tomorrow we faced death, tonight I wanted to feel alive.

"This okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.

We lay like that for a while, the comfort of another body gradually easing some of the day's tension. I was nearly asleep when Luka's voice broke the silence.

"I meant what I said. In the van." The words scraped from his throat, raw and reluctant.

My heart stuttered. "I know."

"I don't know what that means," he whispered, vulnerability bleeding through the cracks. "For people like me. Weapons don't get... attachments."

"It means whatever we want it to mean," I replied. "No rulebook. No protocol."

His arm tightened around me slightly. "That's terrifying."

"Welcome to being human. It’s messy and complicated and terrifying."

We drifted into silence again, sleep gradually pulling me under despite everything. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Luka's lips brushing softly against my shoulder.

I jolted awake, throatstrangled by a silent scream. Michael's corpse floated behind my eyelids, the rope burns violently purple against gray skin, mouth frozen in a final plea. His eyes. God, his eyes. There was an accusation in them.

Your fault. I’m dead because of you.

The copper taste of terror flooded my mouth. My heart hammered viciously against my ribs. Sweat pasted my shirt to my skin, the material suddenly constricting, suffocating.

In the darkness, Luka slept beside me, his breathing steady and controlled. One hand curled beneath his pillow. The scar along his jaw twitched as he dreamed.

The gentle rhythm of his breathing anchored me, the only steady thing in a world suddenly made of quicksand. Death stalked us both—maybe tomorrow at the funeral, maybe the day after. The fragility of life, the certainty of loss pressed down on my chest until I could barely breathe.

I needed connection. Needed to feel something real and alive against the looming shadow of mortality. I shifted closer, pressing against his back and draping an arm over his waist.

Luka erupted from the bed, his body transforming from sleep to lethal readiness in a single heartbeat. The knife he'd kept beneath his pillow flashed silver in the darkness, arcing toward my throat. His movements were pure reflex.

His weight slammed me back against the mattress, one forearm crushing my windpipe while the knife hovered a millimeter from my carotid. His eyes remained unfocused, caught somewhere between nightmare and reality, pupils dilated to black holes. A thin line of sweat beaded along his hairline, his jaw locked so tight I could hear teeth grinding.

The deadliest man I'd ever met was straddling my chest, weapon poised to end me, and I wasn't afraid. I should have been—any sane person would be—but instead, a strange calm washed over me. The tightness in my chest eased as my professional training kicked in.

"Luka," I said softly, keeping my voice low and steady, making my hands visible even in the dim light. No sudden movements. No threat display. "It's me. You're safe."

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