Page 144 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“Even though I’m a bossy bastard?”
“Especially because of that.” She rises on her toes to kiss me, soft and sweet. “I don’t want you to be nice anymore, Gabe. I want you to be mine the way I’m yours. Completely. No reservations.”
The words hit like absolution. Permission to be exactly who I am without apology or modification. Permission to love her with the intensity that always scared me before.
“Completely,” I repeat, sealing the promise with another kiss.
We dress in comfortable clothes—jeans and T-shirts that feel like freedom after days of grief-soaked formal wear. Walk hand in hand toward the kitchen, already planning coffee and breakfast and the simple pleasure of a normal morning.
The plan evaporates the moment we reach the living room.
A woman sits on our couch like she owns the place, legs crossed, examining her nails with the kind of bored patience that speaks to absolute confidence.
Dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Sharp features that would be beautiful if they weren’t so calculating. Clothes that scream expensive and practical—a leather jacket, dark jeans, boots made for running or fighting.
She looks up when we appear, lips curving in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Well, well,” she says, accent thick with Eastern Europe—Russian maybe, or Ukrainian. “Looks like the sex was every bit as good as it sounded. Very energetic. Very—thorough. Multiple times…She is a lucky woman.”
Rage explodes through my system like white phosphorus. I’m moving, hand reaching for the weapon that isn’t there, body shifting into attack mode automatically.
This woman—stranger, intruder, threat—has been listening to us make love. Has been sitting in our house while we were vulnerable and naked and completely unaware of her presence.
“Gabe, stop.” Ally’s hand clamps around my arm, fingers digging into my muscles with surprising strength.
“Who the fuck are you?” I snarl, not taking my eyes off the intruder. “How did you get in here?”
“Locks are really more of a suggestion when you know what you’re doing.” The woman examines her nails again, completely unconcerned by the violence radiating off me. “And as for who I am… Well, that’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it. Fast.”
“Wait.” Ally steps forward, head tilted like she’s trying to place something. “Your voice… Your accent… I know you.”
The woman’s smile widens, becomes genuinely amused. “Do you now?”
“You.” Ally’s eyes widen with recognition. “You’re the one who freed us from the cells. Who removed our collars.”
“What?” I whip my head toward Ally, confusion cutting through rage. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“In Malfor’s compound. The night of the rescue…” Ally’s voice carries growing certainty. “A woman came to us. She came. Disabled the surveillance, opened our cells, and removed the shock collars. She’s the reason we were able to fight back when you found us.”
“You never mentioned this in debrief,” I say.
“We barely had any debriefs. Between Hank dying and…” Ally’s voice catches slightly. “There wasn’t time to cover everything.”
The woman—Ally’s mysterious savior—rises from the couch with the kind of grace that speaks to extensive training. Military or intelligence, definitely dangerous.
“Touching reunion aside,” she says, “I’m not here for reminiscing. I have information you need.”
“What kind of information?” I ask.
“The kind that tells you exactly where to find the bastard who killed your lover.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Malfor. She’s talking about Malfor.
“Where?” Ally’s voice comes out sharp as a blade.
“That depends. Are you interested in revenge, or are you planning to sit here playing house while he regroups and comes for you again?”
