Page 21 of Vital Signs
Focus, Misha. Family meeting first. Seduction after.
From the deepest corner of my jewelry box, I pulled out the piece I'd refused to sell even when money had been tight. Even when I'd been tempted to hock everything I owned just to put distance between myself and the memories.
The multi-layered chain necklace of white gold and diamonds had been obscenely expensive. A gift from a designer who'd wanted to see how it looked on "the most beautiful neck in Paris."
Fuck Paris. Fuck that designer. This was mine now. A reminder of my worth when everyone tried to convince me I was broken.
I fastened it around my neck, watching in the mirror as it caught the light. The chains settled perfectly against my collarbones, drawing attention to the hollow of my throat, the sharp line of my jaw.
Hunter would notice. He noticed everything—the way I moved, the way I touched him, the calculated seduction in every gesture. And tonight, when he saw me like this?
He wouldn't be able to resist.
I wanted him to try. Wanted to watch him fight his desire, see how long his control lasted when I put my hands on him. When I pressed close and reminded him exactly why he'd been staring at the coffee shop. Why his breath had caught when I'd brushed against him.
The thought lit me up like a live wire, and suddenly my body was aching for release.
I took another hit from the joint, letting the smoke curl around me as the music pulsed. This was the man Roche had tried to erase. He was unapologetically queer, trans, and sexy as fuck. The man I was choosing to be again.
I pulled out my phone and angled it toward the mirror. The first photo caught me mid-movement. My eyes looked directly into the camera with the kind of confidence that had made me famous. The second showed the length of my body in those perfect jeans, the way the chains draped across my chest. The third was pure seduction. The lean line of my torso, the way I held myself like someone who knew exactly what he was worth.
I opened Hunter's contact info, and my thumb hovered over the send button.
What would he do if he saw this version of me? Not the exhausted man in the morgue, not the careful victim everyone wanted to protect. This Misha. Confident, sexual, dangerous.
I wanted him to see me like this. Wanted to watch him forget how to breathe, wanted to be the thing he craved with the same desperation he had for fentanyl—but different. On my terms.
This was how I used to reclaim power. Make them want me so badly they'd do anything for just a taste. Roche had understoodthat and systematically destroyed it, reducing my body to his personal art project.
But I was taking it back now.
My finger trembled over the send button.
Then I deleted the photos.
Not because I was afraid. Not because Roche had won. But when Hunter finally saw me like this—and he would—it would be because I chose to show him. In person. Where I could watch his pupils dilate, hear his breath catch, see exactly what I did to him.
This power was mine again. I'd use it when I was ready.
The shower afterwards was a baptism, washing away the last traces of the afternoon's panic. By the time I stepped out, I was whole again. Beautiful, controlled, and very much in charge of my own narrative.
I dressed carefully for the meeting. Black jeans, a charcoal sweater, the kind of understated elegance that made people listen when I spoke. I left the chains in my jewelry box where they belonged. That version of me was mine alone, not something I needed to perform for anyone else.
Not yet.
I grabbed my keys, checked that I still had the stolen clinic keycard tucked safely in my wallet. After the meeting, Hunter and I would break into Wright's clinic. Find the evidence. Bring Wright down.
And maybe, if the opportunity arose, I'd find out if Hunter's control was as fragile as I suspected.
I checked my phone one more time. No messages from Hunter. He was probably preparing too. The familiar worry tried to creep in. What if he was using right now? What if by the time I got through this family meeting, he'd be too high to help? Too far gone to care?
No. I pushed the thought away. Hunter had agreed to this. He wanted Wright as badly as I did. He'd be there.
And when he saw me like this—confident, powerful, ready—he'd see what we could be together. Not just partners in investigation.
Partners in everything.
I headed downstairs, ready to face my family. Ready to fight for what I wanted.
