Page 69 of Damian
Damian’s hand was still clasped around mine, his grip strong despite the tremor beneath it. I studied him in the lamplight—the bruises shadowing his jaw, the split at his lip, the new bandage straining at his shoulder. He looked like a man who’d been through hell. And still, somehow, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“You should lie down,” I whispered, not wanting to wake Ruby.
His eyes softened. “Only if you’re there with me.”
I swallowed, my heart tightening. Without a word, I tugged him toward the bedroom. He didn’t resist, didn’t posture like the soldier who always carried the weight of the world. He just let me lead.
Inside, I eased him onto the edge of the bed, stripping away his boots, the remnants of battle clinging to him. He winced as I pulled his shirt over his head, and I bit back theurge to cry. Instead, I kissed the uninjured side of his chest, right over his heart.
“You’re reckless,” I murmured against his skin. “Reckless and stubborn and impossible.”
“And yours,” he rasped, his fingers threading into my hair.
That undid me. “And all mine.”
I slid into his lap, careful of his injuries, and kissed him slow, lingering, letting the world fall away. His hands cupped my face, calloused and gentle, pulling me deeper until the kiss turned desperate.
When I pushed him back onto the mattress, he didn’t fight me. He let me take the lead, let me undress him piece by piece, my hands reverent over every scar, every mark of survival. Under the thin wash of light, he wasn’t just the soldier anymore—he was mine.
We moved together quietly, the kind of intimacy that was less about urgency and more about finding each other again. Every kiss was an anchor. Every touch was a promise. When he groaned my name, muffling it against my throat, I felt the truth of it in every fiber of me.
Afterward, I curled against him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arm wrapped around me, heavy and protective, his breath warm against my hair.
For a long moment, there was no Luthor, no cages, no missions waiting to explode. There was just Damian. The man who kept his promises. The man who came back.
“Sleep,” he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’ve got you.”
And with Ruby safe in the next room, and his arms holding me tight, I finally believed him.
93
Damian
The safehouse was still when I left—Morgan’s hair tangled on the pillow, her hand stretched across the bed where I’d been. Ruby curled in the next room, cocooned in blankets, finally sleeping without flinching at every sound. Leaving them tore at me in ways I didn’t have words for.
But this was the job. I did sleep for a few hours.
By the time I reached command, the place buzzed with tension. Screens glowed, the air thick with coffee and anticipation. Cyclone barely looked up from his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys like he was trying to outpace the devil himself. Oliver leaned against the wall, arms folded, while Gage stood pacing like a caged wolf.
“You’re late,” Oliver said, but his smirk undercut the words.
“Had somewhere important to be. Plus, I fell asleep.” I dropped into the chair across from Cyclone. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
Cyclone shoved his glasses up his nose, eyes blazing with that manic light he always got when the puzzle startedsnapping into place. “Got something? Damian, I’ve goteverything.That server wasn’t just a hub—it was the spine of Luthor’s network. Shipping manifests, coded drop schedules, bank transfers. The whole damn operation laid out like a map.”
Gage stopped pacing. “So where’s the bastard?”
Cyclone clicked to another screen—satellite images, coordinates flashing red. “Here. Dockyards were just a feeding point. The real prize? He’s funneling money and bodies through a compound outside the city. High security. Cameras, drones, private guards. This isn’t just a hideout—it’s where he runs the show.”
My jaw tightened. Finally. A lead straight to him.
Oliver stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the map. “You’re telling me if we hit that compound, we cut the head off the snake?”
“Exactly,” Cyclone said, grinning despite the tension. “But it won’t be easy. This place is a fortress. Luthor’s not stupid—he knows we’re coming. He wants to draw us in, bleed us dry.”
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, studying the image. My shoulder ached, the bandage pulling tight, but I ignored it. Pain was nothing new.
“We’ve taken fortresses before,” I said flatly.
