Page 228 of Fractured Allegiance
“I don’t know what to do about him,” I admit, keeping my voice low just in case. It feels like my deepest, darkest secret—which is ludicrous, given the life I’ve been living long before Silas Ward walked into it. “I can’t resist him. Anymore than I can ignore who he is, and all the reasons he is a very, very bad idea.”
He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle he solved years ago but still enjoys rearranging. “Silas hasn’t given you up. Not once. I made sure of it. I’ve checked every angle, every trail he left behind. He’s kept your name clean. For now.”
The words should steady me. They don’t. It’s that damned For now, isn’t it?
Elias pushes off the counter, pacing a slow line behind me. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t. Men like him…” He pauses, lets the silence hang before finishing. “…they always choose the badge. That’s the side they die for.”
“He cares about me too much for that.” The words leave my mouth before I can bite them back.
Elias’s laugh is short, bitter. “Cares about you? You mean he’s obsessed with you?” he taunts.
I twist the mug in my hands, watching the condensation smudge across the ceramic. “What’s the difference?”
“Loyalty,” he answers. “Obsession makes a man reckless. Loyalty makes him dangerous. Which one do you think Ward is?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know. Because if I admit the truth, it’ll shatter me.
The scrape of footsteps cuts through the tension. Silas fills the doorway like he owns it, hair damp from a shower, jaw still set like he hasn’t unclenched it since last night. His eyes flick once between me and Elias, reading the room like he’s trying to figure out how close we are to drawing blood. Then he heads for the counter, grabs the pot, pours himself coffee without a word.
I keep my arms crossed. Elias doesn’t move.
Finally, Silas sets the mug down and says,
“I need to step out for some supplies,” he informs. “Clothes, razor, toothbrush. The basics. Unless you plan to start sharing.”
I catch the way his gaze slides over me on that last word, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows exactly what memory it drags up. Heat coils low in my stomach, but I don’t look away.
Elias pushes off the counter, folding his arms. “Write a list. I’ll have someone bring it.”
Silas turns then, meets Elias’s stare with one of his own. “I can get it myself.”
“No,” Elias answers. “You don’t get to walk out of here and lead a trail back. Make the list.”
For a moment, I think Silas will fight him. His throat works, fists clench, but then he pulls a notepad off the fridge, clicks a pen, and starts writing. His handwriting is neat, almost military. I shift my face, but I can still get a glimpse of the note,pretending I don’t care, as I let my eyes catch the words as he goes down the page:
— black shirt, size L
— boxers
— toothbrush, razor, deodorant
— gauze, antiseptic, painkillers
— dark jeans, size 34
— tampons
— shampoo, conditioner, unscented
The last few items aren’t his.
I glance up, meet his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear: he thinks about me.
My breath hitches, just enough that I’m glad Elias is too busy watching him to notice.
Silas tears the page free and slides it across the counter. “Make it happen.”
Elias doesn’t touch it. “You think you’re running this house?”
