Page 41 of Surrender to Me
It’s not entirely untrue. The only other time I’d been with someone was years ago, after a job in Prague. A man who worked with my father—older, experienced, someone who understood the adrenaline rush that came after a successful heist. It had been inevitable, in a way. All that excitement had to go somewhere.
But it hadn’t been like this. Hadn’t left me feeling raw and exposed and desperate for more. Hadn’t made me want things I couldn’t have.
“New how?” Stryker’s thumb brushes across my cheek, and I have to fight not to lean into the touch.
God he’s relentless. Persistent.
“I don’t usually… I mean, I don’t make a habit of this.”
“Good.” There’s possession in his tone that sends heat spiraling through me all over again. “I don’t like the idea of sharing you.”
The words should set off alarm bells. Should remind me that I can’t belong to anyone, no matter how much I might want to. But instead, they make something warm and dangerous unfurl in my chest.
“Stryker…”
“I know.” His arm tightens around me. “I know this complicates things. I know you have walls I can’t see past. But I meant what I said before—I don’t give up on the things that matter.”
“And I matter?”
The question slips out before I can stop it, revealing more vulnerability than I intend.
“Yeah. You do,” he says simply. “More than you know.”
The confession hits me like a physical blow. For so long, I’ve been nobody. A ghost. A collection of fake names and carefully constructed lies. The idea that I could matter to someone—really matter—is almost too much to bear.
Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. I can’t afford to cry. Can’t afford to let him see how deeply his words affect me.
But he sees anyway. He always sees too much.
“Hey.” He catches a tear with his thumb before it can fall. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. My whole life is wrong. This moment, as perfect as it is, is built on a foundation of lies. And no matter how much I want this—want him—it can’t last. It was never meant to last.
“I should go,” I whisper, even as my body rebels against the idea of leaving his warmth.
“Go where? It’s the middle of the night, and we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I just… I need some air.”
I try to sit up, but his arm tightens around me.
“Don’t run from this, Allie. Don’t run from me.”
“I’m not running.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Yes, you are. And I want to know why.”
His eyes search mine, and I see the exact moment he makes a decision. The moment he decides to push.
“Who are you really?”
The question hangs in the air between us, and my blood turns to ice.
“I told you?—”
“You told me your name is Allie Johnson. You told me you’re a graphic designer. You told me a lot of things.” His thumb traces the chain of my locket, and I go rigid. “But you didn’t tell me why you carry a gun. Why you fight like you’ve had training. Why you constantly look over your shoulder.”
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can feel it. This is it. The moment everything falls apart.
