The ones that gleam like silver promises.
She flips the case open, and the blades catch the glow of the monitors, casting reflections along her cheekbones. Shetrails her fingertips along the cold steel with a tenderness that shouldn’t exist in the same universe as the things she’s lived through.
But it does.
It’s part of her.
“You poor babies,” she murmurs, her voice soft and almost mournful. “I know I’ve neglected you. I’m sorry—I should’ve fed you sooner.”
Fucking.
Christ.
Her thumb skims on a blade’s edge. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix that tonight.”
A laugh escapes me, rough and involuntary. She’s a storm bottled in a cute, tiny body, soft one second and vicious the next, and I swear it hits something deep in my chest.
She closes the case with a satisfied click and glides toward Ronan. She doesn’t walk so much as flow, a movement that makes you forget to breathe until she’s already reached her destination.
She slips behind him, leaning over his shoulder, her face pressing into the warm hollow of his neck like she belongs there. Ronan’s lips curve into a feral grin. He doesn’t stop typing. He just turns his head enough to kiss her without looking away from the screen.
It’s intimate, practiced.
Home.
She murmurs into his skin, “You got my list together?” Her voice turns lethal—soft and sweet, edged just enough to warn. Like a razor that looks delicate right up until it kisses your throat.
Ronan taps a key, and a document blooms open. Line after line scrolls across the monitor—every crime, every offense, every dirty dollar and foul deed stitched to Jory’s name.
He lowers his voice for her alone. “Yeah, baby. Got every sin he’s earned. Your little scripture of the damned.”
Her smile is small but cruel and breathtaking.
“And just so you know,” he adds, tilting his head enough to brush his lips against her jaw, “he’s not walking away from this. Not after what he’s touched.”
She exhales, a satisfied hum vibrating against his throat, and every muscle in my body goes tight. Her hands still rest on his shoulders, but she turns her head slightly, eyes flicking to mine.
Bright.
Hungry.
Focused.
Fuck, she gets my dick hard.
It hits me like a punch behind the ribs, sharp and undeniable. One second, she’s gliding around the room, deadly and focused, talking sweetly to the blades she’s about to stain with blood. The next second she turns those sharp eyes on me and I’m gone. She looks like war and salvation wrapped in a tiny, vicious package, and somehow, she still looks at me like I’m worth her time.
Whatever she sees in me must call to her because she crosses the distance without hesitation. Her body fits against mine like it’s always belonged there. Her fingers curl into the side of my shirt, tugging me down until her face tilts to mine.
She asks, “You ready to go bleed a piece of shit?” Her voice is soft but edged, like she’s already carving the night open with it.
A slow, dangerous smile stretches across my lips. “I’ll follow you anywhere.” And I mean it. I always have. Even before I understood why.
Her expression softens for half a heartbeat—the kind of tenderness she rarely allows because softness in our world getspunished. Then she leans in and brushes her lips against mine, a brief kiss that tastes like resolve, like promises, like every dark road we’ve walked to stand here together.
Then she whispers, “We’re going to find her. I’ll do everything, even give my life, to make sure she’s safe.”
The words hit me like a blade sliding between my ribs.