We lie together, a tangle of limbs and warm skin. I’m cocooned between their bodies, Cyrus’s chest against my back, Ace facing me, his forehead touching mine. Their arms encircle me, creating a fortress of flesh and bone that nothing can penetrate.
I focus on their breathing, letting mine fall into rhythm with theirs. Inhale, exhale. The simple act grounds me, pulling me back into my body when part of me still feels disconnected, floating somewhere near the ceiling.
“We thought—” Ace starts, his voice rough with emotion.
“Don’t,” I whisper, pressing my palm against his chest where I can feel his heart beating. “I’m here. We’re okay.”
Cyrus’s arm tightens around my waist, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. I place my other hand over his, feeling the slight tremor in his fingers. Even hours after the rescue, their hands haven’t stopped shaking—these men who can kill without hesitation, who move through the world with lethal precision, still trembling at the thought of losing me.
I close my eyes and breathe them in—Ace’s cedar and leather scent, Cyrus’s hint of bergamot. Their heartbeats pulse against my skin from two directions, creating a rhythm that tells me I’m home, I’m safe, I’m loved.
I wake in the darkness,momentarily disoriented until I feel the solid warmth of two bodies anchoring me to reality. My breath catches in my throat—a fleeting moment of panic—before I remember: I’m home. I’m safe. I’m with Ace and Cyrus.
In the dim light filtering through the blinds, I study their sleeping faces. Their hands have found each other across my body—Cyrus’s fingers entwined with Ace’s over my stomach.Even in sleep, they maintain this connection, this unbreakable circuit of protection with me at its center.
I close my eyes and let the tears come. Not the desperate, terrified tears I’d suppressed during my captivity, but quiet ones that cleanse rather than drown. The twins stir simultaneously, as if sensing my silent release.
“Baby?” Cyrus’s voice, rough with sleep.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though we all know it’s not entirely true. “I just need to feel this.”
Ace’s thumb brushes away a tear tracking down my temple. “Feel it with us,” he says softly.
Their grip on each other tightens, their linked hands pressing gently against me—a physical reminder that whatever darkness swirls inside me, I don’t have to face it alone.
“When they took me,” I begin, my voice small in the darkness, “I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was afraid of never seeing you again.” The admission costs me, bringing fresh tears. “Afraid you’d blame yourselves forever.”
“We would have,” Ace admits quietly.
“We still do,” Cyrus adds, his breath warm against my shoulder.
Their honesty breaks something open inside me. “I love you both so much it terrifies me sometimes.”
“Love is always terrifying,” Ace says, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“But worth it,” Cyrus finishes.
Their joined hands lift from my stomach, and I watch as Cyrus brings Ace’s knuckles to his lips in a gesture so tender it steals my breath. Something fundamental has shifted between them—boundaries redrawn, walls crumbling.
In this moment, tangled together in the aftermath of fear and violence, I feel us becoming something new. Something unbreakable.
48
ACE
Chapter 48: Ace
The black SUV pulls into the underground garage beneath Blackwood Industries. Cyrus sits beside me, scrolling through the mission reports Felix compiled. Neither of us wanted to leave Keira alone so soon after her kidnapping, but Xavier’s summons brooked no argument.
“She has three armed guards and a panic button,” I remind myself aloud, more for my own benefit than Cyrus’s.
Cyrus nods. “Still don’t like it.”
We exit the vehicle in synchronized motion, our footsteps echoing through the concrete structure as we approach the private elevator. The weight of my Glock against my ribs provides minimal comfort. After Volkov, I’d added an additional knife to my ankle holster and a garrote wire in my watch. Excessive, perhaps, but the image of Keira bound to that chair has burned itself into my mind with permanent precision.
Xavier is waiting in his office, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Ravenwood’s skyline. He doesn’t turn when we enter.
“Eight of Kozlov’s men eliminated, including Dmitri Volkov.” His voice is cool, matter of fact. “Efficient work.”