Part 1o:

So, what are you to him? Servant, favorite, lover? Her head snapped toward him, and everything in her recoiled at once. What? No. God, no. The denial came out too fast, too disgusted to be anything but true, and the corner of his mouth lifted at it like he’d gotten the answer he wanted. Then his gaze dropped to the floor, to the dark drops, trailing after them across the stone. Anita, stop.

She came to a halt and glanced back at him over her shoulder. He raised the light to her face again, and whatever he saw there made his jaw tighten. That needs stitches. Her cheek, her jaw, the front of her dress had all gone dark with it. He set the torch down at his feet and started working the buttons of his shirt.

She realized where this was going and edged back a half step. What are you doing? If you don’t put pressure on that, you’ll lose enough blood to go weak on me. His fingers moved down the last of them, and we’ve still got 12 hours to get through. OS pulled the shirt off, folded it in his hands, and pressed it to her forehead. Hold this. In the low light, she found herself looking at the bare skin gone gold in the beam, at the bandage she’d wrapped a few hours ago, still riding his side.

He was leaning in over her, holding the cloth to her brow, close enough now that she could feel the heat coming off him. She caught herself breathing him in, leather, smoke, something warmer underneath. And the second Isabella felt herself doing it, one thought cut clean through her. Not him. Anyone but him. She turned her face away, she cut him a dry look from under the folded shirt at her brow.

Trying not to catch something off it. Her hand came up to hold it in place, and a slow smile pulled at his mouth. 3 hours in and we’re already patching each other up. Funny how that worked out. He drew back to look at her. How much farther? She lifted a finger past his shoulder. We turned left up there.

His gaze moved over the maze of stone around them and then came back to her slower this time. You know this place too well for someone passing through it. How many years did you say you’ve worked here? The question landed exactly where he’d aimed it, and she felt the trap in it before the last word was out.

He picked up the torch and started walking again, leaving her to follow. Isabella stayed a step behind him, choosing the safe answer. I didn’t say, “No.” His voice carried back to her, easy, unhurried. “But we’ve got 12 hours down here, Anita. We’ll have plenty to talk about.” The torch only half lit the room until Isabella reached past the doorway and pressed the switch on the wall.

Light flooded the low stone vault, a bed against one wall, a steel counter and sink, a mini fridge, shelves stacked with water and cans, a first aid cabinet with its green cross. OS took it in slowly. So this is where Veto hides. His gaze moved over the shelves, the locked cabinets, the heavy door at the far end. Paranoid but practical.

Setting the torch on the counter, he opened the little fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He drank half of it, then looked at her over the rim with something dry in his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t think far enough ahead to poison the water.” She gave him a smile with nothing behind it, pressed the bloody shirt back into his hand, and walked to the small washroom.

The mirror told the truth, a thin split above her brow, dried blood tracked down one cheek, dark across her jaw. She caught the angle of him in the glass, OS moving through the place, opening drawers, taking inventory of what wasn’t his, and her eyes went hard. Then her eyes came back to her own face. Brilliant. You did this to yourself.

The words came under her breath, meant for no one. She bent over the sink and washed her face, and the cold water dragging across the cut pulled a wse out of her. When she lifted her head, he was there in the glass. Right behind her, a medkit held in one fist. It’s not as bad as it looks.

His gaze dropped to the cut. But we’re cleaning it up. I’ve got it. She turned and reached for the kit. OS looked at her open hand, then at her face, and the corner of his mouth moved. Instead of giving it over, he closed his fingers around hers and led her out of the washroom to the edge of the mattress. sit. It made no sense the way that single word landed in her low and warm, and she hated that some part of her wanted to obey it before she’d even decided to.

She sank down where he’d put her. He sat down facing her, opened the kit, and went to work. Cotton, antiseptic, a careful pass across her brow. Might leave a small scar. A faint smirk crossed his face. something to remember the night by. You think this is funny? Her jaw tightened under his touch. I’m only in this mess because of you.

He held her eyes, and when he spoke, it was without any heat at all. Have I hurt you once since the moment we met Anita. You came into my home with a gun. You scared the staff out of the door. For all I know, you put bullets in a few of Mr. K’s men, her voice climbed. That’s just savagery.

His hand went still against her forehead. Your home? The question caught her, and she had to swallow before she could cover it. I live here, too. He went back to cleaning the wound slower now. When this is over, I’d like to see your room. What do you want with my room? She pulled back an inch. Was that concern or are you flirting? I thought you were marrying Miss Ki.

👉 [Tap here for Next Part] 👈