I reached over and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp. The room plunged into a heavy, blue-tinted darkness, lit only by the flickering neon sign of a laundromat across the alley.
"Don't move," I whispered, my hand still resting on Kyle's chest. "Moretti's scouts aren't just looking for a car. They're looking for a shadow."
The sound of a heavy engine rumbled in the street below—the slow, deliberate crawl of a car. A flashlight beam swept across the ceiling of the room, a cold finger of light searching for a sign of life.
Kyle went rigid beneath my hands. I felt the vibration of a growl starting in his throat—the arrogant lion wanting to roar back at the hunters. I didn't think; I leaned forward and pressed my palm firmly over his mouth.
"Be quiet," I breathed into his ear.
His eyes were wide in the dark, reflecting the neon blue from outside. For a second, I thought he'd push me off, but he didn't. He slowly reached up, his hand wrapping around my wrist—not to move my hand, but to hold it there. His skin was burning hot against mine.
We stayed like that for an eternity. The car idled outside for three agonizing minutes before finally screeching away toward the main canal.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and started to pull my hand away, but Kyle gripped my wrist tighter. He pulled my hand down, but he didn't let go. He brought my palm to his jaw, his stubble grazing my skin.
"They're gone," he rasped, his voice a low friction in the quiet room.
"For now," I said, trying to regain my composure, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. I tried to pull back to the other side of the mattress, but the room was too small, and Kyle was too large. "You should sleep. You've lost blood."
"I don't want to sleep," Kyle said. He sat up, the movement bringing him so close our knees were interlaced. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the diamond collar. "I want to know why a woman who hates me just risked everything to save me. Don't give me the 'invoice' line again, Val. Tell me the truth."
"Maybe I just didn't want Moretti to have the satisfaction," I bit out, my stubbornness flared up. "He thinks he owns me. You think you own me. If you're dead, he wins by default. I'd rather deal with one arrogant billionaire than a psycho with a sniper rifle."
Kyle let out a dry, breathy laugh. He leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. "You're a liar. You stayed because the moment I gave you that key, you realized that without the war between us, you don't know who you are anymore."
"You wish," I whispered, but I didn't pull away.
He moved his hand from the collar to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear. The touch was intense, fueled by the adrenaline that was finally starting to crash.
"You're a thief, Valentina," he murmured, his lips ghosting over mine. "So steal it."
"Steal what?"
"A moment. One night where I'm not a Vanguard and you're not a debt."
He didn't wait for me to find a retort. He pushed me back onto the thin mattress, his body a heavy, warm weight over mine. There was no gold here, no champagne, no audience—just the smell of lavender and the sound of our breathing.
I reached up, my hands finding the tears in his expensive shirt, pulling him down. I didn't love him, and I certainly didn't trust him, but in the dark of the den, with the sirens fading in the distance,it dawned on me he was right about one thing: the war was the only thing that made me feel alive.
"Don't get used to this," I whispered against his neck.
Too late," he rasped.