The silence was blistering.
Selene laid on her side, staring at the man who had just smashed her body and exposed every bit of her restraint. Darius's fingers still clung on her skin, warm and possessive. His breath was stable, but his eyes did not move from hers.
Not once.
"You okay?" he asked, voice husky.
She nodded slowly. "I should ask you that."
He laughed softly, but there was something dark in it. Something that vibrates underneath like a warning. "I've never been better. Or more f**ked."
She traced his chest with a lazy finger, but her mind wasn't lazy at all. It was spiraling.
This wasn't just sex. Not anymore.
This was obsession disguised as pleasure. Power disguised as surrender.
Darius didn't just want her. He needed her.
And for the first time, she wondered if she felt the same.
"You look at me like I'm a threat," she mumbled.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. "You are."
She smirked. "To who?"
"To me. To everything I've tried to stay away from."
That struck deeper than she wanted it to. Selene lifted herself, reaching for her robe and tried to cover the heat that had not yet cooled. Darius leaned on one elbow, watching her like he could still feel her in his mouth.
"You running?" he asked.
"Not running. Just… dressing."
"You afraid of what happens if we keep going?"
She tied her robe slowly. "Afraid of what happens if we don't."
They both knew this wasn't over. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But Selene's world didn't have room for softness, and Darius—no matter how he touched her—was still a wildcard.
She needed control.
But control was slipping.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside cabinet. The screen flashed up with a name that sent chills down her spine.
Camilo.
She picked it up without letting Darius see her face. "Yeah?"
His voice was clipped. "You have a problem. One of your runners didn't check in."
Selene's jaw tensed. "Which one?"
"Marco. He was moving the fresh load tonight. Route should've been done an hour ago. No word."
She closed her eyes, heart cooling. "Where's the last ping?"
"Somewhere near District 5. Warehouse zone."
Of course it had to be there. The place where the dirtiest deals always turned bloody.
"Stay put," she said. "I'll handle it."
She ended the call and slid off the bed. Darius sat up, watching her like he already knew something had shifted.
"Trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"You sure about that?" he asked in a low voice.
She looked at him over her shoulder. "You offering to help now?"
He got out of bed, still naked, still breathtaking, still dangerous.
"I'm not offering," he said. "I'm coming."
Selene paused.
He wasn't joking.
She was terrified by how much she didn't want to refuse him.
"I don't mix business with pleasure," she said.
He stepped closer holding her jaw gently. "Then don't call this pleasure."
She stared at him, caught in the storm of those eyes again.
Then she turned away and got dressed in silence.
The warehouse reeked of iron and secrets.
Selene moved like a shadow between crates, heels silent, gun strapped to her thigh. Darius followed two steps behind, his eyes scanning every inch of the place like he belonged in war.
They found Marco's car first.
Door open. Blood on the handle. No sign of Marco.
Selene crouched low, fingers brushing the dark stain.
Still warm.
She stood and nodded to Darius.
They pushed forward, deeper into the shadows.
Then a sound—metal dragging.
Darius stopped her with a hand on her stomach.
He moved first.
Brought out his gun. His shoulders tense. Quiet as death.
Selene followed, her own weapon drawn.
Then the voice came.
"Drop the guns."
It echoed from somewhere above.
She didn't move.
Neither did Darius.
"We know you're there, Boss Lady. Nice of you to show up."
The lights snapped on.
Selene squinted, but her gun didn't waver.
Two men stood on the metal walkway overhead, both armed, both masked. One held a blade slick with blood. Marco's blood.
Selene's heart pounded.
Darius's voice was like gravel. "Tell me the word."
She should say run.
But her mouth said, "Take them."
And it exploded.
Gunfire cracked through the warehouse like thunder. Selene dropped to one knee and fired upward. Darius moved like a predator, using crates for cover, angling shots with brutal precision.
One man fell. The other ducked.
Selene moved fast, her heels echoing now, no time for stealth.
She reached the stairs—
And saw Marco.
Tied up. Face bloodied. Barely breathing.
But alive.
She turned toward him just in time to hear Darius shout, "Down!"
She dropped—and a bullet whizzed over her head.
She rolled, firing twice.
The last man screamed and dropped his weapon.
Darius was already on him.
One punch. Then another.
Selene reached Marco, cutting through his restraints.
"Can you walk?" she asked.
He nodded weakly.
She stood, eyes scanning for Darius—and froze.
He wasn't stopping.
He was beating the man. Over and over. Blood sprayed.
"Darius!" she shouted.
He didn't hear.
She ran to him, grabbing his shoulder.
He whirled, fist raised—
And stopped just short of her face.
His chest heaved.
His eyes were dark with anger.
She constantly stared at him, breathless.
"You're not just a stripper," she said softly.
His jaw clenched.
"No," he whispered. "I was never one."
And then he kissed her.
Fierce. violent. hungry.
Like she was the only thing preventing him from falling apart.
She kissed him back, hard, right there in the middle of blood and bodies.
They didn't care.
Because the truth had finally slipped through:
He was more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.
And she liked it.
But as the sirens began to scream in the distance, Selene pulled away.
"We have to go."
He nodded his head, but something changed in his eyes.
Like a mask had cracked—and the man underneath was finally stepping out.
As they ran back to the car, Selene looked at him one last time.
And wondered—
Had she just unleashed something she couldn't put back in the cage?
Back in her penthouse, Selene peeled off her blood-stained coat.
Then her burner phone rang.
She picked it up slowly.
A disguised voice whispered, "You're not safe with him."
Her blood ran cold.
Then the line went dead.