I didn't wait for visiting hours.
The courthouse detention center had emergency consultation protocols for a reason, and after last night's encounter with Marcus Blackthorn's men, this definitely qualified as an emergency. I'd barely slept, every shadow outside my window making me jump, every car engine sounding like the motorcycle that had hunted me through dark streets.
But underneath the fear was something else—a desperate need to see Kane, to hear his voice, to feel that electric connection that made everything else fade away. Even mortal danger couldn't kill the want that had been eating me alive since Eclipse.
Maybe especially then.
The guard led me through corridors that felt different at this hour—quieter, more ominous. When he opened the door to the interview room, Kane was already sitting shackled to the steel table, radiating menace even in stillness. His gaze locked on me the instant I entered — hot, unblinking, like he'd been waiting for me alone. My chest tightened. The air smelled faintly of iron and leather, and suddenly I couldn't remember if I was here as his lawyer… or his prey.
"You look like shit," he said, but his voice was gentle.
"Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special." I set my briefcase down and took inventory of the man across from me. Even in fluorescent lighting and orange cotton, Kane Drax commanded the space like he owned it. "We need to talk."
Kane's eyes narrowed, taking in details I thought I'd hidden—the exhaustion, the way my hands shook slightly as I organized my papers, the paranoid glances I kept shooting toward the door.
"What happened?"
The question was quiet, but there was something underneath it that made my pulse skip. Danger. Like Kane was holding himself on a very tight leash.
"Your friend Marcus decided to send a welcoming committee." I pulled out my phone, sliding it across the table to show him the text. Our fingers brushed as he took it, and electricity shot up my arm like it always did."Apparently, I'm asking too many questions."
Kane went absolutely still. For a moment, he didn't even seem to breathe. Then something shifted in his expression—something predatory and barely controlled.
"Did they hurt you?"
"No. But they tried to take me for a conversation I don't think I would have walked away from." I watched Kane's hands clench into fists on the metal table. "They know who I am, Kane. They mentioned my mother."
Kane's jaw flexed like he was grinding his teeth to powder. Something flickered in his eyes—knowledge he wasn't sharing.
"Marcus has a long memory," he said finally. "And your mother had a reputation for being thorough."
"What kind of thorough?"
Kane's smile was sharp as broken glass. "The kind that gets cops noticed by people who prefer to stay in the shadows."
He wasn't telling me everything, but there was something in his tone that suggested layers I wasn't ready to uncover. Not yet.
"They think I'll back down because some asshole with a motorcycle license threatened me."
"Won't you?"
The question hung between us like a challenge. Kane was watching me with an intensity that made my skin burn, like he was testing something, measuring my resolve against whatever storm was coming.
I leaned forward, close enough to catch his scent—leather and something wild that made my mouth water. "What do you think?"
Kane's pupils dilated. For a heartbeat, his careful control slipped, and I saw raw hunger flash across his features before he shuttered it again.
"I think," he said slowly, "that you're exactly as stubborn as I expected. And twice as dangerous to yourself."
"Dangerous how?"
Kane stood abruptly, the chain connecting his shackles rattling against the floor. He began pacing the small room, and I found myself tracking his movement like prey watches a predator—hypnotized by the fluid grace, the barely leashed power in every step.
"You charge headfirst into situations that should terrify you. You ask questions that get people killed.
"Is that supposed to be an insult?"
"It's supposed to be a warning." Kane's voice dropped to something almost like a growl. "Marcus Blackthorn isn't Victoria Ashford. He doesn't make empty threats, and he doesn't play games with pretty lawyers who get in his way."
The words should have frightened me. Should have sent me running like any rational person would. Instead, they sent liquid fire straight to my core.
"Maybe I don't want to be safe," I heard myself say.
Kane's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "Careful, Counselor. You might get exactly what you're asking for."
"And what am I asking for?"
Kane stood abruptly, beginning to pace the small room like a caged animal. The space felt too small to contain him, like his presence was pressing against the walls.
"You're asking to be pulled into a world that will chew you up and spit you out." He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You're asking to get involved with people who solve problems by making them disappear."
"People like you?"
Kane's smile was all teeth and shadows. "Especially people like me."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I held his gaze. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be." Kane's voice was barely above a whisper. "Everyone else is."
"Why?" I challenged, my voice breathier than I intended. "What makes you so dangerous?"
Kane stared at me for a long moment, something desperate and hungry flickering across his features. His hands were clenched at his sides, and I could see the tension thrumming through his body like a live wire.
"Because once I stop pretending to be civilized," he said quietly, his gaze burning through me, "you'll understand exactly what kind of man you've been defending. His smile was nothing soft—sharp and cruel.
"Not the law. Not your rules. Not even your precious self-control. Only what I want."
The words sent heat spiraling through my core. This close, I could smell that intoxicating scent that made my mouth water—leather and something wild that spoke to parts of me I didn't understand.
"The trial starts Monday," I said, trying to regain some professional footing even as my body hummed with need.
Kane's laugh was dark honey. "The trial. Right." He looked at me like he was memorizing my face. "Are you ready for that, Counselor?"
"Ready for what? To represent my client?"
"Ready for everything to change." Kane's gaze burned into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. "Because after Monday, there won't be any going back to your safe little world of legal briefs and courthouse coffee."
Something in his tone made my pulse race—like he was talking about more than legal proceedings. Like he knew something I didn't about what was coming.
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning." Kane's eyes never left mine. "One way or another, Calla, you're about to find out exactly what kind of man you've been defending. And when you do—"
He paused, and I saw his hands flex against his restraints.
"When you do, you'll understand why I tried so hard to push you away. And why it's already too late for both of us."
The words followed me out of that courthouse like a brand, burning themselves into my memory. As I walked to my car on unsteady legs, checking shadows and scanning for motorcycles, I couldn't shake the feeling that Kane had been trying to prepare me for something.
Something that was going to shatter every assumption I'd made about him, about this case, about the world I thought I understood.
Monday couldn't come fast enough.
And that realization—that I was desperate to see what Kane would show me when he stopped being careful—terrified me most of all.