The peace was a lie. I knew it, and deep down, Riya knew it too. We were living in the heartbeat between two storms.
Just as she began to drift off, her head heavy against my hand, my phone vibrated against my thigh. It wasn't a call. It was a proximity alert from the silent sensors I'd tripped around the perimeter of the building.
My internal clock reset instantly. The "man at home" vanished, and the "soldier" snapped back into place.
"Riya," I said, my voice low, stripped of its previous softness.
She opened her eyes, sensing the shift immediately. The air in the kitchen turned cold. "What? Is it him?"
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. I stood up, moving to the window and peeling back the edge of the blind by a fraction of an inch. Down on the street, a black sedan had pulled up. Not at the curb, but idling in the middle of the road.
The door opened, and Alex stepped out.
He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a man who owned the world—expensive suit, polished shoes, a casual arrogance in the way he adjusted his cufflinks. He looked up at the building, his eyes scanning the windows with a predatory patience. He wasn't rushing. He was savoring the hunt.
"He's here," I whispered.
I heard the sharp intake of Riya's breath. She scrambled to stand, the blanket sliding off her shoulders, her face going from pale to ghostly white. The heating pad fell to the floor, forgotten.
"How did he find us?" her voice shook. "You said we were safe."
I turned to her, my hands finding her waist, anchoring her. I needed her focused. "We are safe. He found the location, but he hasn't found a way in. There are three layers of steel between him and this room, and he has to get through me to touch any of them."
Downstairs, the buzzer rang. A long, steady press. It wasn't a request for entry; it was a demand.
"Go to the back room," I commanded, my voice like iron. "Take the bag I packed. Do not come out until you hear my voice—and only my voice. Do you understand?"
She looked at the door, then back at me, her eyes filled with a terrifying mix of love and goodbye. "Don't let him take me back."
"Over my dead body," I promised.
As she disappeared into the hallway, I reached into the hidden holster beneath the kitchen counter. The weight of the weapon felt familiar, cold, and final. I walked toward the door, my footsteps making no sound on the tile.
Alex was downstairs, thinking he was coming for his prize. He didn't realize he wasn't walking into a home.
He was walking into a kill zone.The buzzer rang again. This time, it wasn't just a ring; it was a rhythm. Short, rhythmic taps that screamed of ownership.
I didn't answer through the intercom. I didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing a voice. I moved to the heavy oak door, my back against the wall, weapon gripped in my right hand, held tight against my chest. My thumb eased the safety off.
Click. The sound was tiny, but in the silence of the hallway, it felt like a thunderclap.
"I know you're standing right there," Alex's voice drifted through the wood. It was smooth, cultured, and entirely devoid of a soul. "It's a bit beneath you, isn't it? Playing the loyal dog for a girl who's just going to end up back in my garden anyway."
I stayed silent. I breathed through my nose, slow and shallow, keeping my heart rate in the "combat steady" zone.
"Open the door, and maybe we can discuss a price for your retirement," Alex continued. I could hear the faint metallic clink of him leaning against the frame. "I'm a reasonable man. I understand the appeal of a fresh face, but Riya is an expensive habit you can't afford to keep."
The way he spoke her name—like she was a piece of jewelry he'd misplaced—sent a surge of cold fury through my veins. But I didn't let it reach my trigger finger. Anger makes you sloppy.
"You're wasting your breath, Alex," I finally said, my voice sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass.
There was a brief pause. I could almost hear him smiling on the other side.
"There he is," Alex purred. "The silent shadow finally speaks. Tell me, does she know what you've done? Does she know the blood on those hands you use to hold her? Or are you pretending to be a hero today?"
"I'm not a hero," I said, stepping away from the wall to stand directly in front of the door, staring at the wood as if I could see through to his throat. "I'm the thing that stands between her and people like you. And today, the door stays locked."
"Locks can be broken," Alex replied, his tone sharpening. The playfulness was gone, replaced by the jagged edge of a man who wasn't used to being told 'no.' "I have twelve men in the stairwell. I have the building surrounded. You're a tactical genius, I'll give you that, but you're one man protecting a broken girl."
"I only need one man to end you," I countered. "And she's not broken. She's just recovering. Why don't you come in and see for yourself?"
I reached out and gripped the deadbolt, the metal cold against my palm. I wasn't going to wait for him to kick it in. I wasn't going to let him dictate the terms of this engagement.
"I'm going to count to three, Alex," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence. "If you're still on my landing when I hit zero, I stop being the guard. I become the hunter."
"One."
I heard the rustle of fabric—his men shifting behind him, drawing their own steel.
"Two."
I felt the shift in the air, the heavy, electric charge of a fight about to explode. Behind me, in the back room, Riya was waiting. I could almost feel her heartbeat through the walls.
I gripped the handle.
"Three."