“For you to say ‘yes,’ ” he supplies, his voice rough, shadows in his eyes that weren’t there moments before.
He’s right; there are. But instead I say, “For us to talk. I need to sit up so we can talk.”
He stares at me, his expression unreadable, his naked shoulders bunched, and I can tell that he wants to refuse to move, but he doesn’t. He leans back just enough for me prop myself on the arm of the couch behind me. But he continues to bracket my hips, caging me as if he thinks I’ll run away, when all I want to do is kiss him. I settle for reaching up and fingering a strand of his light brown hair. “You’re The Hawk.”
“And that has what to do with you marrying me?”
“Everything,” I say, my hand moving to his jaw, the newly forming stubble rough beneath my fingers, while my rejection of his proposal is a weight on my shoulders and heart. “You’ll make decisions to protect me.”
“That’s right,” he says unapologetically. “I will.”
“But those might not be the right decisions.”
“We had this conversation thirty minutes ago. Caution is good.”
“Unless it makes you afraid to act.”
“Sweetheart, I get that you just saw Enzo die. But he was young and foolhardy, two things I am not. I don’t let fear control me, and I don’t make rash decisions. If I did, Niccolo would be dead right now. Because believe me, I wanted to kill that bastard today.”
For just an instant I see my father lying in his own blood, and the certainty that Kayden had found his fiancée and his mentor in the same condition has me shivering. Kayden notices, too; of course he notices. He’s somehow always aware of what I’m feeling, even when I’m not. He straightens and reaches for the blanket at the back of the couch that I know he intends for me. I take that moment of freedom and scoot to a sitting position, snatching up the tissues he’d given me and tossing them behind me, because already Kayden is wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. And while I am now covered, I am aware of every inch of his naked, muscular body. And when he holds onto the edges of the cloth, and those blue eyes, a shade paler now, capture mine, I can’t breathe.
“Ella,” he says, breathing out my name, compelling me to accept his proposal.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t live without me.”
“Stop making me feel that way and I will.”
“What if I do? What if I stop making you feel that way?”
“Impossible,” he assures me, “which is why you’re marrying me. The end. We’re going to find an insanely expensive ring, and we’ll marry when and how you want. If you want your friend Sara there, we’ll have her there. If you don’t—”
“You can’t just tell me I’m marrying you.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to share the rest of—”
“Yes,” I say. “I do, Kayden. Very much, but—”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“That’s not the issue. That’s not even a question.”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I love you. But Kayden—”
“No but. You want to marry me. I want to marry you. We’re getting married.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s as simple as we make it, sweetheart.” His cell phone rings, his jaw clenching in response before he tightens his grip on the blanket and uses it to pull me closer, kissing me hard on the lips before he releases me.
He stands up and it’s all I can do to not pull him back, reminding myself that this call could be news that we’re waiting for about any number of things. Instead, I find myself once again staring at his gorgeous backside, a reminder that it could be mine to admire the rest of my life. And I want it to be. I want him to be.
But I don’t just remember my father on that floor. I remember my mother collapsing at the funeral. I remember tears and torment, and the bastard of a drunken man she settled for, as if to punish herself for something I didn’t understand and never will. I loved my father, but there was a reason he trained me. He knew that one day he could put us in danger. Yet he didn’t stay away. He should have stayed away, even for his own sake. Maybe then he’d have been less distracted, and more ready for an attack—like Kayden will be without me.
I inhale on that hard-to-swallow reality, watching Kayden fish the phone out of his pants pocket and glance at the screen before answering the call. “Yes, Adriel,” he says, and I know this is to let me know who is on the line. It’s a respect I appreciate, one he gives me often. But he is still The Hawk, still dominant in every way, and when he’s passionate about something, he’s a stubborn force to be reckoned with. And he’s clearly passionate about the topics of marriage and Paris.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he says, listening to whatever is being said to him and reaching for his pants again, while I catch the blanket before it slides away, the tape on my arm catching on the cloth.
I reach up, yanking what’s left of it free, and in the process, my gaze catches on my new tattoo. I reach out and trace the pink wings of the hawk, and the truth is, I am already Kayden’s wife to everyone who knows him as The Hawk. I know this. I also know that together, we made this choice and declared our bond. But Kayden felt pressured to protect me, while I . . . I love him. It really isn’t a question for me, so why am I hesitating to marry him now?
Suddenly Kayden is sitting in front of me, his pants now on, his hand going to the back of my tattooed wrist and pulling it between us. “Wearing the bracelet to the party and getting this tattoo protects you, like I always will.”
“I realize that, and I appreciate that you did this for me.”
“I did this for us, Ella, and under different circumstances those things would have been choices, a commitment to me and us, to this life, but I realize that you really didn’t have that option with Niccolo looking for you. Marrying me—that is a choice. It’s you saying you want to spend the rest of your life with me.”
And there it is. The reason I’m hesitating. I don’t want to make the same mistakes my father made.
“Instead, you’re doing what you said you don’t do,” he accuses softly.
“Which is what?”
“Running.”
My defenses prickle. “I’m right here. I’m not running.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m the one who wants to go to Paris.”
“That’s suicide. That’s what people do when they can’t run anymore.”
“I’m not running and I’m not trying to commit suicide,” I say, but I hate that in the back of my mind I’m already questioning myself. “This isn’t a choice either of us can afford for me to make right now. Not when we don’t know who I am.”
“We absolutely know who you are.”
“We know things about me. We don’t know who I really am—and most importantly, we don’t know what I am. There’s no way I’m working for that monster Neuville, but I could be working for Niccolo.”
“Your memory snaps back when you’re presented with pictures and people. You’d know at this point if that were true.”
“What I know is that there is much more about me than we’ve pieced together.”
“You’re obviously leading me somewhere. What is your point?”
“I’m complicated.”
“My life is a fucking foreign novel written in twenty languages, sweetheart. Complicated is what I do.”
“You aren’t hearing me again, Kayden. There is more to me than meets the eye.”
“I’m more than aware of that fact.”
“And I was aware of the French marriage laws when I eloped to Paris. I knew I couldn’t marry him, so clearly I was using David. What does that say about
who and what I may be?”
“Quid pro quo, sweetheart. You were smart enough to sense he was using you, even if you didn’t know why.”
“Was he using me? Or was that me setting him up? If I’m CIA—”
“I am not your enemy, if that’s where we’re going yet again.”
“We don’t know what I am, or what that makes us. And if you marry the wrong person and your men find out, it will damage you, Kayden.”
He gently strokes just above my freshly tattooed skin. “To my men, this tattoo is a more powerful declaration than marriage. It’s about trust and an invitation inside the secrecy of our organization, and at the highest level. It’s done to them.”
“You didn’t have a choice, either.”
“You’re wrong on that, Ella. I could have sent you far, far away where you couldn’t be found and cleared a path for you later. But I didn’t—and by invoking Evil Eye, I made sure I never have to.”
“And yet you fight me on Paris.”
“I told you. Evil Eye or not, you don’t taunt a monster scorned, and you scorned Neuville. And this isn’t about him right now.”
“But it is. I’m a target. You’re a target. I want to know that I can’t hurt you. And you can’t just dismiss my connection to the CIA, whatever that may be.”
“Right. The CIA. Which I’ve explained does not put us at odds, but you don’t seem to want to hear that. Maybe you think that if you’re CIA, you won’t approve of who and what I am. Maybe that’s already happening. Maybe, for your sake, that’s a good thing.” He faces forward, grabs his boots, and starts putting them on.
I blanch. “What? No! It’s not a good thing. It’s not a thing at all. I know what you are. I know you. It’s me we don’t know.” Wishing half my clothes weren’t across the room, I wrap the blanket more fully around me and sit up next to him. “This is about me.”
He finishes putting his boots on and grabs his shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head, and then settling his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t speak, the dark edginess of his mood thickening the air, suffocating me, until I can take it no more.
“Kayden—”
“The truth is, Ella,” he says, still not looking at me, “there are things about me you don’t know, too. Things I’ve done. Things I’ll do again if so needed. Maybe those things just won’t work for you. And maybe I’m fucked in the head for suggesting this.”
Those words punch me in the chest. “I know you walk lines,” I say. “I know you beyond any of those things. I know—”
Finally, he turns his head toward me, his eyes sharp, cold, when they’d been hot enough to scorch me only minutes before. “You choose who you are now and later, just like we choose what we are together. I was going to push you to choose me, like I choose you. That was wrong of me. Selfish, even. Why would you want this, why would I want this for you, when maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself again, and you’ll have a shot at a normal life complete with two kids and a dog and a big backyard?” He stands up.
“That is not where I was going with this,” I say, popping to my feet and stepping in front of him before he can leave. “That is not what I want. My father—”
“Ella,” he says, his hands coming down on my shoulders. “You were right and I was wrong. It’s not the right time for us. Maybe it’ll never be the right time. And right now, Adriel is expecting us in the store.” He sets me aside and my heart all but jumps out of my chest.
“Kayden, please wait,” I plead, whirling around to find him walking away, relieved when he stops, but discouraged when he doesn’t turn. Instead he says, “You aren’t going to Paris. Don’t bring it up to Adriel.” He is The Hawk with that command, and the instant it’s issued, he starts walking, his stride long, sure, unstoppable.
My throat thickens and suddenly I feel as if I’ve been shoved into a dark, muddy pond that is slowly consuming me, and I’ve just pushed away the only man who can save me. I am cold inside and out, the nearby fire doing nothing to warm me up, and I know that it’s adrenaline and emotions driving this sensation. How have we gone from marriage to this? But I know the answer instantly. Kayden is a fierce loner who let me inside the many layers of protection he’s wrapped around himself, and in turn, I’ve hurt him. I hurt him badly, and that hurts me. Could I have screwed this up any worse?
I press my hand to my face. I was just trying to protect him. I don’t want to leave him. I just don’t want to destroy him by staying. I don’t want to be selfish and hold on to someone I love to the point of destroying him, the way my father did my mother. My death or betrayal would impact Kayden fiercely, intensely, and hurt his entire operation. I don’t know how to get around that if we stay together.
But what really worries me, what I can’t live with, is the idea that he could end up dead. That he could become a target because of me, and end up the next one lying in a pool of blood. And that can’t happen. It won’t happen. That will be me, before him.
But right now, no matter how desperately I want to talk to Kayden and make things right, now is not the time. He’s waiting for me and if there was ever a time to show him that I stand by him in all things, it’s now, starting with the meeting with Adriel. I drop the sheet and waste no time putting on my clothes, mentally setting aside every emotion the past hour has stirred as I do. This meeting is with Adriel, and Adriel might be a friend to Kayden, but he is also a Hunter, and that makes him Underground business. This is not the time for personal matters to be aired.
I race for the door, having no intention of being late when Kayden questions him about when those pages in my journal disappeared, and it hits me and stops me dead in my tracks. I’m about to go tell Adriel his sister might be betraying him. I need to be sure I’m right. I need to look at the camera feed Kayden mentioned, which I should be able to access from the security room in our bedroom.
Decision made, I cut left and run up the double set of stone stairs, one straight and one cutting right, until I’m at the hallway above, the wide open archway leading to the living area in front of me, with our room to the left. Heading in that direction, the motion detector casts me in a dim, warm glow as I travel the walk down the long stone hallway, the ceiling towering above me. The eerie sensation of being watched that has become expected in this stretch of the walkway, which I’ve always played off as my resident ghosts, hits me. But tonight as I stop at our bedroom door, and turn the knob, I find myself pausing, struck by how similar this sensation is to the one in the entryway earlier.
My brow furrows, the possibility of an unknown camera crossing my mind, but I’ve seen every view Kayden has set up in our tower. Surely I haven’t missed one in this location—and even if I have, that alone wouldn’t make me feel watched when we’re the only ones who can see that feed. Unless . . . could our cameras be hacked? The entire premise I’ve invented is crazy, but it still has me opening the door and entering the bedroom, not about to alert anyone watching that I might be aware of their existence.
Once over the threshold, I dial the lights up to the brightest level, shut myself inside, and lean against the heavy wooden door. Despite the urgent timeline I’m on, and the fact that the entrance to this tower requires a password that only Kayden, Marabella, and I know, I find myself uneasily scanning the spacious room. My attention lands first on the giant bed we didn’t bother making this morning, my stomach knotting with the possibility that one day I might not be here to share it with him. Shaking off such thoughts, I force my attention to the fireplace on the wall opposite where I stand, then to the big-screen TV above the heavy dresser directly in front of the bed. Then, finally, to the bathroom door to the right that refuses to be dismissed.
Really, truly, I sense no danger, but that eerie sensation refuses to let me be anything but cautious, and I curse myself for leaving my gun downstairs. Nevertheless, I’m capable of protecting myself and I walk to the bathroom, the lights coming on as I
touch one of the shiny white tiles, to find it empty. Completing my search, I dash down the white tiled path between the giant oval tub to the row of cabinets with double sinks to my right and flip on the light to the closet. No one is there but me, of course, but for just a few moments I pause in the doorway, my gaze catching on the rows of Kayden’s clothes on the right side, and then the small row of clothes to the left, which are mine and a part of a new beginning. You choose who you are now and later, Kayden had said, just like we choose what we are together. Words I’d like to live by, but are they really true? Can I reject any reality the past tries to force upon me and us?
My gaze lands on the mirror in front of me, and my reflection blinks into view. What was I thinking? I don’t have to wait and see who this woman is. I know her, and I don’t want to be any other version of her but the one I am here and now with Kayden. I’ve even come to like my now dark brown hair, when I’ve often craved my natural red shade. I need to tell him all of this, and I will. I’ll scream it loud and clear if I have to, but right now I need to search the security feed. Fully intending to leave, I start to turn, but my gaze lands on the mirror again, and I am suddenly, abruptly even, transported to another time, to the point that I sway and lean on the closet door. Images race through my mind, my lashes lowering with the force with which they are thrust upon me.
I stand in the closet, his closet, staring at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to see what he will see when I go downstairs. No. Trying to control what he will see. I’m dressed in an elegant cream pantsuit, my red hair draping my shoulders, the strap of a Chanel purse resting across my chest and at my hip. I see my familiar image, but not a woman I know or understand. Not the woman my father trained to be strong and fierce. Because that woman would not have allowed herself to be tied to a bed last night. And when she was released, she would have forcefully fled. My lashes lower and I inhale, sitting down on a bench in the corner against the wall, beside a row of fancy shoes Garner bought for me yesterday. I could leave, but where would I go? I still have no passport. I still have no money. And the more I’ve thought about this, the greater the odds of me randomly falling into the middle of whatever this is, it just doesn’t make sense. I’m hiding with a monster, but that monster is necessary to my survival.