With trembling fingers, I retrieved my insulin vial from my purse. It felt too light in my hand—a reminder that I was running dangerously low. I'd need to find a way to get my prescription filled before Friday, and I would keep the insulin in my purse, it was cold enough in the stock room. There was no way I was leaving it here.
I sat on the edge of my bed, rolling up my shirt to expose my stomach. The familiar ritual never got easier, no matter how many times I'd done it. My hands shook as I measured the correct dose, my breath coming in short, panicky gasps. I barely acknowledged I had only two needles and syringes left.
A different nurse to the one that usually saw me at the clinic had tried to explain about pens that came already prepared but I’d known they would be more money and brushed her off.
"Just do it," I whispered to myself. "Just do it quick."
But I couldn't make my hand move. The needle hovered an inch from my skin as tears blurred my vision. I hated this. Hated the daily reminder that my body was broken, that I needed this medicine just to stay alive. Hated the way the needle always hurt, no matter how many times I'd done it before.
A sob escaped my throat as I finally pressed the needle into my flesh and depressed the plunger. The sting made me wince, and I yanked the needle out too quickly, leaving a tiny drop of blood on my pale skin.
"I hate you," I whispered, not sure if I was talking to the needle or myself. "I hate this."
I curled into a ball on my bed, letting the tears come. I never cried during injections anymore—I'd outgrown that childish response years ago—but today was different. Today the tears weren't just about the needle or the diabetes or even the break-in. It was the way Walker, had looked at me when I refused his help. Like I'd disappointed him somehow.
Why did I care what he thought? He was just a stranger who'd helped me out of a bad situation. I'd probably never see him again.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. Walker wasn't just anyone. He'd made me feel safe in a way I couldn't remember feeling before. The gentle way he'd stroked my hair, the careful way he'd helped me change clothes—he'd treated me like I was precious, not broken.
And I'd pushed him away because I was too ashamed to let him see the truth.
Chapter five
Walker
I stared at the job offer on my laptop screen, my finger hovering over the reply button. Six months in Dubai. Executive protection detail. Ridiculous money I didn't need. The email had come from an old military contact of Gideon’s who'd transitioned to private security for the obscenely wealthy.
It was exactly the kind of clean break I needed to get my head on straight. A reason to leave this city and all its complications behind.
"You're not seriously considering that, are you?" Maddox asked, leaning against my office doorframe with his arms crossed. I hadn't heard him come in, which meant I was more distracted than I'd realized.
I closed the laptop. "Just weighing my options."
Maddox snorted, pushing off the doorframe to drop into the chair across from my desk. "Running away, you mean."
"It's a job offer," I said flatly. "A good one."
“You have a company,” he pointed out unnecessarily. And yes, I knew that, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t manage without me. And there hadn't been any requests for our other services for a few weeks. No large jobs since we'd gotten Emily—Dion's Little—out from that hellhole.
"It's also you looking for an escape hatch because a little blonde girl got under your skin." Maddox had never been one to mince words, even back when we'd met in basic training. It was one of the reasons we'd remained friends—that brutal honesty was rare in our line of work.
I leaned back in my chair, studying the ceiling tiles rather than meeting his gaze. "It's not about Lottie."
"Bullshit."
My jaw tightened. "I've been thinking about a change for a while now."
"Since when? Three days ago?" Maddox's voice softened slightly. "Look, man, Dion told me what happened. That you found her being attacked, took her to your place—your place, Walker—and then she shut you down when you tried to help."
"She didn't shut me down." The memory of her pale face, her desperate insistence that she needed to go home, still bothered me. "She just...didn't want what I was offering."
"And what exactlywereyou offering?" Maddox leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because from what I hear, you were ready to swoop in and rearrange her entire life after knowing her for all of twelve hours."
Maddox paused. “This is the Little that’s looking for a Daddy, correct?” I nodded. “Which you think you aren’t?”
I shook my head even though it felt wrong. “So, you approached this like a Dominant?”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. He wasn't entirely wrong.
