He just gave me a secret. A real one. Not some throwaway fact, but something vulnerable and soft hidden beneath all that muscle and menace.
Why? Why would he tell me this?
"I won't tell anyone, Kon," I hear myself say and I truly mean it. “I know I am here because of my wish. I also know there will be a cost and I’ve already told you what I am willing to pay.” I step up to him, close enough to touch his arm. When skin touches skin there’s a jolt of energy. Hand to God, I am telling the truth. He feels it at the same time I do. Our gazes connect and we stand there for a moment unspeaking.
“I mean to say thank you,” I manage.
He pulls back and peers down at me and for a moment, it feels as though our souls connect on some primal level.
And then he breaks the spell with a simple sharp nod of his head. “Follow me.”
We continue the tour.
He stops at a panel on the wall, all sleek black glass and softly blinking lights. "Security system. State of the art."
"Meaning don't try to hack it?"
"Meaning you won't succeed if you do."
Oh? Challenge accepted.
He pushes open the next door to reveal a gym packed with equipment. Free weights line one wall, a punching bag hangs in the corner, and machines I'd need a manual to operate fill the rest of the space. "For my use, but you're welcome to it."
"I'll add it to my list of cage amenities."
His jaw ticks, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "Second bathroom." He gestures to another door. "In case yours isn't sufficient," he counters.
His hooded gaze flicks over my flushed face before settling on my lips, and my breath catches in my throat.
I wonder what his lips would feel like on mine. That full lower lip, the hard line of the upper. Would he kiss the way he speaks, slow and deliberate, every movement weighted with intention? Or would he devour, all hunger and heat and no restraint?
He'd be commanding. That much I know. A man like him doesn't do anything by half measures.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, a nervous habit I can't control, and his jaw tightens like I've just tested the last thread of his restraint.
"It's more than sufficient. But thanks for the options."
He turns without responding and leads me toward a staircase at the end of the hall.
"The roof," he says. "My private space. You're welcome to it.”
I climb the stairs ahead of him, my curiosity overwhelming my exhaustion. The door at the top is heavy, metal, and it groans when I push it open.
I step out onto the rooftop. The night air wraps around me and I forget I’m a prisoner of my own choosing for a minute.
What should be gravel and vents and industrial ugliness is instead a garden, wild and lush and glowing under strings of soft light. The Chicago skyline spreads out beyond the edges like a postcard, all glittering towers and distant noise, but up here everything is quiet. Peaceful.
Raised beds stretch across the space, thick with vegetables whose leaves have gone silver in the moonlight. Terracotta pots overflow with herbs, their scents rising on the cold air and tangling together until I can barely separate them. Rosemary. Basil. Thyme, maybe. And something sweeter underneath, something floral that makes me want to believe in the world again.
But it's the roses that steal my breath. They climb a wooden trellis near the far wall, winding upward like they're trying to escape, their blooms so deep red they look almost black against the night sky. There are dozens of them, maybe more. Allthriving in the cold air like they've decided the rules of nature don't apply up here.
Beauty. Unexpected, impossible beauty hidden on top of a building that looks like a corpse.
I think of his tattoos. I saw barbed wire wrapped with roses, now that I think about it. Pain and beauty intertwined.
Who the hell is this man?
"You grew all this?" My voice comes out softer than I intend.
