The word doesn’t hang between us. It lands sharp and violent, like a slap across my face. My virginity is more than just a social construct; it’s a burden I’ve placed on him. A flaw. A defect. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words are lodged in my throat, thick and useless.
What can I say? I’m sorry my inexperience is an inconvenience for you? I’m sorry the promise of patience you made has an expiration date?
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying would be a concession, an admission of guilt, and I have absolutely nothing to be guilty about.
Gabe stands abruptly, the movement so sudden, I flinch. He paces the small strip of floor between my bed and my desk, his shadow dancing across the posters on my wall. “It’s not just… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the bed.At me. He looks too big for this space, too full of restless, angry energy. He rakes his hands through his hair, a gestureof pure frustration. “It’s everything. I feel like I’m dating achild. I have to walk on eggshells all the time.” He stops pacing and turns to face me, his silhouette framed by the weak light coming from the window. “Do you have any idea how that feels? To be with someone who’s scared of you?”
“I’m not scared of you,” I whisper, but the lie is as flimsy as my voice. A part of me is terrified. Not of him, but of doing something I’m not ready forwith him.
“Really?” he scoffs, a bitter, ugly sound. “Could’ve fooled me.” He bends down to grab his shirt from the floor. As he shoves his arms into the sleeves, his eyes sweep over my desk, the stack of books, and my open laptop. His gaze lingers for a second, and I have a sudden, horrifying thought:Does he see me as a joke? A little girl playing at college, playing at love, with her books and her fairy lights and her ridiculous boundaries?
Just as the silence is about to crush me entirely, a key scraping in the lock cuts through it. My heart lurches into my throat. The door swings open, and my roommate, Chloe, stumbles in. She’s laughing at something someone said in the hallway, her phone still pressed to her ear. “—and then he was like, ‘I think you have the wrong room,’ can you even—” She stops mid-sentence, her eyes taking in the scene. Me—huddled against the wall like a victim, half-naked and shaking. Gabe—standing by the bed, his face a thundercloud of anger, his shirt half on. The air in the room is thick enough to choke on. Chloe’s smile vanishes, replaced by a look of dawning, uncomfortable understanding. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. I can, uh, I can go. Or…”
Gabe sees his escape route. He glances at me for a second and mutters, “I was just leaving.” Without saying goodbye,he turns and heads for the door. Moving with a stiff, unnatural gait, he brushes past Chloe, pulling the door shut behind him.
Chloe slowly lowers her phone, her eyes fixed on me, full of a concern I’m not ready to receive. “Kenzi…” she starts, her voice gentle. “You okay?”
I don’t answer.I can’tanswer. My gaze is fixed on the door, on the place where he just stood. I slowly unfold myself, my limbs stiff and aching, and pull his hoodie over my head to cover myself. The fabric that just an hour ago smelled like safety and comfort now smells like a lie. As much a lie as Gabe promising he’d take things at my pace or that he loved me.
The rhythmicthump thumpof tires over seams in the concrete fills the blacked-out company Tahoe as we drive through the thick mid-afternoon traffic of the Chicago Loop. Hawk handles it without thinking, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console, and his eyes moving constantly over the sea of red taillights flowing toward the horizon. Even now, he can’t help but watch for threats.But… truth be told, neither can I.
With my body angled slightly toward the window in the passenger seat, I observe the flow of cars and people without focusing on anything too long. It’s a habit at this point. I don’t stare. I don’t lock in on any one thing. I just keep my awareness wide, picking up what matters and ignoring what doesn’t. Most of the time, it’s nothing.
My phone is settled in a dash mount, as a makeshift mobile command center. On the screen, a digital conference room has been assembled. Abby’s face is top left, perfectly poised against the backdrop of her pristine home office. Jagger andGunnar are sharing a video stream from the Aegis jet, the two of them a study of contrasts. Gunnar has a tight jaw and naturally stoic face, making him appear to be all business twenty-four seven. Jagger, on the other hand, has a near-permanently affixed grin that I know means he’s going to be full of his cocky bullshit today.At least he’s Gunnar’s problem.
“—so, to give you the quick rundown.” Abby’s voice is crisp and clear, cutting through the low hum of the engine. “The death threats are credible, and the threat level is high. Per the DEA documentation forwarded for this case, the Cartagena cartel is making a lot of noise about retaliation for a recent drug seizure. Surveillance of the cartel has indicated intent to target the local ambassador. Within the past six weeks, those communications have escalated. The protective detail’s primary is US Ambassador Richard Bradenburg, who Jagger and Gunnar are en route to in Cartagena.” A photo appears on the small screen of my phone. It’s a man in his late forties with the kind of cookie-cutter, diplomatic face that could be smiling at a state dinner while simultaneously discussing drone strikes with the Pentagon.
“Secondary is his daughter, Mackenzi. She’s a college student here in the states,” Abby continues while swapping out the photo. It’s a standard-issue college ID photo, the kind they force you to take against a mottled blue background under harsh fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look vaguely ill.Except her. She looks… luminous.
A waterfall of wavy, chestnut hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face. She has a broad, radiant smilethat deepens the curve of her round and rosy cheeks. Her eyes are a rich shade of umber, and even in the cheap, flat lighting of the photo, they hold a spark. She is naturally beautiful in a way that feels effortless.
“Dibs on the ambassador.” Jagger’s voice is laced with his usual jovial undertone, crackling through the car’s speakers. “I get my fair share of wrangling kids at home.”
“And whose fault is that?” Gunnar murmurs without bothering to look at him.
“Mine, apparently,” Jagger snorts. “Though, we’re still talking rookie numbers. I think we can increase the roster a little more.”
“Shut up, Jag,” Gunnar grouses, his voice already filled with annoyance, before steering the conversation back to the job. “So, the ambassador is the package, and the daughter is a high-value complication.”
“Agreed.” My voice comes out as a low rumble as I force my gaze away from the photo on the screen. “She’s the soft target. We treat her with the same level of threat as the principal.”
“Sounds like you just volunteered for babysitting detail,” Jagger chimes in, his smirk growing impressively more cocky.
“That’s the plan,” Abby confirms. “It’s why two of you are heading directly to their residence in Cartagena, and the other two are en route to Westbridge University to handle her extraction.”
Westbridge…
Having blindly climbed into this SUV with Hawk, I was oblivious to where we were going other thanthe job. “Westbridge?” I clarify, the information hits me like a punch to the gut and momentarily knocks the air from my lungs. It is a physical reaction that has nothing to do with the job and everything to do with a life I have failed at.
“Westbridge?” Jagger’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Isn’t that where your kid goes, Damon?”
My son.
The thought of him is a familiar ache, a dull, chronic pain behind my ribs. A ghost I have carried with me in every city, every safe house, and every life I have protected.
“Yes, Westbridge University,” Abby confirms. “She’s a junior there. The ambassador wants her pulled from classes immediately and flown down to him under our guard. He believes it’s safer than trying to protect her on campus in the city. And I have to agree with him.”
“Maybe you could kill two birds with one stone,” Jagger continues. “Pick up the asset and say hi to your estranged offspring.”
