“Oh, that’s because I am.”
I drag one hand down my face roughly. The adrenaline wafting through my body feels brutal, though my pulse is still pounding too hard from the perimeter scare, from nearly losing control in that storage room, from Mackenzi melting under my hands like she was made for it.
Made for me.
Gunnar studies me for another long second before leaning casually against the banister. “You put a fucking handprint on the ambassador’s daughter. Really?”
“It wasn’t?—”
He raises his eyebrow higher, and I stop talking immediately because there is literally no version of that sentence to improve the situation.
“Right,” Gunnar interrupts dryly.
I glare at him. “She ignored a direct order during an active threat.”
“So,naturally, you disciplined her.”
“Jesus Christ, Gun.”
“It appears you’ve gotten over your hesitation.” A faint smirk pulls briefly at the corners of his lips.
“Would you drop it?”
“Yeah… but Jagger sure won’t when he finds out.”
Despite myself, a rough laugh escapes me before reality settles in once more. I grip the back of my neck hard enough to ache. Gunnar watches me carefully for a second longer before his expression shifts slightly more serious. “You’re deep in.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I stare down the hallway, where Mackenzi disappeared moments earlier. Into the room, where she’s probably standing in front of a mirror right now, touching the mark I left on her skin.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly, and that realization terrifies me more than cartel threats ever could.
Gunnar exhales quietly beside me. “You know this gets complicated.”
“Everything about this isalreadycomplicated.”
“For what it’s worth, she looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I nod once, knowing exactly what he means. I’ve seen it, too. That soft, adoring gaze she gets when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
Gunnar starts down the staircase before stopping halfway. “Oh,” he adds without looking back. “Next time, maybe avoid leaving visible evidence if you’re planning on escorting her through shared hallways afterward.”
“Fuck off,” I call after him, certain he’s chuckling as he traverses the last of the stairs.
I remain standing there alone for another moment, wet clothes clinging to me, and my pulse still uneven with Mackenzi’s taste lingering maddeningly on my tongue. After running my hands through my hair, one brutal realization settles heavier and heavier into my chest. When this storm raging between us finally breaks, it’s going to be fucking cataclysmic.
The command center smells like stale coffee, gun oil, and exhaustion. Blue lighting shifts across the dark room from multiple surveillance monitors, while radios crackle intermittently from the communications desk near the back wall. Rain hammers steadily against the reinforced embassy windows outside, thunder rumbling in the distance as yet another storm rolls over the city.
Hawk stands near the central operations table, studying travel routes spread across a digital map, while Gunnar reviews perimeter rotations beside him. Jagger lounges in one of the rolling chairs, his boots kicked onto a nearby cabinet, like this is all somehow deeply entertaining instead of a looming security nightmare.Which, it probably is for him.
The attempted breach of the property and the ambassador’s upcoming travel schedule have turned the last two days into absolute chaos. Chaos that has kept me from spending even a few minutes alone with Mackenzi.
The political summit starts tomorrow in the center city, with public appearances, media exposure, and multiple unsecured transitions between locations. Every part of it makes my skin crawl. “Motorcade leaves at 13:00 tomorrow,” Hawk says, bringing one route up on the screen. “Primary convoy here. Secondary backup route here if we lose clearance through the south district.”
Gunnar nods once. “Sniper positions?”
“Already coordinated with embassy support.”
Jagger spins lazily in his chair. “I still vote we fake the ambassador’s death and save ourselves the paperwork.”
