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“Well, it’s the only thing he left me that wasn’t junk or owed to the bank. Wasn’t like we had much else.” He smiles when he says it, but it’s weak and fades quickly. “I hate that people recognize me by it.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

He takes the lighter from me, closing it to extinguish the flame, then flicks it open again. “It was a nervous habit. Something to hold onto when I didn’t know what to do with my hands, a focus when I first went undercover as Cage. I always had it with me, but I guess I didn’t realize how much until someone met me for the first time and asked if I had the legendary lighter on me.” He focuses on the engraving. “They hear that sound, they know they’re about to die.”

The words chill me, especially coming from him, but they’re accompanied by such regret that I don’t let fear take root.

“What you’ve done doesn’t define you, Cole. It was a means to an end.” I take his hand, both our fingers closing over the lighter. “You’re not this man.”

There’s never been any doubt that Cole has changed, and revealing that small piece of his new life is a cold, harsh reality. Physically and emotionally, the boy I knew and loved is gone, or at the very least buried beneath years of brutal acts. But the goodness in him will have survived, I know it.

He slips his father’s lighter into my hand. “Then you keep it. Maybe it’s good luck.”

I wince. “Not to sound ungrateful, but … the death lighter? Seriously?”

He tuts and tucks it into my bra. “I thought you said it doesn’t define me.”

“It doesn’t, but it’s still creepy.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Is it?” I mumble, and he spanks my ass as we leave the room.

A minute later, I’m standing outside Felton’s office. His door is open, and he’s seated behind his desk, texting on one of the phones I need. Once he notices me, he places it in a drawer to his right.

“Come in. Cage, she’ll meet you at the dinner table.” Cole’s arm tightens around my waist once before releasing me. “Close the door and take a seat.”

Closing that door feels like shutting out my lifeline, but I do it, somewhat reassured that Cole said he’d wait outside, regardless of Felton’s instructions. I take cautious steps toward Felton’s desk, still adjusting to the tightness around my upper right thigh. The thick elastic holster holds a small knife, something Cole had hidden in the lining of his suitcase.

Earlier, he’d knelt before me and strapped it to my thigh. Once it was secure, he rested his large hands on my hips, kissed my stomach and looked up at me with those stunning eyes, his tone deep and reassuring. “He touches you, you use it, and you don’t stop until he isn’t moving.”

Easier said than done, but if it’s between Felton dying or me? I choose Felton.

Taking a seat, I grip the arms of the plush leather chair, not bothering to hide my nerves.

“Well?” He raises his brows.

“He’s not a cop.”

He narrows his eyes, a beat of silence passing as he examines my face, searching for a lie I hope he won’t find. “That doesn’t surprise me given what I’ve seen him do. But he’s lying about something.”

“I don’t think he is.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I did what you said. We had sex and then he wouldn’t shut up. Kept going on about how we were going to leave together after all this, that he’d try to convince you to let him keep me.” I take a breath. “He talked about his past deliveries, how he got into this world … it was detailed. He’s either not a cop or the best liar I’ve ever met.”

Felton Maddox licks his lips and leans back in his chair, green eyes pinning me in place. “How many times did you fuck?”

I frown. “Twice. Why?”

“What’s he like?”

My body suddenly feels oily, the once comfortable chair now akin to sitting on shards of glass. “Um … good. Very good, I guess.”

“Did you come?”

The knife at my thigh feels like it’s burning. “Yes.”