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The pounding of soles intertwined with angry shouts drew closer. Trepidation flooded my system like the bursting of a dam. And it wasn’t the barrage of bullets that caused the reaction—it was the language of the shouts. Instinct hijacked my body, force-feeding my limbs the proper instructions of how to send back my own shots.

The recoil sent jolts of satisfaction coursing up my arm. A pained shout told me I’d hit my mark. Horror or regret were never the emotions that ran through my mind after a kill. Not even after my first one. I felt nothing but satisfaction knowing whoever had shot at us was lying there, his lungs gurgling for air as blood seeped into the earth, watering it.

Cursing the land with the blood of my enemies, like the Curse of Cain.

“Fucking go, Kenji. I can’t shoot if I’m facing the other way,” I said, firing off two more rounds down the dark alley.

His chest rumbled with laughter as the tires squealed, the back end of the bike fishtailing as it tried to gain purchase on the pavement. Moments like this were when I was aware of how fucked in the head I was. Because it wasn’t fear running through my system. It was excitement. I lived for the thrill. Kenji seemed to feel the same way because his bulge hardened under me as we weaved through the traffic at breakneck speeds, bullets flying by until we were far enough away. Only a few layers of fabric separated us, and I squirmed slightly, seeing if I could get more contact where I really wanted it.

The bike wasn’t designed for the passenger to straddle the driver, but we made it work as we rode back to the penthouse. When it was clear that no one was following after us, I tucked in close, moving my head to the side so Kenji would be able to see over my shoulder. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against my skin, and the rumble of the bike between my legs sent shivers through my body. Of course, being shot at had made my libido skyrocket rather than plummet.

Kenji pulled into his spot right in front of the private elevator. His labored breathing became apparent when he cut the engine, reminding me that he’d been hit. Worry clawed at my lungs, and I scrambled off the bike, my hand gently wrapping around his injured arm.

“Off the bike, Kenji, so I can take care of this arm,” I said, unwrapping the blood-soaked fabric. He must’ve torn off some of his shirt while I’d been busy grabbing my gun. I peeked up at him when he’d yet to answer. His helmet was still on, but the visor had been lifted. Espresso eyes stared back at me, his brows slightly pinched. I couldn’t place the expression on his face, which made my heartbeat kick up in a panic.

“Are you in pain? Stupid question. You’ve been shot. Grazes hurt like a bitch.” I grabbed the bottom of his helmet and lifted it off. “Here, I’ll help you with this.” My words came out more rushed than I intended because I was feeling out of control, and he wasn’t giving any feedback.

“You really care?”

His question took me off guard.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, instantly placing the back of my hand on his forehead. It was clammy, but nothing crazy, and he hadn’t lost that much blood.

“I mean,” he took my hand in his, “you really do care about whether I’m okay or not.”

I was still completely at a loss for what he was talking about. Of course I cared about the fact that he’d gotten shot, and I told him as much. A giant grin spread across his face.

“Get the fuck off the bike, Kenji. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but I’m getting you upstairs because I think you’re in shock.” I tugged on his good arm, helping him off the bike. The moment he was standing in front of me, his mouth pressed to mine, his hand tangling in my hair. This kiss was different from the others. This one wrapped around my heart and refused to release it.

“No one, other than Caleb and Niko, has ever cared about me when I’ve been injured,” he whispered. Now I recognized the emotion that had flitted across his face. It was the same one that now dripped from his tone—awe.

I froze, the adrenaline dump hitting me hard.

I avoided emotions in general, but I didn’t know what to do with someone else’s emotions. My life had been spent on autopilot. When one task was accomplished, I’d quickly fill it with another, all to push back the fragility that clawed at my soul. Stopping to acknowledge that I felt meant turning off the numb coursing through me. My mask had been on so long that I didn’t know who I was beneath it or how I would cope with the consequences of removing it.

Calloused fingers caressed my tear-stained cheeks.

When had I started crying?

My eyes focused on the painfully handsome face in front of me. The look of understanding was so evident it was as if I’d said the words aloud.

“It’s okay to let someone in. I used to think I had to do this alone too, that stuffing my emotion would save me from the pain of love and loss. But it doesn’t. You can only flip that switch for so long before the pressure of all you’ve shoved away explodes.” His thumbs were featherlight as they rubbed across my face. “I was surprised that you would care for me after the way we started out. Let me care for you too.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t seem to care whether I answered either, because he pulled me into the elevator and tucked me into his side.

* * *

Two sets of eyes were on us the moment the doors opened, and it only took a second for them to register how pale Kenji’s face was and the blood that had once again begun dripping down his arm.

“I need a first aid kit and whatever shit you have for sewing stitches,” I said, my voice not quite its normal calm when I dealt with similar situations.

There was the sound of bare feet striking the concrete floor as Niko’s hulking form burst into action, disappearing into the kitchen.

Rage trembled in Caleb’s voice when he spoke. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

He appeared in front of me faster than I thought possible, smashing my body to his. Ink adorned his wide chest, “Blood defines nothing.” The same phrase Kenji mentioned in the meeting. Caleb leaned forward, his intense eyes drilling into me as his hands ran over my body.

“Did Magomed do this to you?” he asked. His words were sharp and angry, but hidden underneath was concern. His pouty lips were pulled downward, his brows pinching in worry.