“You’re not a soldier at all. That’s the problem.”
She arched a brow. “And what am I, exactly?”
He didn’t blink. “Mine. For now.”
Her body reacted faster than her mind. A flush climbed up her throat, her pulse kicking harder in her chest. She hated that too.
“You can’t just claim me like I’m some project to fix.”
“I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to stop someone from destroying you.”
She stepped in, almost nose-to-nose now. “You want obedience? You’re going to have to earn it.”
His mouth curved—not a smile. Something quieter. More dangerous.
“I already have.”
The silence that followed cracked with electricity, invisible but unmistakable. Vanessa stared at him, jaw tight, chest rising faster than it should. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to throw her coffee in his face just so he’d react with something besides infuriating composure.
But mostly? She wanted to test the boundaries he’d just laid out.
“You will not intimidate me into playing the good little victim,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “But I am going to protect you. Whether or not you like how I do it.”
Her voice dropped. “And if I push back?”
He leaned in until his mouth was at her ear, his voice low enough to rumble through her skin.
“Then I’ll push harder.”
Vanessa stood perfectly still as he straightened and walked back to the table, collected his mug like they hadn’t just been standing toe-to-toe two seconds from an explosion.
He didn’t look back. And that, more than anything, made her want to chase him down and provoke every ounce of dominance he was holding back. Instead, she set her coffee down and forced herself to turn toward the stairs.
If he wanted a brat? He’d get one. But what neither of them said—what pulsed under every word—was that she wasn’t just testing him to prove a point.
She was testing him to see if, for once, one of them would stay.
4
HAWKE
Hawke didn’t wait for them to settle. He didn’t need to. When Gavin Briggs called a meeting, you came ready. When Hawke called one, you came on edge.
The conference room at Silver Spur Security wasn’t flashy—glass walls, one long table, blackout blinds already drawn. No distractions. The energy in the room shifted the moment he walked in. Reed Malone was already leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, his ever-present scowl in place. Dawson Hart sat forward with a pen between his fingers, flipping it like a blade. Jesse Bryant, boots up on the corner of the table, dropped them the second he saw Hawke. Gavin sat at the head, unreadable.
Hawke didn’t bother with greetings. He dropped the manila folder onto the table, flipped it open, and slid the contents into the center. Photos. The letter. A printout from Vanessa’s security feed. And two screenshots from fan event footage.
He kept his voice clipped. Clear.
“Vanessa Ellington has a stalker. Advanced. Structured. He breached her home two nights ago without tripping alarms, left a message quoting a scene from an unpublished manuscript, and exited clean.”
Gavin reached for the letter first. “Is this the actual scene from the book?”
Hawke nodded. “Verbatim. Chapter fourteen of her next novel. The file’s encrypted and air-gapped. No email copies. No digital backups except one on her hard drive. No one’s seen the content, not even her editor.”
“Not even her Dom?” Jesse asked, trying for light. Hawke shot him a look that said don’t push it, and Jesse held up both hands. “Just asking.”
