“Possibly client lists, too. Who hires Oblivion’s services, what they pay, what they request.” Reaper’s voice took on a harder edge. “I brought specialized decryption equipment from my previous safehouse. It’s running algorithms now, but it will take time.”
I was already pushing back my chair, strength surging through me at this news. “We need to see what you’ve set up. Where are they?”
“Hold on.” Reaper raised his hand. “The decryption process is delicate. Tripwires embedded in the security could wipe everything if we push too hard or fast.”
“I understand caution, but this could be everything we need,” I argued, already moving toward the doorway. “We could find Xavier’s location, maybe even how to reverse his conditioning.”
I was out of my chair and moving before I consciously decided to do so, adrenaline burning away the lingering weakness in my muscles.
Reaper shifted, blocking the doorway with his body as I tried to pass. I attempted to sidestep him, but he mirrored my movement with frustrating precision.
“Move,” I said, attempting to sound authoritative despite having to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“No.” His response was simple but firm. “You’re still recovering.”
“I’ve rested enough.” I made another attempt to get past him, feinting right before darting left. This time, his arm shot out, palm flat against the doorframe, creating an impassable barrier without actually touching me. The heat from his body radiated across the small space between us, and for a moment, we were frozen in place, his eyes locked with mine, determination against determination.
I tried once more to duck under his arm, and suddenly his free hand caught my wrist—not roughly, but with immovable certainty. The touch sent electricity racing through me, his fingers circling my trembling wrist.
“Your pulse is elevated. Pupils dilated. Tremors increasing.” The intensity in his gaze belied his clinical assessment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“That’s not from exhaustion,” I said before I could stop myself.
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, followed by a flash of heat that made my breath catch. The fingers around my wrist tightened fractionally, his thumb finding my pulse point and resting there.
“Explain,” he demanded, his voice dropping lower.
Instead of answering, I rose on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.
The kiss started as a challenge but transformed instantly into something else—hunger, need, the electric current that had been building between us since I woke in his arms. His hand released my wrist to cup my face, fingers threading into my hair as he pressed me back against the wall.
The solid weight of his body pinned me there, his warmth seeping through my clothes. His other hand found my waist, grip firm but careful, as if I might shatter under too much pressure. I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees go weak. I clutched at his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath my fingertips, pulling him closer despite the voice in my head reminding me of all the reasons this was complicated.
His scent surrounded me—something warm and sharp and dangerous—as his lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw, then down my throat. A sound escaped me, something between a sigh and a moan, as his teeth grazed my pulse point. My heartbeat hammered against his mouth, my body arching instinctively into his.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was as uneven as mine, pupils blown wide with desire. A tremor ran through me that had nothing to do with Brock’s compounds.
“Your body needs rest,” he said, voice rough. “Your brain is still healing.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you just kiss me senseless to prove I’m not recovered enough to work?”
“No.” His thumb traced my lower lip, leaving fire in its wake. “But your reaction proves my point.”
“I thought you were done taking orders from Brock. Why are you suddenly channeling him?”
His expression shifted from firm to genuinely surprised. “Did you just compare me to Brock?”
The absurdity hit me, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Maybe that was a low blow.”
“Lowest possible,” he confirmed, but there was something different in his eyes—a warmth that wasn’t there days ago. “He lacks my concern for your well-being.”
I blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. “Did you just… make a joke?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Apparently.”
“Well, that’s terrifying,” I said, but I was smiling now. “Next thing you know, you’ll develop a personality.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
