At dinner, he insists on checking the locks himself, circling the room like he owns the place. I stab my fork into my salad. “Do you ever relax?”
“Not when someone’s targeting my boss’ family, and his sister-in-law is sitting right across the table from me.”
“Romantic,” I mutter. “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”
He leans in, his breath grazing my ear, voice pitched low and intimate, sliding through me like a dangerous caress. “Careful, Sadie. You’re making it sound like you’d like it if I swept you off your feet.”
My cheeks burn hotter, betraying me. I spear a bite of lettuce and shove it into my mouth, chewing just to keep from blurting out the reckless reply trembling on my tongue. His chuckle rolls across the table, low and insufferably smug, like he knows exactly how far under my skin he’s gotten.
Later, when Cassidy reappears, Gage stations himself by the balcony doors like a sentinel. I can’t stop watching him, even as I tell myself I hate him. The way he fills the space, the way he carries himself with that mix of discipline and raw danger—it gets under my skin, burrows deep.
I mutter to Cassidy, “Where did you even find this guy?”
She smiles faintly. “I didn’t. Rush did. He's part of the team. Trust me, Sadie, you could do worse.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. The infuriating and undeniable truth is that she’s right, and worse, part of me can’t stop noticing how dangerous and magnetic Gage looks standing there, a pull I don’t want to admit I feel.
The night stretches out like a lazy cat. Every creak in the building startles me awake. Gage prowls the perimeter of the penthouse like a captive wolf, silent but radiating energy. Once, when I pad into the kitchen for water, I find him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. The sight freezes me mid-step.
“Do you ever sleep?” I ask, my voice hushed.
“Not when you’re pacing around like prey.”
The words hit too close. I stiffen. “I’m not prey.”
His gaze dips, lingers, then returns to mine. “Then stop acting like it.”
The glass shakes faintly in my hand. Anger flares, bright and cutting. “You don’t get to define me.”
“I’m not trying to define you, I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I swallow the retort trying to claw its way out and set the glass down harder than necessary. “You’re infuriating.”
“And you're sexy as hell,” he counters, his mouth curving as if he’s enjoying every second of the interaction.
Hours later, I curl on the couch, staring out the windows at the sprawl of Galveston lights. My mind won’t still. My body feels like it’s vibrating from the inside out. Gage takes the chair opposite, lounging like a man at ease, though every muscle in him is tight with vigilance.
“Why do you keep staring?” I ask, irritated.
He doesn’t blink. “Because the second I don’t, someone might take another shot at you.”
My laugh is sharp, too loud in the quiet room. “Paranoid much?”
“Prepared,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
A heavy pause settles between us. I draw my knees closer to my chest. He doesn’t look away, and something in me thrills at the intensity even as it terrifies me.
Later that night, as I drift toward an uneasy sleep, a faint scrape reaches me, like something brushing against the frame of the French doors. My eyes fly open, pulse racing. For an instant I tell myself it was nothing, the mind playing tricks in the quiet. Yet the silence that follows feels too heavy, too watchful. I strain to listen and think I hear the lock give a slow, deliberate rattle. A shape seems to gather beyond the curtains, darker than the night itself, but when I blink it melts away.
Cassidy’s words echo back—Turning without consent isn’t just frowned on. It’s forbidden.My stomach knots. What if the danger at the door isn’t just cartel or mafia… what if it’s someone who’s come because of me? Because of what Cass did?
I freeze, lungs tight, unable to tell if the door truly trembled beneath a hidden hand or if it is only my own fear pressing in.
CHAPTER 4
GAGE
That scrape at the balcony door won’t leave my head when Rush makes the call. Cassidy’s voice comes through tight with worry, but the hard set of Rush’s jaw tells me it’s done. The penthouse is too exposed, and Cassidy could also become a target if we linger here. We need to move her somewhere safer. The catch is Sadie. She’s fragile, balanced on a knife’s edge, and no one can say how she’ll handle being uprooted. Cassidy argues, insisting they stay, but Rush doesn’t bend. That’s why he leads. He can measure the risk on both sides and still carry the choice that puts them in motion.
