Page 86 of Unlocking Ruin

He moves the gun further back, but I can’t help noticing it.

“You didn’t have a gun the other day. What’s changed?” I ask. All the sleeplessness vanishes from my eyes.

Why does he look so tense? Alert.

His gaze is on me, yet it doesn’t feel like he’s truly looking at me. He inhales sharply, approaches, and places the clothes on the bed. “I need you to get dressed quickly,” he says.

His eyes have lost all luster; a blue sky swallowed by thunderclouds.

My eyes drop to the clothes, annoyed. “I’ll get my own,” I snap.

“We don’t have time for that,” he hisses, as if each second were burning him. “Get dressed. The enemy is here.” He pivots and re-enters his closet.

My stomach twists. “Back to reality,” I whisper. I slip from the bed and follow him. He presses his finger to a scanner by a drawer. With a gentle click, it glides open, revealing an arsenal of weapons. The truth is sharp: he’s not just a man, he’s a killer, and I spent the night in his arms.

Without hesitation, he grabs a knife, bends down, and slides it into his right boot. He slides another into his left; two more are sheathed on his belt.

“You trying to double as a hibachi chef?” I joke, but my throat thickens.

Steffen shakes his head. “Not the time, Rylan.” His voice is tight. He is afraid. The man who always plans ahead is shaken.

A sharp sting flares in my palm where my nails dig in anxiously.

His eyes track me from the corner of his vision. With a snarl, he closes the distance in three firm steps. His fingers feather along my bicep, tracing down, then grasp the shirt he ordered me to put on. I let him, obedient as a machine following its code, wanting to see what he does. He slings the shirt over his shoulder and peels mine off.

I’m left standing naked, exposed, yet still trusting him. My nipples harden as his warm breath fans over my skin. His eyes trace the curves of my body as if he can see every spot he kissed and loved last night.

“We can’t hack our way out of this,” he mutters sadly. He grabs the shirt and gently drags it over my head, pulling it down to my hips, where his hands linger for a moment I wish I could stretch into an hour.

“The purpose of hacking isn’t to escape; it’s to get in,” I whisper. My heart hammers against my ribs, my thighs clenching at the heat of his hands.

Our eyes connect, his a stormy sea of terrible secrets. “Maybe that’s what you need to do. Get inside and save us.” He exhales quickly; his gaze dropping to my lips, then down my bare legs, before he shakes his head. “Forget I said that.”

I let him dress me. Once he pulls up the sweatpants, his fingers trace my waist before he drops down, kneeling in front of me to roll the hems so I don’t trip. His gaze drops to my bare feet, and he curses under his breath.

“Wait here,” he says, dashing away.

I stand there, stiff and uncertain, like a hanger left on display. Before I can gather my thoughts, he returns, slips socks onto my feet, and pauses to examine my ankle.

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “My heart isn’t.” Why did I say that? His fingers flinch.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says firmly. He goes back to the weapons drawer and grabs a small knife in a case. He holds it up so I notice. “This is for emergencies only. If you need to escape, don’t just take the first way out. Think. You ran once and survived; you can do it again.”

“Why would I need to run when you’ll be with me?” I question. My worst fear blooms like a poisonous flower in my belly.

His lips silence me, his tongue grazing mine. He pulls away before I can kiss him back. Bending down, he pushes up my pant leg and fastens the knife with a thin strap around my ankle. Then he grabs a bulletproof vest and puts it on me, tightening the straps. My breath catches, panic rushing over me.

“You never mentioned your mother,” I blurt out.

If my question surprises him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps adjusting the Velcro straps on my vest. I met the lover, the stalker, the man who showed me his scars; this is another side of him. The hunter.

“She and my father divorced when she found out his mistress was pregnant with Torben. My father was a good man, but he had his faults. So did my mom; she had her affairs, too.” The anger in his voice is unmistakable. “I never forgave them for cheating on each other.”

“Is that why you decided to become obsessed with one person?”

He runs his hands over the vest, checking it’s snug.

The hard padding feels oppressive. I want it off. I want his hands protecting me.