Skylar hadn't slept.
She sat like stone, unmoving, eyes locked on the window until the first grey light of dawn crept in through the blinds. No sound. No breath fogging the glass. Whoever had stood out there was long gone—but the presence remained. Heavy. Oppressive. Like smoke that clung to your lungs even after the fire was gone.
Reagan stirred just after seven, curled into a tight knot on the couch. Her face blotchy, hair a tangled halo of stress. Sweater sleeves swallowed her hands. Her eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused—and for one small moment, she looked like a child waking from a nightmare.
Then memory hit. She sat up fast.
"Is he still out there?"
Skylar didn't answer right away. She walked to the window and pulled the curtain back just enough to peer outside.
Nothing. Just the usual morning chaos—traffic, city steam, a pigeon with strong judgmental energy.
She let the curtain fall.
"No. He's gone." Reagan sagged, but only slightly. She ran a hand through her hair and winced as her fingers caught in a knot. "Was it him?"
"I don't know," Skylar said honestly. "Could've been. Could've been someone else. But Rae…" She turned. "It wasn't in your head. He was out there." Then Skylar was pulling on her boots.
"No. Fuck this."
"Where are you going?" Reagan asked.
"I'll be right back. Don't worry." Which, of course, meant Reagan immediately started to panic.
ELSEWHERE — LATER
A concrete room. Fluorescent lighting. The kind of place that smelled like silence and danger.
Taz leaned against a desk, idly flipping a pen between his fingers. He looked bored in the way that meant he was thinking about murder. Rocco stood by the window, jaw locked, shoulders drawn tight.
Then—BANG.
The door flew open so hard the hinges groaned. Two of Rocco's men moved instantly.
Rocco didn't flinch. He raised a hand—cool, controlled—and they froze. Skylar charged in like a hurricane wrapped in eyeliner and rage.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped.
Rocco still didn't look at her.
"You've got time to sneak around and fuck my best friend," she said, "but when she's actually in danger, you do nothing?"
Silence. Rocco's expression didn't flicker.
"She's being stalked. Texted. Someone rang our fucking doorbell at two a.m. He sent pictures. Of her. Of our door. And you're just standing here like a wax statue with a jawline sharp enough to decapitate." Taz blinked. "Wait. Someone rang the bell?"
Skylar spun on him. "Yes, genius. And he stood outside like a fucking phantom. He's toying with her." Taz's face didn't change, but the pen in his hand suddenly stopped spinning. Rocco finally turned. "Why didn't she tell me?"
Skylar jabbed a finger into his chest. "Because she's trying to handle it. Alone. Because you gave her the illusion of safety, and then you ghosted. You touched her like she belonged to you—and then vanished like she didn't."
Rocco said nothing. The silence weighed more than shouting.
"She could've died," Skylar whispered. "And all you did was walk away."
"I didn't know," Rocco said quietly.
"Well, now you fucking do," she snapped. "Fix it. Or stay the hell away."
She stormed out, leaving the door swinging behind her. Silence.
Then Taz said, "She's not wrong."
Rocco exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for a week. "Eight men. Tonight."
Taz raised a brow. "There he is"
"Shadow detail only. She doesn't see them. She doesn't know."
Taz nodded. "She's gonna murder you if she finds out."
"I'd rather she hate me and be alive."
A beat passed. Rocco looked at Taz. "If he touches her—"
Taz's grin was slow. Cold.
"Then he's mine."
BACK AT THE STORMFRONT
Reagan burst into the warehouse like chaos on fire.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Rocco looked up calmly. Like this was just a Tuesday.
"Good to see you too."
"You sent eight men to stalk me? What, ten was too obvious?"
"I sent them to protect you."
"Oh, did you? Because one of them followed me into a grocery store. Into a grocery store, Rocco."
"He was making sure no one touched you."
"No one touched me because I nearly caved his skull in with a can of beans!"
Rocco blinked once. "He likely deserved that."
"Don't joke." Her voice shook. "You did this behind my back. Again. You made a choice for me. Again."
He stood—slowly. Like something dangerous unfolding.
"You think I don't know you can handle yourself?" he said. "I do. But that doesn't mean you should have to."
"You don't get to make that call."
"This isn't about control Reagan."
"No?" she said, stepping closer. "Then what is it?"
"It's about not finding your body in a goddamn alley. It's about making sure the next time Travis breathes your name, he fucking chokes on it. Her voice dropped. "Then say that. Don't hide behind protection. Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying," he said. "I'm panicking. Every second you're not in front of me, I see him hurting you. Again. So yeah, I put men on you. Because if something happens to you—if I lose you—I will burn this entire fucking city to the ground."
Silence.
Then: movement.
They met halfway, colliding like war. Like need. Hands in hair. Teeth on skin. Her back hit the door. His mouth hit her neck. It was desperation, not romance. It wasn't soft. It was survival.
And when it ended, and they lay tangled on the floor, breathless—
She got up. Shaking. Opened the door. Didn't look back.
He called her name, once. She was already gone. The door clicked shut. Rocco leaned against the wall, hand in his hair, a breathless laugh curling out of him.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I figured you'd run again."
ELSEWHERE — TEN MINUTES LATER
Reagan stomped down the street like she was trying to kill the sidewalk.
"Stupid. Stupid. STUPID," she muttered, kicking a rock into a trash can and startling a cat.
She hit a mailbox shoulder-first. "Ow. Great. Love that for me."
She fumbled her keys. Dropped them. Twice.
She tripped over her shoelace on the third floor. Nearly face-planted into the railing.
"You are a disaster," she growled to herself. "A one-woman apocalypse with zero impulse control."
By the time she reached the apartment, she looked like the human equivalent of an unstable shopping cart. Her bun was crooked. Her jacket was half-zipped. Her cheeks were flushed with shame and leftover lust. She pushed the door open. Quietly. Skylar was waiting. On the couch. Eyebrow already raised. Skylar scanned her. Sweater off one shoulder. Hair a mess. Guilt radiating like heat. Skylar smirked. "You just can't stay away, can you?"
Reagan groaned. "I want to hate him. I do. But my hormones staged a coup."
Skylar patted the couch. "You're allowed to want him and still want to punch him. That's called balance." Before Reagan could sit down, there was a knock at the door.
Not just a knock.A bang. Then silence.
Skylar reached for the bat behind the couch.
"…Tell me that's pizza."
"It's not pizza," she muttered.
Skylar groaned. "Please don't say Travis."
Reagan unlocked the door, already fuming. "It's Taz."
Skylar blinked. "Oh. Fantastic. Death incarnate in a hoodie." Reagan opened the door a crack. Taz leaned in the doorway like he was born to loom. Rain clung to his sleeves. His expression unreadable, except for the faint ghost of a smirk—like this whole situation mildly amused him and also bored him to death.
"You planning to stare at me all morning, or can I come in before your neighbor calls the cops?"
Reagan stepped aside without a word. He walked in like he owned the building.
Skylar crossed her arms. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your unsettling presence?"
Taz ignored her tone. "I came to talk."
"About what?" Reagan asked, folding her arms. "Rocco? Because I've already maxed out my emotional damage quota for the day."
Taz gave a slow blink. "Then I'll keep it short." He looked at her. Not past her. Not through her. At her.
"He didn't send those men to control you. Or scare you. He sent them because he hasn't slept in three days and he's starting to unravel." Reagan swallowed hard but said nothing. Taz kept going. Calm. Low. Focused.
"He didn't tell you because he didn't want you to feel caged. But he also can't breathe when you're not in the room. Every second you're gone, he's running worst-case scenarios in his head."
Skylar raised a brow but said nothing.
"And he's an idiot," Taz added casually. "A powerful one. With terrible coping skills. But not a liar. What he feels? That's real. Screwed up. But real." Reagan looked away, jaw clenched. Taz turned to go. "Don't pretend it didn't matter," he said over his shoulder. "You both felt it. That kind of thing doesn't happen twice." Then, like smoke, he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him. Reagan stared at it, lips parted. Skylar whistled low. "Okay. That was… more words than I expected from the guy who usually just stares at people until they cry."
Reagan mumbled, "What even is he? Is he human? Was he grown in a tank?" Skylar shrugged. "No clue. I just know he gives off 'stabbed someone with a pen once and didn't blink' energy."
Reagan sank down on the couch. "Why do I attract emotionally repressed men who smell like gunpowder and regret?"
Skylar grinned. "Because you have great taste in bad decisions."