Page 194 of Cobra
My stomach twists. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the most accurate one you’re going to get right now.”
I don’t like that. I don’t like any of this. But I hold his gaze. “Am I safe here?”
His eyes sharpen slightly. “Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. Without softness. Without reassurance layered into it. Just fact.
“From you?” I press.
A flicker of something moves through his expression. Amusement. Barely there. “Yes,” he says again. “From me.” That matters. More than it should.
My arms tighten around myself. “What do you want with me?”
There it is.The real question. The one I’ve been avoiding asking because the answer might break whatever control I’ve managed to hold onto.
Matteo’s gaze shifts, studying me again. Like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit where it’s supposed to. “That depends on who you ask,” he says.
“That’s not an answer either.”
“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”
Frustration sparks. Real. Sharp. It reminds me I’m still me. “You spent money on me,” I say. “You brought me here. You put me in this room. You’re telling me I’m safe, but you’re not telling me why.”
His head tilts slightly. “You’re more direct than most,” he says.
“I don’t have the energy for anything else.”
That earns a small, genuine reaction. Not a smile. But close. “Fair,” he says. His gaze drops briefly to the collar at my throat. The air shifts. Not dramatically. But enough that I feel it. He steps closer. Slowly. Giving me time to react.
I don’t move. Not because I’m not afraid. Because I am. But this feels different.
He reaches up. My entire body tenses. Every muscle locking as his fingers brush the metal at my throat. The collar is colder now. He presses something small and hidden along the edge.There’s a soft click. Then another. The pressure changes. The spikes retract. Not fully. But enough. My breath catches. He unfastens it with practiced ease. The metal slides away from my skin.
And for a second, I don’t move. I just stand there. Because the absence of it feels wrong. Like something that’s been part of me for too long suddenly isn’t there, and my body doesn’t know what to do with that. Then sensation floods back in. Heat. Air. Freedom. Pain.
My hand comes up automatically, fingers brushing the raw skin where the collar sat. It stings. It aches. It feels like my body is remembering itself piece by piece. I didn’t realize how much it weighed until it was gone. My throat tightens. Not from the metal. From everything else. I force it down. No tears. Not here.
Matteo watches the entire thing. Carefully. Like he’s measuring something. “Better?” He asks.
I nod once. Small. Controlled. “Why?” I ask again, quieter this time.
He exhales slowly. Not impatient. Not dismissive. Just considering. “Because you don’t belong in that system,” he says. The words land differently.
I study his face. “You just bought me from it.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make you better.”
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”That honesty throws me. More than if he’d tried to justify it.
“Then what does it make you?” I ask.
He holds my gaze. “A man with access,” he says. “And a reason to use it.”
My chest tightens.
Cobra.
