Page 35 of Cold Mercy

The word hits me like a physical blow. My legs feel like they’re made of smoke, and for a moment I’m genuinely not sure if they’ll work. Everything inside me feels scrambled, electric, and wrong in all the ways possible. My dick is straining against my jeans, and my brain just shuts off. I don’t say a word, just follow her like a damn dog on a leash.

We turn the corner out of sight, and she immediately drops my hand as if it burns her. The sudden loss of contact snaps me back to reality.

I grab her wrist, spin her around, and press her back against the hood of my car.

“What the fuck was that?” My voice comes out lower than I expect.

She wipes her mouth with the pad of her thumb like she’s reclaiming something. She stares me down with that reckless defiance that makes my blood run hot. And fuck if it isn't the most arousing thing I have ever seen. She isn't just playing with fire. She is begging to be burned.

“What, no girl has ever kissed you before?”

Not like that, with the stakes that high.

“He would’ve recognized me,” she says, breathless but defiant. “My face was everywhere after Noah’s death. I had seconds to hide us, and you didn’t exactly pull away, so you’re welcome for saving your ass. The polite thing to say is ‘thank you.’”

She tries to push off the car, but I lean closer, caging her in. My jaw is so tight it aches.

“Don’t do that again.”

Her expression shifts barely, like my words cut deeper than I intended.

I don't say the rest out loud. Don't do it again because I won't stop next time. Don't do it again because I enjoyed it too much. Don't do it again because if you touch me like that one more time, I’m going to forget who I am, and I will take you right here on the hood of this car.

Her smile drops, replaced by something sadder, heavier.

“Fine, don’t get any ideas. I did it to save myself.”

She pulls free of my grip and walks toward her car.

I let out a rough breath and lean both hands on the roof of mine, trying to process the last five minutes. My pulse is still chaotic, and my mouth still tastes like her. My body is still trying to remember what the hell restraint feels like. I send Grace a short message with the warehouse address and tell her to send a team. Then I shut the phone off and pocket it.

When I drive, I keep my distance, but I follow her all the way back to Cold Spring.

She stops at her gate. The gate slides open, but she doesn't drive through.

She gets out of her car, her body stiff with anger, and marches straight to my driver's side door. I roll down the window, a deliberate, silent invitation.

“Was following me all night not enough for you?” she snaps, her voice a low, furious hiss. “Did you really have to follow me all the way home?”

I don't answer her question. I push my door very slowly, forcing her to take a step back, and get out of the car in one fluid motion, never breaking eye contact, and close the door with a soft, definitive click. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her initial anger now mixed with a flicker of uncertainty.

“I wanted to make sure you get home safe,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “My turn to ask the questions. What the hell were you doing there, Sophia?”

“What does it look like? I got a tip that the ‘company’ Noah worked with wasn’t a company at all but some low-tier Aurora runner. The source was weak, but I needed to check it. And you ruined it. I swear to God, Reed, sometimes I think you’re on their side.”

She turns sharply, walking toward the gate, her back stiff with anger.

I follow her. I can't leave it like this.

“Hey,” I call after her. “I’m sorry, okay?”

She doesn't stop walking. I jog a few steps to catch up, my patience fraying.

“I’ll set up a meeting with a reliable contact. We go together like we agreed.”

She stops then.

“Fine, text me when and where.”