His Bullet Bound Me

Chapter 8 - The Black SUV

The moment the SUV door slammed shut behind her, the world outside died.

The sirens, the shouting, the reporters clawing at barricades—gone. In their place was a low mechanical hum, the faint vibration of reinforced engines, and the suffocating sense of being sealed in a box built for war.

Aurora’s breath caught.

The interior was dim, lit only by a strip of cool LED along the ceiling. Black leather, matte metal, panels thick enough to stop a sniper round. The air smelled faintly of gun oil and something darker—Marcus. His left hand pressed to his shoulder for a heartbeat to slow the bleed before he forced it back to his lap.

She didn’t want to acknowledge the way her pulse jumped at that.

He hauled himself in after her, shutting the door with a hard thud. The SUV lurched forward immediately, agents up front already barking route updates into comms.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then Aurora found her voice.

“Put on your seat belt,” Marcus said, at the exact same moment she said, “You’re sitting too close.”

Their words collided in the air.

He turned slowly toward her. “Excuse me?”

“You’re—right there,” she said, gesturing helplessly. Their thighs were touching. He hadn’t even taken the fold-down tactical seat. He’d chosen the one beside her. As if he needed to block every possible angle with his own body.

“That’s the point,” he said. “You sit in the middle of the backseat, I sit next to you. That’s protocol.”

“It’s overkill.”

“It’s survival.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your survival instincts are obsessive.”

“And yours,” he said evenly, “are nonexistent.”

Her mouth opened—ready to snap back—but then she caught the way he winced as the SUV hit a bump. He didn’t make a sound, but pain ghosted across his features before he forced it flat again.

Her anger faltered. “Marcus. Your shoulder—”

“I told you. Later.”

“But—”

“Aurora.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Put on your seat belt.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Not until you let someone look at your wound.”

“Aurora.”

“That’s not a no.”

“You’re the priority.”

“And you’re bleeding.”

He leaned closer, expression turning razor-sharp. “Seat belt. Now.”

The command shot straight through her like a spark.

She should have hated that tone.

She didn’t.

She hated that she didn’t.

“Fine,” she muttered, fingers fumbling for the belt. “But only because this stupid car is probably capable of outrunning a missile.”

“It is,” he said.

She paused mid-click. “You’re joking.”

“For once,” Marcus said, “I’m not.”

The belt slid into place with a crisp snap.

He reached over without warning, tugging the strap tighter across her chest, pulling her fully into position.

Aurora gasped. “I can do that myself—”

“You didn’t,” he said.

“You didn’t give me time!”

He ignored that, adjusting the strap like she was some rebellious cadet instead of—well, her.

The brush of his fingers along her collarbone sent a jolt through her.

She swallowed. Hard.

Marcus froze for half a second. His eyes flicked to hers.

Something crackled between them—heat, danger, recognition.

He was the first to look away.

“Don’t unbuckle,” he said, voice lower than before. “Not unless I tell you.”

“Ordering me around already?” she said, trying to sound annoyed instead of… whatever she actually felt. “I thought we were still in the introduction phase.”

“If it keeps you alive,” he said, “I’ll order you around for the rest of your life.”

Her breath stuttered.

God. He had no right saying things like that—things that sounded like vows even when they weren’t meant to.

“Marcus…” she began.

“No,” he cut in. “I need you to listen right now. Just this once.”

“I am listening.”

“Then stop arguing.”

She blinked. “I’m not arguing.”

He gave her a flat look.

She sighed. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“A proportional amount,” she said.

He snorted—an actual, almost-laugh. “You nearly died and you’re negotiating terminology.”

“Some people cope by panicking,” she said. “I cope by being irritating.”

“You’re succeeding.”

“Good.”

He turned away, staring out the tinted window as the SUV threaded through Aurelia City traffic. Police escorts created a bubble around them. Motorcycles. Drones. Flashing lights.

All this for her.

It made something inside her twist.

“I hate this,” Aurora said suddenly.

Marcus didn’t look at her. “What part?”

“All of it.” Her fingers curled in her lap. “Being protected. Being shielded. Being treated like something fragile. Something ornamental.”

“You were almost assassinated,” he said evenly. “Now is not the time for an identity crisis.”

“This isn’t new,” she snapped. “It’s my entire life.”

He didn’t answer.

So she kept going.

“Do you know what it’s like to be looked at but not seen? To be talked about but never heard? To be valuable but never… real?”

“Aurora.”

“I want to do things. Change things. I don’t want to be wrapped in glass. I don’t want to be—”

“Too bad.”

Her head jerked toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to decide that today.”

Her jaw dropped. “You can’t just say—”

“I can,” he said. “And I am.”

“You are impossible.”

“You’re alive.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“It is,” he said quietly. “Right now, it is.”

Her chest tightened—frustration, fear, gratitude tangled together.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” she whispered.

He turned then, fully, facing her, inches between them.

His eyes were dark storm, fierce and unyielding.

“No,” he said. “But I can protect you from this.”

Aurora swallowed.

“Why?” she asked. “Why are you taking this so personally? I’m a job to you.”

She expected a quick answer.

She did not get one.

Marcus stared at her for a long moment. Too long. Long enough for her pulse to pick up speed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

“You think I’m letting you die on my first day?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

She waited.

He didn’t elaborate.

The SUV turned sharply, security cars forming a tighter formation.

Aurora’s fingers twitched toward him before she caught herself. “You still haven’t told me why you took the seat next to me.”

“That seat is to watch your weak side.”

“That’s not why.”

“It is.”

“You’re lying.”

His jaw flexed. “Aurora.”

“Just admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

“You sat here,” she pressed, “because you wanted to be close enough to reach me.”

He went still.

Absolutely, terrifyingly still.

Aurora’s breath hitched.

For a moment, she thought he’d snap back.

Instead, his voice came low, controlled, dangerous.

“I sat here,” he said, “because this is your weak side. If they take another shot, I’m the wall they hit first.”

The words punched the air out of her lungs.

“Marcus—”

He didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t understand the situation,” he said. “You are not safe. There is more than one shooter. This wasn’t random. You weren’t caught in crossfire. You were targeted.”

Her blood went cold. “By who?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know that either.”

She clenched her hands. “And until we do, what? I’m supposed to listen to every command you bark at me?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Exactly that.”

“I—”

“And starting now,” he said, leaning closer, voice a low command, “you stay where I put you. You move when I say move. You speak when you need to. You stop trying to handle things yourself. You let me handle them.”

Her breath trembled.

“That’s not who I am,” she whispered.

His gaze softened—barely.

“No,” he said. “It’s not. And that’s why you’re going to get yourself killed.”

She stared at him.

And then—

Very quietly—

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured.

She hadn’t noticed.

But when he reached out, fingertips brushing her wrist, she realized her whole body was trembling.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, surprisingly gentle. “Look at me.”

She did.

“Breathe,” he said.

She tried.

“Slowly,” he urged.

She did.

“Good,” he murmured.

Her pulse steadied. A little.

He let go of her wrist reluctantly—she could feel the reluctance, even if he’d deny it with his last breath—and shifted forward as the SUV braked hard.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“That doesn’t exist,” she said.

“For you,” Marcus said, eyes burning into hers, “I’ll make one.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

The SUV rolled toward the heavy gates of the Lane family estate.

Aurora exhaled.

Marcus didn’t.

His eyes stayed locked on her.

Watching.Measuring.Guarding.

And as the vehicle slowed under the looming shadow of iron and stone, she realized—

She was no longer afraid of the danger outside.

She was afraid of the man sitting inches away from her, and the way he made her feel like the danger inside this car might be even greater.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop.