His Bullet Bound Me

Chapter 9 - Your Shadow

For a few minutes, the only sound in the SUV was the low growl of the engine and Aurora’s own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

Outside, Aurelia City blurred past in streaks of blue lights and chrome. Inside, it was just black leather, reinforced glass…and the man who’d just thrown himself between her and a bullet.

Aurora shifted in her seat, the seat belt cutting diagonally across her chest. The strap was still too tight from when he’d yanked it into place—like he didn’t trust even the car not to fail her.

He sat beside her, broad shoulders taking up more space than any human had a right to. One forearm rested on his thigh, fingers loose, but she could see the faint tremor in the tendons, like his body was still riding the edge of combat.

His jaw was clenched.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead.

He was ignoring her. Deliberately.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. It absolutely did.

“Are you going to keep pretending I’m not here,” Aurora said finally, “or is this a limited-time sulking thing?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t look at her. “I don’t sulk.”

“That,” she said, “is exactly what someone sulking would say.”

The driver up front coughed once. Then went very still, like he regretted existing.

“Eyes on the road, Cole,” the man beside her said, voice low and razor-sharp.

“Yes, sir,” Cole answered immediately.

Sir.

Right. Of course he was also someone’s boss.

Aurora blew out a breath. “So. Are we going to do this?”

“Do what?” he asked.

She turned in her seat to face him fully, ignoring the way the belt dug into her. “Let me guess. You’ll eventually drop me off at my father’s house, disappear into whatever shadowy place you came from, and then magically show up again the next time someone tries to murder me?”

“That’s the general idea,” he said.

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t work for me.”

That got his attention.

He turned, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were a grey so dark they might as well have been storm clouds, and right now, she was standing directly in their path.

“You don’t get a vote,” he said.

“Oh, I always get a vote,” she shot back. “Welcome to democracy.”

His gaze moved slowly over her face, as if verifying she was serious. As if he still couldn’t quite reconcile the girl who’d joked onstage about breaking rules with the one sitting here now, strapped into a bulletproof car because someone wanted her dead.

She lifted her chin. “If you’re going to be in my space, barking orders, pulling my seat belt and deciding where I can breathe—”

“Seat belts save lives,” he cut in.

“—then I’m at least entitled to your name.”

A beat of silence.

She pushed further. “Your real name. Not ‘hey you with the death glare.’”

The tiniest hint of something—annoyance? amusement?—flickered in his eyes.

“Aurora—”

“That’s mine,” she reminded him. “Full name Aurora Lane, in case you missed the banners.”

“I didn’t miss anything,” he said.

“Then we’re halfway to a relationship,” she said sweetly. “Your turn.”

His jaw flexed once.

Then he gave in with a sigh that felt like a crack in armor.

“Marcus,” he said. “Marcus Cross.”

The name fit him. Sharp angles. Solid weight. Something you could cut yourself on if you weren’t careful.

“Marcus Cross,” she repeated, tasting it. “Let me guess. You don’t have a nickname. You’d kill anyone who tried to give you one.”

His mouth almost curved. “Something like that.”

“Nothing at all?” She tilted her head. “Not even in elementary school? Crossy? Mark? Mac?”

“Stop,” he said flatly.

“Oh,” she said slowly, eyes gleaming. “There was one. Now I have to know.”

“You don’t,” he said.

“Marcus,” she sing-songed.

“Aurora,” he warned.

She grinned. “Fine. I’ll file that away for future interrogation. Next question: where exactly did my father find you? ‘Mysterious gunmetal statue with a hero complex’ isn’t a LinkedIn category.”

He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a slim, matte-black card. No logo. No phone number. Just a simple emboss over the surface that caught the thin light.

He turned it so she could see.

TITAN SHIELD.

Beneath it, in smaller letters: Private Security & Protective Solutions.

Aurora blinked. “TITAN Shield,” she repeated. “That sounds…subtle.”

“We’re not hired for subtle,” Marcus said.

“What are you hired for?”

His eyes held hers. “Results.”

Of course.

“And my father…called you?”

“He called the company,” Marcus corrected. “They called me.”

“Why you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He leaned back against the seat, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Because the profile matched.”

“What profile?”

He studied her for a second, like he was deciding how honest to be.

“High-visibility target,” he said at last. “Unpredictable environment. Media exposure. Political stakes.”

She waited.

“And…” he added, “a principal who doesn’t like being told what to do.”

Ah.

“So I’m a walking nightmare,” she said lightly.

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “You’re a challenge.”

Something fluttered low in her stomach at the way he said it.

She looked away, out the window, watching the skyscrapers thin into old brick and iron as they approached the wealthier district. The Lane estate lay beyond the river, tucked behind iron and manicured hedges. A golden cage.

“You still didn’t answer the important part,” she said quietly.

“What part is that?”

“Why you?” She looked back at him. “There have to be dozens of agents at TITAN. Hundreds. Why were you the one who walked out onto that field?”

The question hung between them.

His gaze dropped briefly to her hands—still trembling slightly, she realized, with annoyance—fear—something else. Then it lifted back to her face.

“Because I don’t miss,” he said simply. “And your father wasn’t interested in second-best.”

It shouldn’t have made her feel anything.

It did.

“You sound very sure of yourself,” she murmured.

He didn’t blink. “I am.”