Chapter 12: Safe Harbor
1143 Words
POV: Julian
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt like the longest forty-five seconds of my life.
Ezra stood next to me, vibrating with kinetic energy. He was fixing his cuffs, checking his knuckles for bruises, and humming a soft tune. He looked thoroughly wrecked—his hair messy, his lips swollen, his velvet jacket dusted with garage grit.
He looked magnificent.
The doors slid open.
We didn't stumble out kissing. We stepped out like soldiers clearing a room.
I scanned the foyer. Clear.
Ezra checked the motion sensors on the keypad. Green.
"Leo," I said, heading straight for the hallway.
"Protocol check first," Ezra murmured, though he was right on my heels.
We reached Leo’s door. Sarah, my assistant, was sitting in the hallway chair. She jumped up, clutching the pink taser Ezra had given her like it was a live grenade.
"Mr. Vane!" she squeaked. "Is everything okay? I heard... I thought I heard sirens."
"Everything is fine, Sarah," I said, trying to keep my breathing even. "Did he open the door?"
"No. I tried to ask if he wanted water, but he just slid a note under the door that said 'Code Muffin'."
Ezra smiled. It was a genuine, soft expression that transformed his face from killer back to nanny.
"Good boy," Ezra whispered.
He tapped a rhythm on the door. Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.
"Leo," Ezra called softly. "The Wolf is home. Perimeter secure."
The lock clicked instantly. The door creaked open.
Leo stood there in his dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes. He looked at me, then at Ezra. He saw the disheveled state of our suits. He saw the wild, frantic look in my eyes.
He didn't look scared. He looked at Ezra and signed: Bad guys?
Ezra crouched down. Gone, he signed back. We won.
Leo nodded, satisfied. He yawned, turned around, climbed back into bed, and pulled the covers up. He trusted Ezra implicitly. If Ezra said the bad guys were gone, then the bad guys were gone.
Ezra closed the door gently.
He stood up and turned to Sarah.
"Go home, Sarah," Ezra said kindly. "Take the town car. Arthur is waiting. You did great."
Sarah looked at me. I nodded. "Go. Take tomorrow off. With pay."
She scrambled for the elevator, looking relieved to escape the heavy atmosphere of the penthouse.
The moment the elevator doors closed, the silence of the apartment crashed down on us.
We were alone. Leo was safe. The threats were outside the glass.
I looked at Ezra.
He was watching me, his grey eyes dilated, stripping me down with a look.
"Leo is safe," Ezra whispered.
"Leo is safe," I repeated.
The tether snapped.
I grabbed Ezra’s hand and dragged him down the hall to the master bedroom. I didn't bother with the lights. The city glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in silver and shadow.
I kicked the door shut and engaged the deadbolt.
I turned on him.
"Get it off," I growled, reaching for his jacket. "Get that suit off before I rip it."
"Julian," Ezra laughed, a breathless sound as he let me shove the velvet jacket off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. "This is Italian velvet. Have some respect."
"I don't respect the suit," I snarled, backing him toward the massive bed. "I respect the man inside it."
I went for his shirt next. The buttons went flying. I didn't care.
I needed to see him. I needed to see the scars I had bandaged yesterday. I needed to verify, with my own hands, that he was whole.
Ezra didn't just let me take. He gave as good as he got.
His hands were everywhere—deft, quick, and possessive. He unclipped my shoulder holster, tossing the Sig Sauer onto the nightstand with a metallic clatter. He undid my bow tie, yanking the silk loose.
When we finally fell onto the bed, it was a tangle of limbs and friction.
Skin to skin.
I ran my hands down his back, tracing the dip of his spine, the jagged line of the old bullet wound. He felt solid. Real.
"You're beautiful," I whispered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "You're a disaster, Ezra. A violent, terrifying disaster. And you're beautiful."
Ezra froze. He was hovering over me, bracing his weight on his forearms. His glasses were gone. His eyes were wide, unguarded.
"I'm a weapon, Julian," he reminded me, his voice shaking slightly. "Weapons aren't beautiful. They're just used."
"Not here," I swore.
I reached up, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down until our foreheads rested together.
"In this room, you aren't the weapon," I promised him. "You're just Ezra. You're the man who makes sourdough. You're the man who teaches my son to survive. You're mine."
Ezra let out a shuddering breath.
"Yours," he agreed.
He kissed me.
It wasn't like the kiss in the garage. That was adrenaline. This... this was devotion. It was slow, deep, and terrifyingly intimate.
He moved against me, and the last of the barriers dissolved.
We didn't rush. We had spent weeks dancing around each other, playing roles—Boss and Nanny, Fixer and Shield. Now, in the dark, we stripped those roles away.
There was a moment, amidst the heat and the friction, where I looked up at him. He had his head thrown back, his throat bared, his body arched. I saw the pulse fluttering in his neck—the same vein he had threatened Thorne with.
And I realized I would burn the entire city down to keep it beating.
Later, as the adrenaline finally faded into a heavy, sated exhaustion, we lay tangled in the sheets.
The room was quiet. The only sound was the rain hitting the glass.
Ezra was resting his head on my chest, tracing patterns on my skin with one finger. He was already half-asleep.
"Julian?" he murmured.
"Hmm?"
"You still have to pay me for overtime."
I huffed a laugh, tightening my arm around him.
"Go to sleep, Ezra."
"I'm serious," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "Hazard pay. Emotional damages. And I need a new shirt. You destroyed the silk."
"I'll buy you ten shirts."
"Good."
He drifted off within seconds—a soldier's trick, falling asleep the moment safety was confirmed.
I stayed awake for a while longer, listening to his breathing, watching the lights of London twinkle below us.
I knew Thorne would come back. I knew the war wasn't over. I knew that by sleeping with my lethal nanny, I had complicated my life in a thousand ways.
But as I looked at the assassin sleeping in my arms, and thought of the boy sleeping safely down the hall, I wasn't afraid.
Let them come.
The Wolf was home. And he wasn't alone anymore.
- Writer
