Chapter 18: Aftershocks
1064 Words
POV: Julian
The walk back to the shipping container was a blur of rain and pain.
My adrenaline was fading, replaced by the sharp, throbbing ache of my bruised ribs and the pounding in my skull where the rifle butt had connected. I leaned heavily on Ezra.
Ezra was silent. He moved mechanically, his eyes scanning the darkness, his body a rigid shield between me and the world. He was still the Wolf. He hadn't come down yet.
We reached the container. The town car sat inside, pristine and dry.
I saw movement in the back seat. A small face pressed against the tinted glass.
Ezra stepped forward. He tapped the window. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
The locks clicked open.
The back door flew open.
"Dad!"
Leo didn't wait. He launched himself out of the car.
I caught him, wincing as his small weight hit my bruised chest, but I didn't let go. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and the faint smell of the ham sandwich he probably hadn't eaten.
"I'm okay," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I'm okay, Leo. I've got you."
Leo was shaking. He pulled back, his dark eyes scanning my face. He touched the split lip. He touched the zip-tie burns on my wrists.
Then he looked at Ezra.
Ezra was standing back in the rain, water running down his tactical vest, washing away the blood that wasn't his. He looked terrifying. A nightmare in combat gear.
Leo didn't flinch.
He walked over to the killer. He reached out and took Ezra’s hand—the hand that had just ended four lives.
Leo signed: Thank you.
Ezra stared at the small hand in his. The cold, dead look in his eyes cracked. He blinked, and suddenly, he was back. The shoulders slumped. The jaw softened.
"Mission accomplished, Vault Keeper," Ezra whispered. "Let's go home."
I drove.
Ezra sat in the passenger seat. He had stripped off the tactical vest and tossed it in the back. He was cleaning his hands with a packet of wet wipes, scrubbing at a spot of dried blood on his knuckle with obsessive intensity.
"You're scrubbing the skin off," I said softly, keeping my eyes on the wet road.
Ezra stopped. He looked at his raw, red hand.
"Old habits," he murmured. "It's hard to get it all off."
"We're safe, Ezra. Thorne is dead. The threats are gone."
"There's always another threat," Ezra said automatically. But he dropped the wipe. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
In the rearview mirror, I saw Leo fast asleep across the back seat. He had crashed the moment the engine started.
I reached over the console and took Ezra’s hand. He flinched, then relaxed, interlacing his fingers with mine.
"You came for me," I said. It wasn't a question.
"I told you," Ezra mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Goldilocks doesn't get to leave the forest."
"I'm giving you a raise," I told him.
Ezra let out a short, dry laugh. "I don't want a raise. I want a shower. And I want you to burn that suit. It smells like a warehouse."
"Done."
The penthouse was exactly as we had left it—dark, cold, and fortified.
I carried Leo to his room. I tucked him in, checking the window sensors out of habit. He didn't wake up.
I walked to the master bedroom.
The bathroom was filled with steam. Ezra had turned the shower on.
He was standing in front of the mirror, stripping off his dirty clothes. The cargo pants hit the floor. The t-shirt followed.
He stood there, naked and shivering, looking at his reflection. He traced a new bruise on his hip.
"Ezra," I said from the doorway.
He looked at me in the mirror. "I look like a disaster."
"You look alive," I said.
I walked in. I stripped off my ruined suit, kicking the expensive Italian wool into the corner. I joined him in the shower.
The water was scalding hot. It felt like heaven.
Ezra stood under the spray, head bowed, watching the water swirl pink at his feet.
I picked up the sponge. I poured soap onto it—something that smelled of eucalyptus and peace.
"Turn around," I whispered.
Ezra obeyed.
I washed his back. I was gentle, avoiding the scars, washing away the grime of the Docklands. I washed his shoulders, his arms, his hands.
He leaned back against me, his head resting on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him under the water.
"It's over," I whispered into his wet hair.
"Is it?" Ezra asked quietly. "Asset 734 isn't supposed to have a home, Julian. The moment I stop running, the past catches up."
"Let it catch up," I said fiercely. "We beat Thorne. We beat the mercenaries. If the government comes? We'll beat them too. You aren't Asset 734 anymore."
I turned him around so I could look him in the eye. Water dripped from his eyelashes.
"You are Ezra Cohen. You are the Nanny. And you are my partner."
Ezra searched my face. He was looking for doubt. He was looking for the fear he had seen in the eyes of every other person who learned what he was.
He didn't find it.
"Okay," Ezra breathed. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine. "Okay."
He kissed me. It wasn't hungry or violent. It was tender. It was a surrender.
We finished washing in silence. We dried off with warm towels.
We didn't have s*x. We were too battered, too exhausted.
We climbed into the massive bed. Ezra curled into my side, fitting perfectly against my chest. I pulled the duvet up over us.
"Julian?" Ezra whispered in the dark.
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow... can we just order pizza? I don't think I have the energy to knead dough."
I smiled, kissing the top of his head.
"We can order pizza," I promised. "Pepperoni."
"Gross," Ezra mumbled, already drifting off. "Hawaiian. Pineapple is a natural anti-inflammatory."
"Monster," I whispered.
"Your monster," he corrected.
A minute later, his breathing evened out.
I lay there, listening to the rain, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my ribs.
I closed my eyes. And for the first time in my life, I fell asleep without checking the gun on the nightstand.
- Writer
