Riley’s POV
I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck—every muscle heavy, bruised, sore in places I didn’t even know could ache that badly. My eyelids felt glued shut, but I forced them open anyway, blinking against the soft gray light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room smelled like him: cedar, gun oil, sweat, and something darker, something that still clung to my skin no matter how many times I tried to wash it off.
I shifted, trying to sit up.
A thick arm banded around my waist instantly, iron-tight, yanking me back down against a hard, warm chest.
“Don’t go,” Armani’s voice rasped, low and rough from sleep, right against my ear.
My heart stuttered. I already knew it was him—only he held me like he owned every inch of space my body occupied.
“Will you let go of me?
