5
1962 Words
JORDAN
I slip on my detached, professional mask, the same one I reserve for clients who drain the colour from my days.
Taylor sits across from me, eyes red and tired, twisting a tissue between her fingers. I’ve heard this story too many times, and I’m running out of patience.
“You can’t be serious, Jordan. I can’t just walk away from my husband. We’ve been married for ten years!”
I lean back, keeping my tone even. “And how long has he been abusing you?”
Her eyes flicker, guilt and fear mixing in the silence that follows. She doesn’t answer. I check the file in front of me, flipping through photos and reports without looking up.
“You hired me to assess threats, Taylor. I can’t do that if you keep pretending he isn’t one.”
I close the file and meet her eyes. “You need to decide what you want, protection or sympathy. I only offer one.”
“I love him. He’s a good man. I—” Her voice falters. “I feel he’s just overwhelmed with all the changes at work and losing that promotion.”
I say nothing, just watch her, trying to figure out a way to talk sense into her. People like Taylor are easy prey. They convince themselves they’re the problem, clinging on and fighting tooth and nail to fix what they never broke.
“Say something, Jordan. Please.”
I exhale slowly and stretch my legs under the table. “I’ll send more men over tonight.” My gaze lingers on her face for a long moment. “And if he raises his hand on you again, I’ll hand him over to the cops.”
She lets out a small, broken sound and buries her face in her palms. “Oh my God, you can’t do that.”
My phone buzzes with a message from Aaron. He’s on Nadia-duty tonight. I swipe it open, and my stomach drops. Her location pin blinks on the map, a moving dot heading toward the old building. At this hour, that place is anything but safe.
I glance at Taylor, half apology, half concern. “I have to run.”
“But we’re still talking,” she protests, voice cracking. “You can’t get the authorities involved in my marriage, Jordan. Please.”
I’m already on my feet, slipping my phone into my pocket. The conversation’s over. Out there, Nadia’s alone in her car, and whatever’s waiting near that building won’t wait long.
Without a backwards glance, I push through the glass doors of the Pine Street building and stride into the evening air. The city hums around me, traffic blaring, footsteps rushing, but all I hear is the pounding in my chest. I fumble for my keys, slip into my car, and slam the door shut, trying to catch my breath.
I have no idea how I’m holding it together. My thoughts are a mess, wild, circling, and impossible to steady. Nadia is supposed to be home. With Felix.
For God’s sake, even if he’s decided to play the selfish bastard by “opening” their marriage, the least he could do is make sure she’s okay. Watching out for her isn’t too much to ask, not after everything.
I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache, a low curse slipping from my lips as I start the engine.
I want to call Nadia, but I can’t. To her, I’m just the stranger she slept with one reckless night.
Damn it. I should’ve told her who I was. Should’ve stopped her from walking away without even knowing my name or how far I’d go for her.
The phone buzzes, jolting me out of the thought. I answer through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Aaron, what’s up?”
“She’s walking into the building now,” he says. “Tough one, that woman.”
I press harder on the gas, headlights slicing through the rain-slick street. My pulse beats in time with the engine.
Nadia. Always too brave for her own good.
What’s driving her? Did she figure out I was the man from the bar? What the hell is she doing out here?
I cut off the engine a few streets from the building and made the rest of the trip on foot. I have no plan. No speech and absolutely no idea how I'm going to convince Nadia that being here isn't safe.
She must have been determined to find whatever it is she's looking for to come all the way here.
Aaron is on the stairwell. He visibly exhales the moment he sees me approaching. Relief flickers over his face, though it barely dulls the edge of his nerves.
“I was on the verge of losing my mind,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “She’s been up there for ten minutes, and there’s no sound whatsoever.” His worried eyes meet mine. “What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know, man.”
He blinks. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice sharpens, disbelief cutting through it. “You know I’ve been tailing this woman for four years. I know how stubborn she is. You’re not getting her out of here without a plan.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Go back to the office. If Taylor’s still there, take her home. Make sure she turns on the security system before you leave.”
Aaron’s brows pinch together. “And you?”
“I’ll find Nadia.”
He hesitates like he wants to say more but only exhales. “You always do.” He claps my shoulder once, firm and brief, before taking off down the stairs.
The echo of his footsteps fades, swallowed by the silence of the half-renovated building.
Instead of the elevator, I take the stairs, moving floor by floor, checking every corridor and dark corner. The air smells of dust and plaster. My footsteps crunch over debris, each sound too loud in the dead quiet.
Thirty minutes later, something crashes in the hallway ahead. The sound ricochets off the bare walls. My heart slams hard once.
I cover the distance in long, measured strides and stop in front of a half-open door. I listen. Silence. Then faint movement.
I knock once. “Hello?”
No response.
I push the door open. The smell of paint hits me first. Unopened cartons and buckets are stacked everywhere. The place is dim, streaked with moonlight through a cracked window.
Then I hear it, heels tapping softly on tile.
Nadia steps out from behind a stack of boxes.
Her face registers something… shock, recognition, or maybe anger, but it’s gone in a blink, replaced by a smirk that’s equal parts defiance and disbelief.
“Hey…” I cross the threshold, closing the distance carefully. “Are you okay?”
She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “What do you think?”
I falter, my arms dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound—”
“You’re apologizing for the wrong thing,” she cuts in coldly. “Why are you here?”
“What would you rather I apologize for?”
“Answer the damn question.” Her voice is clipped, her stare sharp enough to wound.
For a second, I almost laugh. What did I expect? That she’d run into my arms? Call me her saviour? I scoff under my breath.
“The reason I’m here doesn’t matter as much as the question I asked you,” I say evenly.
She throws her arms up, exasperated. “You know what, I’m out of here. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. And to be honest, I’m convinced you’re stalking me.”
Oh, f**k.
I force a smirk, masking the chaos in my chest. “You must think really highly of yourself to imagine I’d be stalking you. Who do you think I am?”
She steps closer, right into my space, her glare unwavering. “You’re a man. Why should I expect you to be any better?” Her lips tighten. “Now tell me, was this a coincidence?”
No.
I keep my expression neutral. “Are you aware this building’s under renovation?”
She shrugs, dismissive. “That answers nothing.”
“I forgot my house keys,” I say, smooth as I can manage. “Came by to grab them. I saw the car outside, thought I’d check out, Jordan didn’t mention anyone being here. He’s got a security system installed.”
Something flickers in her eyes, relief? Curiosity? Maybe hope. I can’t read her. She’s a storm bottled in a fragile frame.
Her shoulders drop slightly. “You know Jordan?”
I meet her gaze. “Yes.”
She looks down, arms crossing as if to shield herself. “I came here to look for him.”
My gut tightens. What the hell did Felix do now?
I canceled that dinner because I wasn’t ready to meet her yet. I wanted to stay in the shadows a little longer, to let her make peace with the ruins of her almost broken marriage before I disrupted what was left of her calm.
But standing here now, seeing her tired, furious, and beautiful, it feels too late for control.
Without thinking, I take her hand and move between her and the door. “Let’s get out of here. It’s not safe.”
She doesn’t move. Her pulse beats fast under my thumb.
“I don’t want to go home,” she whispers.
No s**t.
“Fine,” I murmur. “But we need to—”
She cups my face and kisses me.
It happens so suddenly I almost forget to breathe. Her lips are warm, uncertain at first like she’s testing the edge of a mistake she already knows she’ll make. Then the hesitation fades, and the kiss deepens, slow and searching.
Her fingers tremble against my jaw, her body still caught between defiance and surrender. I taste the faint bitterness of paint and something sweeter beneath, fear, or maybe want.
My hands hover at her waist, not touching, not yet. If I do, I won’t stop.
When she pulls back, she looks wrecked. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. I glance down.
A message from Aaron.
Taylor is dead.
The words hollow me out. The world narrows, the air feels heavier. Taylor was one of my longest clients.
Nadia’s eyes search mine. “Hey… are you okay?”
I inhale sharply, struggling for words. “I just lost someone.”
Her face softens, the fire in her eyes dimming. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
I nod once, jaw tight. “Yeah.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence hums between us, thick with things that don’t need words.
Then I reach for her.
My hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her in gently, deliberately. She gasps, but doesn’t pull away. This time, when our lips meet, it’s not tentative, it’s hungry, deep, real.
Her mouth parts beneath mine, soft and yielding, and the taste of her unravels something in me I’ve been holding back for far too long. The kiss grows rougher, more searching, our breaths tangling, the line between grief and want blurring until there’s nothing but heat and need.
When she grips my shirt, anchoring herself, it feels like we’re both trying to hold onto something neither of us can name.
And for that brief, breaking moment—
it’s not about comfort.
It’s about need.
Raw and human.
Unforgivable and impossible to stop.
- Writer
