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And just like that, I rattle off every detail I can remember about the man who has infuriated me nonstop for the past six weeks. And by the time I’m done, my heart is shattered all over again, while Milan simply sighs and tells me the one thing I’ve refused to admit out loud.

“You’re in love with him, Crimson.”

“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just . . . sex.”

“I’ve hadjust sexbefore, and it doesn’t look like that,” she tells me.

I let out a heavy sigh, squishing a pillow to my chest as though that’s somehow going to protect me from the agony growing in my chest. “Maybe it’s for the best,” I tell her. “I don’t exactly live a life that allows for any kind of long-term relationships. It’s why I have a cactus as a pet, for fuck’s sake. It’s too dangerous. What happens if my cover is ever compromised? I mean, how could I knowingly bring someone I supposedly was in love with into that?”

Milan lets out a soft breath. “I really wish I could give you the answer you’re looking for, but I can’t make this decision for you. It all comes down to what you’re willing to risk for happiness. You could put everything on the line and risk it all to have a life with him and be happy. You could start a family and build a life together, knowing he may eventually find out what you are and walk away. Or you could be compromised and taken out by another agency. On the other hand, you could let sleeping dogs lie. He’s already walked away, so you leave it there and do what you can to move on, knowing that the pain will eventually fade.”

“Shit.”

When she puts it that way, it’s a no-brainer, but it’s also exactly what Raiden had said to me in the hospital. It’s the very reason why he’s already walking away. He’s not willing to put my life at risk, despite how he feels, despite telling me barely twelve hours ago that if I chose to pursue this, he would be wholeheartedly mine.

I should want him to walk away. I should welcome the pain because that’s what it means to keep us both safe.

But if falling in love with a man like Raiden Kane means certain death, then sign me the fuck up. I’m done playing it safe. Let the world burn, I’m not walking away from this. I’d rather risk everything with him than be safe without him.

Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it’s stupid. But I’m choosing him anyway.

CHAPTER 23

KIARA

Fuck Raiden Kane to the deepest pits of hell.

Maybe I’m delusional because a part of me had believed he might have actually come back to his apartment to get his things, but there’s been nothing but crickets. I even snuck over there to make sure he hadn’t silently moved out while I slept, but no, everything is still there like a four-day-old time capsule, everything just as he left it.

So where the fuck is the bastard?

I swear, I’m starting to give up on my resolve to keep him just for making me sweat it out like this. Besides, he’s a man. Is he even capable of surviving out in the wilderness all by himself? Where’s he sleeping? Who’s he talking to? Is he working or just sulking like I have been?

I scoff at the thought. Raiden Kane doesn’t sulk. He simply fucks his feelings out of his body. Only if that’s the case, I have to go andchop his dick off purely on principle. Now, I know this is all very new to me, but surely there’s some kind of mourning period, right? Some unspoken rule that he can’t go swinging that thing around like a baby elephant for at least six to ten working days.

He wouldn’t though . . . right? Surely not after the way he held me in that hospital bed and vowed that I was his whole world. From the moment we first got together in Barcelona, he hasn’t been with anybody else, and while I know we never had the exclusivity talk, it was there nonetheless. Only now, I have no idea where we stand.

I’ve known him for exactly fifty-two days, but who’s counting? And over these past fifty-two days, I’ve experienced every kind of human emotion our complex bodies are capable of. Overall rating: two out of ten. I don’t like it.

I’ve felt lost and confused, even when I was overwhelmingly happy. Is that what love is supposed to feel like, or is this something different? I just need someone to clue me in because this shit is ridiculous.

Fuck, I need that asshole fromThe Avengersto come click his fingers and wipe me out for good because that seems a shitload easier than having to deal with the realization that I might have just lost the one person that’s ever been capable of making me feel something real.

My phone chimes with the familiar sound of an incoming contract, and I let out a sigh as I reach for my phone, feeling around on the couch cushion, until the cool metal brushes over my fingers. Exactly six contracts have come through over the past few days, and I haven’t bothered with a single one of them. They have all ranged fromdifferent skill levels, but when Raiden isn’t there to compete against, what’s the point? The joy in the job has been sucked dry, and I don’t find myself as interested anymore.

Picking up my phone, I swipe my thumb across the screen to bring up the contract, and as it appears in front of me, I suck in a gasp and sit up, my eyes wide.

You know what? Take everything I just said, drench it in gasoline, set it on fire, and yeet it into the group chat archives where bad takes go to die. Clearly I was possessed when I dared to make a ridiculous claim like no longer being interested in these contracts.

The crumbs from my Flamin’ Hot Cheetos fall from my chest and drop straight down between my tits as I wipe my crumby fingers across the front of my white cami.

Okay, okay. I get it. I look like a slob. My hair hasn’t been brushed since before I left for Austin. It’s been in a messy bun, falling off the top of my head, and no, before anyone asks, I haven’t showered either. It’s not been my finest few days, but what’s a girl to do when she’s busy obsessing over a ghost’s location?

I abandon the Cheetos, letting the bag fall to the ground among the other dishes and food scraps I haven’t bothered cleaning up, and focus solely on the contract before me, my knees braced on my stained sweatpants.

Thirty-five-million-dollar payout.

What the actual fuck?