Chapter 3 - The Safehouse Rules
I pulled away from his touch, my back hitting the reinforced car door. “No. Absolutely not. I analyze spreadsheets! I have forty thousand dollars in student loans and a potted succulent named Barnaby! I don’t belong in a mob war!”
Julian opened his door and stepped out into the dim warehouse. As he stood under the yellow industrial bulb, he reached inside his jacket, pulled a concealed holster containing a sleek matte-black firearm from his shoulder, and unclipped it. Then, right in front of me, he reached for his cuffs, unbuttoned them, and pulled his dress shirt over his head to check a bleeding scrape along his shoulder.
My breath caught in my throat.
He had broad shoulders that tapered into a razor-sharp V-waist, an iron six-pack carved from ruthless discipline, and a web of faded silver scars crisscrossing his back and chest. But the most terrifying detail was the massive black tattoo inked across his left pectoral: an intricate crowned wolf surrounded by thorny vines—the ancient crest of the underworld royalty.
He caught me staring.
A slow, wicked smirk touched Julian’s lips, despite the blood trickling down his arm. “Satisfied, Harper? Or did your fantasy involve better lighting?”
Heat scorched my cheeks, warring violently with the pure terror coursing through my veins. “You’re bleeding, you arrogant criminal.”
“A scratch,” he replied, tossing the ruined shirt onto the hood of the car. Mikhail walked over, handing Julian a fresh black tactical henley from a supply crate. Julian pulled it on, the tight fabric molding over his chest like armor. “Mikhail, sweep the perimeter. Set up thermal monitors at every entrance. Nobody enters without my biometric override.”
“Understood, Boss,” Mikhail grunted, vanishing into the shadows of the warehouse.
Julian turned his full attention back to me. He extended a hand toward the car. “Get out, Harper. The warehouse has living quarters on the upper floor. You aren’t going back to your apartment in Manhattan.”
“My cat needs to be fed! My whole life is in that apartment!” I said, stepping out onto the cold concrete floor, my heels clicking loudly.
Julian closed the distance between us until I was forced back against the hood of the Maybach. He towered over me, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the warehouse. “Your apartment was compromised twenty minutes after we crossed the bridge. Mikhail’s team already swept your building. Two armed men were waiting in your hallway. If you had gone home tonight, you’d be dead, or worse, in Nikolai Ivanov’s basement being tortured for your decrypt keys.”
The reality crashed down on me like an avalanche. My knees buckled.
Julian’s arm caught me instantly, pulling me against his waist before I could hit the floor. He held me securely, his warmth seeping through my trembling body. For all his ruthlessness, his grip was remarkably gentle.
“Look at me,” Julian commanded softly.
I looked up into those storm-gray eyes.
“I don’t let anyone hurt what belongs in my circle,” he said, his voice absolute and unwavering. “You solved the equation that saved my company from a five-hundred-million-dollar trap. That makes you valuable. It makes you mine to protect. From this moment on, you do exactly as I say. You eat when I tell you, you sleep where I tell you, and you stay by my side. Understood?”
May you like
I swallowed hard, feeling the steady drum of his pulse against my fingers. “And if I say no?”
Julian’s eyes darkened, a predatory glimmer dancing in the shadows. “You won’t say no. Because you know the only man standing between you and a shallow grave in the East River is me.”
