Chapter 2

"So this guy cuffed you here and then just took off after he was done?"

He suddenly leaned in, one hand slamming against the bathroom wall, his massive frame instantly swallowing me in shadow.

"What are you talking about! I did not sleep around with some random guy."

My face flushed red instantly, anger and humiliation tangling together. "Yesterday was my birthday. I had friends over for a party. What the hell are you implying!"

Leon straightened up.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and the moment the screen lit up, he glanced quickly at the date.

Once he confirmed it, he shoved the phone back into his pocket—but there wasn't a trace of apology on his face.

While he was looking down at his phone, I shot Luke a look by the door, jerking my chin toward my wrists.

Luke caught on. "Captain, let me get those cuffs off her first."

He took a step forward, reaching for the lock on my wrist.

"Stop."

Leon grabbed Luke's shoulder, the force of it nearly knocking him off balance.

"The suspect hasn't been found yet. Until we've cleared the scene, nobody touches her."

Luke froze, glancing between me and his captain, then wisely pulled his hand back.

"But her wrists are already bleeding—"

"I said, everyone out. I'll handle this myself."

Leon's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an authority that left no room for argument.

The crew exchanged glances and quickly filed out.

Leon shut the apartment door behind him.

In the cramped space, it was just the two of us now.

The door locked, Leon turned around.

He didn't rush to free my wrists.

Instead, he tossed the heavy forcible-entry axe onto the mat by the door.

Then he walked out of the bathroom, straight into my bedroom, and yanked open my closet.

The screech of hangers scraping against the rod was jarring.

His eyes swept across my clothes, his rough hands shoving dresses aside, searching for even a single piece that didn't belong to me—a man's shirt, anything.

Nothing.

He shut the closet and walked back into the bathroom.

I heard him crouch down. The cabinet under the sink creaked open, and a bottle of body wash rolled across the floor and hit the wall.

"Leon! Have you lost your mind? What are you doing!"

I struggled against the cuffs, and the red marks on my wrists dug in deeper, burning like fire.

Leon rose from behind the sink.

In his hand was an electric razor. A man's razor. One I'd never seen before.

My stomach dropped.

Leon walked over to me and tossed the razor onto the counter.

"Still lying, I see."

"You had quite the night, didn't you, Violet."

"That's Mason's!" I was shaking with fury. "He just shaved here once! What gives you the right to go through my things? This is illegal search!"

"Illegal?"

Leon let out a cold laugh.

He leaned in again, one hand bracing against the wall beside my head, his massive frame swallowing me whole.

"I'm the captain of an LAFD special operations unit. Right now, I have reason to suspect there's a serious safety threat in this apartment, and I have every right to investigate it thoroughly."

His voice was low, rough, thick with something dangerous and unmistakably jealous.

"For instance—maybe the suspect assaulted you last night and left you cuffed here before running."

"Shut up!"

My eyes burned, and I lifted my chin to glare at him.

Three years.

I'd imagined our reunion a thousand times. At a corner café. On the beach at Santa Monica, wrapped in the glow of sunset.

Never once did I imagine it like this.

Me, chained up like a prisoner. Him, standing over me like some kind of judge.

Leon's gaze dropped to my wrist.

The skin there had already been torn raw by the metal edge, a faint smear of blood welling up.

His pupils constricted sharply.

His jaw clenched again.

He reached out.

His hand—calloused, scarred, a hand that had pulled countless lives out of burning buildings.

Now, that same hand gripped my chin.

His rough thumb dragged against my skin, the pressure impossible to resist.

"Did he wear protection?" His eyes locked onto mine, each word deliberate.

"Leon!" I turned my head away in humiliation, tears welling up.

"I asked you a question. Did he use protection!" His voice suddenly rose, like a wounded animal snarling.

His fingers tightened slightly on my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"Where did he touch you? Here?" His fingers trailed down my neck, stopping at my collarbone.

"Or here?" His palm pressed against my waist, the thin lace doing nothing to soften the contact.

His palm was scorching hot, the touch aggressively possessive.

A shiver ran through my entire body, like I'd been electrocuted.

"Don't touch me!"

I screamed, and the tears finally spilled over.

They landed on the back of his hand, and Leon's movements froze.

His breathing turned ragged, his chest heaving.

Abruptly, he let go, yanking a multi-tool rescue cutter from his belt.

The moment the cuffs snapped apart, I lost my balance and pitched forward.

Leon caught me around the waist without a second of hesitation.

The next thing I knew, he'd hoisted me over his shoulder.

"Put me down! Are you insane!"

He ignored me, striding into the bedroom, and dropped me straight onto the bed with one arm.

The mattress bounced hard beneath me. Before I could even steady myself, I felt the entire bed frame shake.

He slammed one hand down onto the headboard—too much force behind it.

The nightstand right beside the bed jolted from the impact and toppled over.

Everything on the top surface spilled out, but the second drawer held firm.

The air in the room went completely still.

Leon's gaze locked onto that bottom drawer.

It had a combination lock on it.

In this otherwise unremarkable apartment, that kind of deliberate security felt jarringly out of place.

"What's in there?"