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That is until Adrian Summers showed up.

Protocol is simple when something deviates. If someone sees, they don’t leave breathing. Witnesses become variables. Variables become risks. Risks get eliminated. It’s as simple as that.

There are hardly ever witnesses. Which is why I didn’t hesitate when I realized someone else was in the building.

Adrian, however, was an anomaly.

And I chose to make matters complicated. That’s the ripple. If Selene ever traces back that there was a second presence in the building that night, and that the presence is still breathing, it won’t matter how clean Xavier’s death was.

It will matter that I broke protocol.

The bag swings back toward me, and I ready myself to drive my fist into it again. Marcos’ hand shoots out mid-arc and clamps around my wrist before the strike lands. He holds it there, fingers pressing into my skin, forcing stillness.

“Kill him,” he says flatly, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t blink as he looks at me. Dark eyes locked, waiting for the shift in my expression that will confirm compliance. I meet his stare, nodding, “I will.”

He studies me for another beat before releasing my wrist. The man exhales, tension leaking out of his shoulders.

“Good,” he mutters.

Then, as if remembering himself, a crooked smirk pulls at his mouth. “And if you don’t,” he adds casually, “I will, and then I’m taking his motorcycle.”

I arch a brow at that, and his smirk widens.

“I’ve always wanted a Ninja.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, but there’s a tightening in my chest that suffocates it almost immediately. The image forms too easily—Marcos’ hands on Adrian’s throat instead of mine. The idea makes my blood boil.

I flex my fingers once, as if testing for residual strain from the bag. “That won’t be necessary,” I say evenly. “I’ll handle it.” The smile I force doesn’t quite reach my eyes as I gaze at him without flinching.

He nods once, satisfied for now, and steps back toward the office stairs. “Just don’t drag it out,” he says over his shoulder. When he disappears, I turn back to the bag and hit it again. As hard as I fucking can. The leather snaps back into place, but the thought lingers as other variables flood my mind. The mere idea of someone else laying their hands on what’s mine ignites my nerves, and his outcome doesn’t belong to anyone but me.

A sound cuts through the space with a distinct digital chime. I step away from the punching bag and stroll across the gym floor toward the bench between the racks and the chest press station. My duffel sits open, zipper half-drawn, phone resting face-up on the fabric.

There’s a motion alert. I pick up the phone, and the feed loads instantly from a camera mounted in the underground parking structure of Adrian’s apartment building. His green Kawasaki Ninja paramount against the grey-toned background of concrete and cars.

The guy’s adjusting the helmet on his head before throwing one leg over the seat.

His movements are controlled but stiff, like he hasn’t slept enough but refuses to show it. He scans the garage automatically before putting the key into the ignition.

The engine roars to life and even through a silent feed, I can almost hear it.

My mouth curves before I consciously allow it to. “Showtime.”

Chapter 17

Adrian

The engine vibrates between my legs, steady and familiar, with the kind of hum that drowns out everything else if you let it.

I don’t let it.

Wind cuts across my visor as I take the corner too fast, leaning into it, feeling the grip of the tires bite the road and letting the city blur at the edges. Motion is simple; physics makes sense, and leaning too far will cause you to fall. Accelerate too hard, you slide. Predictable consequences.

Last night was anything but predictable.

The kiss caught me off guard, and for a moment, I lost myself. My body refused to react other than take him in. That’s when I bit his lower lip. Hard enough to snap me back to reality as the taste of copper absorbed into my tongue.

I re-entered the haunted house through the emergency exit, and once inside, it was the same artificial chaos as I navigated through it without any distractions—no detours, no photos, and with absolutely no patience. When I reached the main corridor, I found Lucas near the exit with Ryan, both of them chatting and laughing.