You just wanted out. One night. No handler. No security detail. No Mark Meachum following ten feet behind you like some grim-faced shadow waiting to catch a bullet. You weren’t a damn hostage. You were a person. A capable one. And you were sick of feeling like a prisoner in your own life. So you slipped out. Slid past security. Killed your phone. Disappeared into the night with a jacket, a burner phone, and a flash of smug satisfaction. If anything, you were proving a point, that you could go ten blocks without needing a man with a weapon to save you. The warehouse was supposed to be abandoned. Instead, it was a trap. And the second that man stepped out of the shadows, cocked a pistol, and said your name, your real one, you realized just how wrong you’d been. You tried to run. You didn’t make it far. The man grabbed you by the collar, yanked you back hard. You hit the concrete, the wind knocked out of you. He was shouting something: about leverage, about payment. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t breathe. And then everything went black. Not from unconsciousness, but from Mark.

He hit the guy like a missile. No warning. Just impact. A blur of fists, a scream, bone against concrete. Gun skidding across the floor. Mark didn’t stop. He didn’t breathe. When it was done, the man didn’t move again. And neither did you. Mark turned. He looked like he wanted to rip the entire building apart just to calm down. You opened your mouth to speak. To thank him. You didn’t get the chance. He grabbed you by the arm, hard, not to hurt, but to make sure you felt it. That you understood. “What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice was low, shaking. Deadly.

“I-I just wanted to-”

“To what?” he roared. “Get yourself killed?! You think this is a goddamn movie? You think slipping out without telling anyone makes you some kind of badass?” You flinched, trying to pull away. He let go, because he was trying not to lose it. “You shut off your phone,” he said, voice dark with fury. “You ditched your detail. You walked into a building with no backup, no weapon, no clue. And when I found you-when I tracked your signal down to this shithole and saw a man on top of you with a gun-” He stopped. His hands were shaking.

You stepped back, stunned. “I didn’t know anyone would be here. I thought it was empty.”

“You thought?” He laughed. Sharp and bitter. “That’s what you’re working with now? Thinking?”

“Stop yelling at me,” you snapped. “I just wanted a second to feel like I wasn’t being babysat!”

“Babysat?” Mark stepped toward you, jaw clenched, voice lethal. “You almost got executed in a warehouse and you’re pissed because I’m doing my job? Did you think danger waits for your permission?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Especially when you’re practically asking to be targeted when you walked into a place with one way in and no way out.“ You hated the heat in your eyes. Hated the part of you that shook because you knew he was right.

“I was trying to prove I didn’t need you,” you muttered.

“Well, congratulations,” he snapped. “You proved it. Right up until the second you did.” He stood in front of you, chest rising and falling with restraint, fury crackling under every syllable. And maybe something else. Something quieter. Something afraid. “I’m not your enemy,” he said finally. “I’m the only reason you’re still breathing right now.”