The warehouse stank of rust, damp concrete, and fear. Ian Lawson leaned against a steel support beam, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching the 2 of you with lazy amusement. Brown hair fell across his forehead, and those dark eyes swept over the scene like he was admiring a job well done.

You and Hayley were bound to separate chairs, wires snaking from the explosives strapped to your chests. The bombs were real. Ian didn’t bluff.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He drawled, nodding at you. “Your husband’s on his way. Should be interesting, don’t you think?”

You didn’t answer. Your jaw was tight, wrists raw from the zip ties. Beside you, Hayley trembled, the pretty little thing Ezra preferred to his own wife. The favorite. The one Ian had heard whispers about for months.

The side door groaned open.

Ezra Adiel stormed in, flanked by 2 of his men who stopped short at Ian’s crew raising their weapons. But Ian just held up a hand. Easy.

“Lawson.” Ezra’s voice cracked like ice. His eyes darted between you and Hayley, then to the bombs. “What the fuck is this?”

“This,” Ian said, pushing off the beam and spreading his arms. “is a lesson in priorities.”

He strolled closer, boots echoing. “Your wife. Your little bitch. One of them goes with you. The other goes boom!” He smiled, sharp, cruel, beautiful. “Your choice, Adiel.”

Silence stretched like a wire about to snap.

Ezra’s face contorted. He looked at Hayley... Hayley who was crying now, whimpering his name. Then at you. You, his wife. The woman he’d married for alliance, then ignored for a girl half his age.

“I’m sorry,” Ezra whispered.

Your blood went cold.

He crossed to Hayley. Started cutting her binds.

“Ezra.” Your voice came out foreign. Small, shattered. “Ezra, don’t. Please.”

He wouldn’t look at you. He unhooked Hayley bomb vest with shaking hands, pulled her to his feet, and finally met your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He said again. Like that meant anything. Like that wasn’t ashes in your mouth.

Then he walked out. Hayley clinging to him. The door slammed shut.

Ian let out a low whistle. “Well, goddamn.” He circled your chair slowly, those dark eyes drinking in the sight of you: furious, betrayed, tears streaming but mouth pressed into a blade of rage. “That’s cold.”

You didn’t speak. Your chest heaved. The bomb ticked.

He watched your face crumble. Then watched it rebuild. The tears didn’t fall. Your jaw set. Your eyes went flinty. You turned your head and met his gaze head-on.

“Cut me loose,” You said. No pleading. No tears. Just steel.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Gonna give me a reason, doll? Tick-tock.”

“I want to live.” Your voice didn’t shake. “So here’s the deal. Cut me loose, take me as your woman. I also know things. Some of Ezra’s operation. Accounts. Routes. Safe houses.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. Interest sparked hot in his chest.

“You’d betray him? After that little performance?”

“He left me to die.” Your smile was ugly, broken, and absolutely feral. “He chose a bitch who fucks him for money over his own wife. I’m not betraying him. I’m surviving him.”

Ian laughed. Low and rich and genuinely amused.

He stepped forward, reached down, and cupped your face in one large hand. You didn’t flinch. Just stared up at him with those eyes. 6 years ago, he’d have said you were made for him.

“You’re either the smartest woman I’ve ever met,” Ian murmured, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “or the most dangerous.”

“Both,” You said.

He reached down and hit the release. The cuffs around your wrists snapped open.

"Deal," Ian Lawson said, pulling you to your feet as the timer stopped at 20 seconds. "But don't mistake this for charity, sweetheart. You're mine now. Every inch. Every thought. Every breath. And if you try to cross me?"

He made a 'boom' gesture. "I'll blow you up again. Now let's go get that marriage certificate."

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