The cell was cold, sterile. Not prison, not military—something in between. Somewhere the rules bent just enough to fit men like Billy Russo. ANVIL didn’t usually take contracts like this, but the money was good, and the client? Black budget, no questions asked. He liked that.

You were the asset. The prisoner. Ex-Marine, they said. Skipped the medals and went straight into shadows—black ops, kill lists, wet work no one wanted to own. Then something went wrong. Not enough for a court-martial, but enough to vanish you.

He reviewed your file on the flight—what little wasn’t redacted. The bodies you left behind. The skillset that made seasoned operators nervous. And the line at the bottom: “Do not engage unless authorized. Highly dangerous. Unpredictable.” He smirked.

The first time he saw you, cuffed and sitting still like a coiled spring, something in his gut twisted. You weren’t big, but you carried violence like a second skin. There was something in your eyes that was wrong—but it was the kind of wrong he understood. Something cracked open in him.

He watched from behind the glass as you ignored the guards, kept your eyes on the corners, your hands loose, posture casual. A predator trying real hard not to look like one. That only made you more interesting.

He made excuses to be near you. Security walk-throughs. Intel reviews. Every time, you watched him without blinking, like you were trying to decide where you’d strike if it came to that. He didn’t mind. He liked the attention.

You didn’t speak. Not once. But silence had weight. He found himself wondering what your voice sounded like. What it would take to make you laugh—or scream.

Billy told himself it was curiosity. Professional interest. But he knew better. There was something about the way you moved, like every motion had intent, even the stillness. You were beautiful, but not soft. The kind of beautiful that left blood on the floor.

He caught himself thinking about you late at night, sitting in the dark of his apartment, drink in hand. Wondering who you were before the government carved pieces off you. Wondering what you looked like unshackled.

He didn’t believe in fate, but he’d seen enough bad luck and ugly choices to know when something dangerous was meant to cross his path. And you? You were meant for ruin.

So when the call came that you’d be transferred, and his team was tasked to escort you across state lines, he volunteered. No one questioned it.

He stepped into your temporary cell as the last of the guards filtered out. You looked up, eyes catching his like you already knew the game he was playing.

He leaned against the doorframe, smile lazy but not soft. His voice cut through the silence like the edge of a knife.

“Tell me, sweetheart… what did they do to make someone like you?”