Greyson matched her step, closing the distance between them. “You were really going to fucking leave knowing what would happen? To the rings. To Lira. To Callum.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Her voice dropped, dangerous now. “Don’t you dare try to make me responsible for your father’s actions.”

  “But you are responsible for yours,” he snapped. “And if I hadn’t shown up, you would have chosen to leave us all here, knowing we would die because of your choice.”

  “I want out!” The bottle in her hand swung wide with her gesture, liquid splashing onto the floor. “I want freedom from this fucking prison you call home. I want to stop playing house with the Heart’s Executioner.”

  Greyson refused to flinch at her words. “Is that what we are doing? Playing house?”

  “What else would you call it?” She laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “You can call me your fiancée all you want, but I am your prisoner. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

  Greyson stepped closer still, his height forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Is that what he was to you too? Why you left him in the Boundary so easily? Just another jailer keeping the infamous Shade tied down? Or did you actually give a fuck about him when you betrayed him too.”

  Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps, at the naked jealousy in his voice.

  “I have never betrayed him,” Shadera hissed up at him. “You don’t know anything about him, about us.”

  “I know enough.” His voice hardened. “I know he was ready to get you killed. To risk everything on a fucking suicide mission that would’ve ended with both of you dead.”

  “At least he was willing to try.” Her voice rose, edged with something raw. “At least he was willing to fight for me.”

  “And I wasn’t?” Greyson demanded. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing since you got here? Sitting back and enjoying the show? I’m fighting every day—against my father, against the Heart, against this whole fucking system—just to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.”

  Her lips curled. “While still doing his bidding. While still playing Executioner.” She took another drink, her eyes never leaving his. “And what about your little reunion with Maya? Don’t talk to me about Jameson when you were so quick to disappear upstairs with her.”

  The accusation startled a harsh laugh from him. “Is that what you thought that was? You jealous, Daggermouth?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Shadera’s tone dripped venom. “I couldn’t care less who you fuck.”

  “I wasn’t fucking her,” Greyson snapped. “I was getting information. About my father’s plans, about the military base, about the bombs he’s threatening to drop on your precious Boundary. She hears things in those clubs.”

  “How convenient,” she mocked. “I’m sure her hands all over you was just part of the exchange.”

  “Careful, Shade.” His voice lowered to a dangerous register. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

  They were close now, nearly touching. Greyson could smell the whiskey on her breath, could see the flush spreading across her cheeks, the rapid pulse at her throat. Her anger was a tangible thing between them, reflecting his own, beat for beat.

  “I care about surviving,” she said, her voice dropping to match his. “I care about getting out of this alive.”

  “Is that why you kept that tablet?” he asked. “The one tucked into your back pocket? Or is it merely for staying in touch with your lover?”

  Her eyes widened fractionally, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll use whatever tools I can get.”

  “And what about me?” Greyson’s hand came up, not quite touching her hair, but hovering in the charged space between them. “Am I just another tool for you to use?”

  Her breath caught, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips before snapping back up. The moment stretched between them, taut and electric.

  Then a red dot appeared on the wall beside them.

  Greyson reacted on instinct, grabbing Shadera and pulling her to the floor just as the glass of the nearby window spiderwebbed with the impact.

  “Stay down,” he hissed, his body covering hers as his hand reached for the gun holstered at his shoulder.

  She stiffened beneath him, then went completely still as the sound of movement registered from within the apartment—soft footfalls, the rustle of fabric, the nearly imperceptible click of a safety being disengaged.

  “We’re not alone,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

  Greyson’s mind raced, adrenaline cutting through the alcohol’s fog. The apartment should have been secure, the security system engaged. Someone had overridden his protocols, which meant only one thing—Veyra.

  He moved off Shadera, pressing her against the wall as he unholstered his gun.

  Shadera’s eyes were wide but focused, her breathing controlled. Not fear—calculation.

  “Give me a weapon,” she demanded, her voice steady.

  “No.” Greyson checked the magazine, then chambered a round.

  “Are you fucking insane? We’re under attack and you won’t—”

  “Figure it out.” He met her eyes, saw the fury there, the disbelief, and smirked at her. “You’re resourceful.”

  Before she could respond, he was moving, cracking the balcony door and firing two shots at the sniper position. Return fire erupted immediately.

  The apartment broke into chaos.

  Veyra officers materialized from concealment points throughout his apartment—behind furniture, from closets, from his fucking bedroom. They’d been here. Waiting. Their weapons were already drawn, faces concealed behind reflective visors.

  “Don’t shoot. By order of President Serel,” the lead officer began, “we are instructed to—”

  Greyson didn’t wait for him to finish. He fired twice, hitting the man center of mass. The officer staggered back, his sentence ending in a wet gurgle as blood bubbled from beneath his visor.

  The remaining four opened fire simultaneously, filling the air with the deafening crack of gunshots. Greyson rolled behind the coffee table and overturned it, splinters flying as bullets tore into the wood.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Shadera moving—a blur of deadly grace as she used the chaos to her advantage. She slid across the floor, grabbing a decorative metal sculpture from a side table, and hurled it with precision at the nearest officer. It connected with his visor, cracking it and momentarily blinding him.

  In that split second of distraction, she was on him, her legs wrapping around his torso as she used her momentum to bring him crashing to the ground. She grabbed his gun as they fell, twisting it from his grip and firing a single shot through his throat before rolling away from the spray of arterial blood.

  Greyson took down a second officer with a clean head shot through the helmet, exploding out the back of his head. Blood sprayed across the white wall behind him, a violent Rorschach test on the pristine surface. The third managed to get off a shot that whistled past Greyson’s ear before taking two rounds to the chest as he turned his attention to Shadera. The fourth was more cautious, retreating to the kitchen where he had better cover.

  “Executioner,” the man called, his voice distorted by his helmet. “Stand down. These are the President’s orders.”

  “Fuck the President,” Greyson replied, signaling to Shadera with his free hand. She nodded once, understanding passing between them.

  Greyson fired three more shots to keep the officer pinned down while Shadera circled around, coming at him from the opposite side. The officer, focused on Greyson, didn’t see her until it was too late. She fired twice, the bullets finding gaps in his armor at the neck and armpit. He crumpled, weapon clattering to the floor.

  Another two officers appeared from their places on the balcony while Greyson was distracted, and one was on him before he could stop it. He tackled him backward into the entryway table, the glass mirror shattering as they fell to the floor.

  Shadera was rolling behind the island as shots rang out above her but she kept moving toward him, launching herself at his legs. They went down together, a tangle of limbs.

  Greyson couldn’t help, couldn’t even watch as the Veyra’s fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back against the ground. Stars bloomed across his vision, but instinct kept him moving. He brought his knee up hard between the man’s legs, earning a strangled cry of pain. As the officer’s grip loosened, Greyson twisted, reversing their positions.

  His gun was gone, knocked away in the attack. It didn’t matter. He brought his elbow down against the man’s throat with crushing force, feeling cartilage give way beneath the impact. The officer’s eyes bulged, hands clawing desperately at Greyson’s face, at his arms, at anything they could reach.

  Greyson struck again. And again until the hands fell away. He wrapped his fingers around the Veyra’s head, breaking his neck in one motion, and the body beneath him went still.

  His focus snapped back to Shadera, watching as she pointed a gun beneath the officer’s helmet and pulled the trigger. His eyes caught movement behind her as an injured officer rose to his knees, blood streaming out of his body in heavy rivers, and raised a gun at Shadera’s back.

  “Down!” Greyson shouted, diving for his fallen weapon.

  Shadera dropped instantly, the officer’s shot passing through the space where her head had been. Greyson’s fingers closed around his gun, rolling to his back as he slid across the floor toward her and fired a shot.

  One. Two. Three rounds.

  The officer’s chest blossomed red, bullets tearing through flesh. He stayed upright for only a second before collapsing onto his back with a heavy thud.

  Silence fell, broken only by their harsh breathing. Greyson pushed himself to his feet, scanning the apartment for any remaining threats. Seven officers. All dead.

  Shadera stood in the center of the carnage, blood spattered across her face and clothes, the stolen gun still gripped tightly in her hand. She looked savage and beautiful, her eyes wild, her chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline.

  “Are there more?” she asked, eyes assessing.

  “No,” Greyson answered, then paused, uncertain. “Maybe. I can’t be sure.”

  Their eyes met across the bloodied floor, both drunk and disoriented from the attack, both aware of how close they’d come to death. Something shifted in the air between them, a current of energy that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with survival, with being alive when they should be dead.

  Shadera’s arm rose slowly, the gun now trained directly at Greyson’s chest. Her hand was steady despite the alcohol in her system.

  “Drop it,” he snarled, but didn’t raise his own weapon in response.

  “Why should I?” Her voice was dangerous. “Give me one reason not to put a bullet in you right now, complete my contract, and walk out that door.”

  Greyson stepped toward her, unflinching as the gun tracked his movement. “Because you’d never make it past the first checkpoint.”

  “Try again.”

  Another step.

  “Because if you kill me, my father will burn the Boundary to ash.”

  “Not good enough.” The gun didn’t waver.

  He took a final step, close enough now that the barrel of the gun pressed against his sternum. He could feel her breath on his face, see the pulse jumping in her throat, and his hands twitched at his sides. Need filled his veins at the masterpiece she was covered in their shared violence.

  “If you shoot me,” he said, his voice dropping, “it will only make me want to fuck you.”

  Her mouth parted, pupils dilating. She licked her lips, and the sight made his cock harden as she held the gun steady against his chest. Then, deliberately, she flicked off the safety.

  “If you even think about it, I will kill you.”

  Greyson grinned, the expression feral and hungry. “Then I’m already a dead man.”

  Her breath hitched at his words and for a heartbeat, neither moved.

  Then Shadera pulled the trigger.

  The gun discharged with a silenced crack just as Greyson spun away, the bullet grazing his side, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, but instead of falling back, he surged forward, his own gun firing instinctively. His bullet grazed her thigh, drawing a line of red across the black fabric of her pants.

  “You shot me,” Shadera gasped, looking down at her leg in disbelief before raising her eyes to his face.

  “You shot me first,” Greyson countered, his free hand pressing against the wound in his side then coming away red.

  They stared at each other, both bleeding, both breathing hard, the air between them electric with something that had been building since the moment she’d entered his life.

  One heartbeat passed. Then two.

  Greyson wasn’t sure who moved first as they collided with the force of two storms meeting. His gun clattered to the floor as his hands found her waist, her back, her hair. Shadera’s weapon fell beside his as her fingers dug into his shoulders, his neck, pulling him down to her with desperate strength.

  Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues and fury. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he groaned as he backed her against the counter. His body pinned hers as his hands tangled in her curls, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit at the tender skin there, drawing a gasp from her that sent fire through his veins.

  This is a terrible fucking idea, a voice in the back of his mind warned. The worst possible idea.

  His body didn’t care. His blood sang with the need to possess her, to claim her, to make her his in the most primal way possible. Her hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin through the torn fabric of his shirt. The pain only fueled his desire, a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure of her body against his.

  This was wrong.

  Every part of his mind screamed it as his body responded to hers with an intensity that bordered on violence.

  Her hands tore at his shirt, nails raking across his chest, and he forgot why this was a bad idea as she pulled it over his head.

  “Fuck,” Shadera breathed as his teeth scraped along her collarbone. “This doesn’t—this doesn’t change anything.”

  “Shut up,” Greyson growled against her skin. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her back arching as he pressed her harder against the fridge.

  One hand found its way to her throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column with careful pressure. He knew what she wanted, what she liked. And he would give her everything she needed. Her eyes fluttered at the contact, a small, helpless sound escaping her that undid him. The power of it—her vulnerability, her surrender—was intoxicating.

  He carried her to the island, sweeping bottles and glasses to the floor with one arm. They shattered at his feet, adding to the destruction around them. He set her on the edge of the counter, his mouth never leaving hers, his hands pushing beneath her shirt to find the warm skin beneath.

  She was fucking perfect—all lean muscle and soft curves, strength and femininity combined in a lethal package that fit against him like she’d been made for his hands. His fingers traced the outline of her breasts, brushing over her hard nipples, and the moan that vibrated through her chest nearly brought him to his knees.

  And when she bit into his shoulder hard enough to mark, he thought he might lose his fucking mind.

  He couldn’t hold back any longer. He undid the button on her pants, then the zipper. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as his fingers slid under the fabric and groaned against her neck as they were greeted with her dripping arousal.

  She was so fucking wet and every ounce of it was for him.

  “Shit,” he breathed through his teeth as his fingers began to circle her clit and moan after moan spilled from her lungs.

  It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever fucking heard.

  He paused for one moment, bringing his lips back to hers, running his tongue over her bottom lip, then plunged two fingers inside of her. A cry erupted from Shadera’s throat as he pumped them in and out slowly, burying them deeper inside her with every thrust. Her body clung to him, pulling him deeper, and a groan vibrated out of his lungs at the feeling.

  Everything blurred as she began to ride his hand, pushing her hips down onto him and rolling them.

  He was going to fuck her. And he would not be gentle.

  Greyson slid his mouth to her ear as his fingers sunk all the way inside of her. “I need you to tell me you want this. I need to hear you say it or tell me to stop right now. Because I won’t be soft with you. I’m going to make you fucking scream for me, Shadera.”

  Her answer was a devastating roll of her hips and a moan, then words. “Do your fucking worst, little heir.”

  A growl left Greyson’s mouth, his cock hardening at her words as he pushed another finger inside of her. He worked his way down her body with his lips as her hands curled into his hair. His tongue and teeth trailed fire along her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above her shirt. Greyson pushed the fabric up with his free hand, exposing her stomach, the taut plane of muscles there contrasting with the softness of her skin.

  His tongue swirled across her nipples over the lace fabric, nipping at them. Her breath hitched as she arched further into him, a breathy groan slipping from her lips. He traced a path farther down her body, his tongue slipping along her waistband as he reluctantly pulled his fingers from inside of her to remove her pants.

  Greyson’s fingers hooked around the fabric, her hips rising as two things fell from her pocket.

  They both froze.

  Greyson’s eyes locked on the photograph. Him and Brooker, unmasked, smiling. The photograph from his bedroom. The one he’d hidden. The one no one else should have.

  He pulled back, his hands leaving her body as he bent to retrieve the items.

  “Where did you get this?” His voice had gone cold, all heat evaporating in an instant.

  She slid off the island, adjusting her clothes. “Does it matter?”