And then her gaze went to the body slumped on the floor in the hallway, leaking a pool of blood. "Who's that?"

  I shrugged, following her gaze. "No idea. One of Cain's assholes, I'm assuming. Real question is how they found this place, and how many more there are."

  At least I had toilet paper in this bathroom; I unrolled a huge wad and cleaned the mess off my stomach.

  "What do we do?" she asked, rubbing at her ears in an attempt to clear the ringing.

  "Get the fuck out of here, that's what we do," I said, standing up. Or rather, tried to stand up; my legs were still so weak and shaky I didn't quite make it to my feet, and had to sit back down for a moment. "Good goddamn, Temple, that was...I swear to god I don't have words for how fucking incredible that was."

  She blushed. "I don't know what came over me--"

  "You better not apologize," I interrupted.

  She managed a small grin. "Not apologizing. It was hot, watching you lose it like that." And then her gaze went back to that stupid dead guy, ruining the moment. "I'm gonna be sick," she said, twisting her head to one side and making a retching sound.

  I made it to my feet, then reached down and lifted her to her feet. "Don't look down, and don't think about it."

  "Easy for you to say," she murmured.

  I pivoted us, so her back was to the hallway. "Just look at me, yeah? Think happy thoughts."

  "You just shot someone while I was sucking you off. What happy thoughts am I supposed to think?" She was shaking all over, and not in a good way; I had to keep her distracted.

  "Think about how we sixty-nined. That was pretty fuckin' hot, wasn't it?" I pulled her against my body, pressing her face into my shoulder. "Think about that."

  I lifted her up, and her legs went around my waist. We were both still naked, and I knew there was no way anything else was happening now, but holy shit, she felt perfect like this wrapped around me. I stepped over the dead guy, glancing down to make sure he really was dead--his eyes were staring unseeing at the ceiling, so yeah, he was gone.

  I moved into the weapons rooms where our clothes were, kicked the door shut with my foot, and then set Temple down. She was still shaking and shuddering, breathing hard, desperately trying to keep it together and doing damn good job. Her skirt was in a pile on the ground, so I snagged it, oriented it so the zipper was facing her back, and knelt in front of her. Lifted her heel, helped her step in.

  "You don't--I can--"

  "Just step in, Fancy." I helped her get her other foot into the opening of the skirt and then lifted it up around her waist, zipping it closed. Sad to cover such a gorgeous ass, but it was go time. "Just breathe, and think about whatever will distract you."

  "You distract me," she said.

  "I do? How so?" I stood up and rolled the lace of her bralette down over her breasts, then reached inside the material and pulled her breasts fully inside, like I'd seen done in the past.

  "You're too damn pretty for your own good. More accurately, you're too damn pretty for my good." She just stood there and let me dress her, which was a little worrying, but she was still talking, so that was good. "I look at you, and my brain goes dumb. You touch me, get near me, and I just...go loony."

  I helped her slide her arms into the sleeves of her blouse, and then made quick work of buttoning it. I found her shoes where she'd kicked them off at some point, though I had no memory of when she'd done that.

  "So, think about me," I said, finding my shorts and putting them on, then sliding the belt through the loops. "Think about how it felt when I was inside you."

  Her eyes fixed on mine. "That's a bad idea."

  The air between us went thick and tense. I held her gaze, and in those blue eyes I saw a lot of the same things I saw inside myself--mainly uncertainty regarding what the hell to do about these weirdly intense emotions we seemed to share.

  "You ever like something so much it scared you?" she asked.

  "I do now."

  "That's why I shouldn't think about us like that," she responded.

  "That's why you should think about it." I caught her hips in my hands, pulled her close. "Because sweetheart, that's happening. You and me, bare, nothing between us."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because--because it's a terrible idea."

  "It's a fantastic idea."

  "Which is why it's stupid," she breathed. "So good it's bad, and I don't know how to do that."

  "Temple--"

  "Plus," she said, babbling right over me, "it breaks every single one of my rules."

  "Temple--"

  "And my rules keep me safe. They keep all you asshole men in your place. My rules make sense for me." Her eyes went down, to where my shorts were still open, unzipped, held up cock in one of my hands. "Doesn't matter how beautiful your dick is, or how perfect it feels, that can't happen. It'll break all my rules."

  "You're gonna have to explain these rules to me, Princess," I said. "Because I don't get 'em. But right now, we gotta go, okay? Those shots will have drawn attention, and we don't need that. So you're gonna hang out in here for a hot second while I get rid of our friend out there, and then we're gonna book it out of here. Okay? Just...stay here."

  She nodded, and I cupped her nape, pulled her close, then grabbed a handful of her hair and tipped her head back. Our lips were millimeters apart. Her breath was warm and sweet and smelled like my cum, which was hotter than it should have been, for some reason. Temple stopped breathing as I lowered my lips to hers, and honestly, I don't think I was breathing either. Usually a kiss doesn't mean shit to me, it's just part of fucking. Chicks dig a hot kiss, it turns 'em on, gets 'em ready, sort of puts 'em in the mood, know what I mean? But for me, normally, a kiss wasn't anything to get all excited about.

  Temple Kennedy, as she had in literally everything else so far, proved that to be a lie. Her lips on mine...fuck. I was gone, man. My heart started pounding like I'd just humped five miles uphill in full gear at a run. My hand shook on the back of her neck. The wet warmth of her mouth, the way she leaned up into the kiss, melting into me, melting into the kiss...

  Goddamn it.

  God fucking damn it.

  Tearing myself out of that kiss was like ripping duct tape off my skin. I staggered backward, jaw clenched hard, a frown tightening my face, chest heaving.

  "You're fucking dangerous, Temple."

  I left the room as fast as I could, because if I didn't I'd kiss her again, and we didn't have time for that shit, and also because I didn't know how to handle that shit.

  I took a second to zip, button, buckle, and tuck the front of my shirt behind the buckle of my belt, and then leaned back against the closed door, wiping my face with both hands. I wasn't sure what was coming over me when I was around Temple, but it was seriously fucking with my mojo. I had to get my shit together. I had way too much to worry about to be getting caught up in some rich bitch's web of complications. Getting my dick wet wasn't worth it, no matter how perfect she was.

  Yeah, I didn't believe myself either, but I had to try, right?

  I tugged my hair free of the ponytail holder, shook it out, scrubbed my fingers through it a few times, and then tied it back once more, this time putting it up in a topknot. Harris called it a man-bun, but those fucking things were stupid. Only girly little millennial hipster twinks wore man-buns, if you asked me. A topknot was different; if samurai wore topknots, then I could wear a topknot. Those dudes were badasses. Not always the honorable, upright, holy warriors mythology tends to make them out to be, but they were certainly badasses.

  Hair out of the way, shorts fixed, cock under control--and feeling drained, let me tell you--breathing normal, hands steady, heart no longer hammering...yeah. I was good to go.

  I grabbed the dead dude by the ankles, hauled him into the bathroom, and heaved him into the tub, keeping his pistol.

  No point in covering the bloodstain on the carpet, so I left that alone. I went into the kitchen, then over to the fridge. It was off, unplugged, and chained and padlocked. Weird, but it served a purpose. The padlock was biometric, like all the other important locks in this place--I couldn't put a fancy lock on the front door, and there wasn't a point anyway, because even if they got in, they weren't leaving with anything valuable. I put my thumb to the pad, which flashed green, and the hasp popped open. Inside the fridge, instead of shelving and food, there were six black duffel bags stacked on top of each other, each containing stacks of cash.

  Yeah, I had a bank account, but I only kept enough in there to pay bills and look legit to anyone who might go sniffing after me. My real bank was kept here, in this fridge, which wasn't a normal fridge. Old school, heavy as fuck, lead insulated, solid steel, and just about indestructible. Even if this entire building burned down, my cash stash would survive.

  I snagged one of the bags, unzipped it just to appreciate the stacks of green, and then re-zipped it. Closed and locked the fridge, hoping against hope that if this place got raided by the boys in blue they wouldn't think to check the strange, out of place, heavily locked refrigerator. But that was a faint hope, especially if they got a look at my weapons collection.

  At that moment, there was a knock on the door. "Dan? I heard--I heard...it sounded like gunshots, and--"

  Old Bruce, doing his job, damn him.

  I cracked open the door. "Had the TV on too loud, buddy. Nothing to worry about."

  He tried to peer past me. "You sure? It sounded like--"

  "New surround sound system," I explained. "Didn't realize how loud it was, I guess."

  Bruce eyed me suspiciously. "Well, all right. Keep it down, yeah? I had a couple complaints." His expression knowing, then. "The complaints mentioned some screaming, too."

  I winked at him. "Yeah, well, you know how it is."

  He snorted. "Not so much anymore, unfortunately." He grinned at me, then, and ambled away. "Just keep it down, Dan."

  "You got it," I said, and closed the door.

  I carried the duffel bag into the bedroom, where Temple was wandering from case to case, examining my guns.

  She picked up the stuffed tiger and examined it. "This seems oddly sentimental for a guy like you, Duke."

  I took it from her, a little brusquely, and shoved it into the duffel bag. "It was a foster brother's. Good kid." I fingered the button eye. "Leukemia. Didn't make it."

  Temple didn't comment, but I saw her realizing that I might be more than just a hard-ass fuckboy commando. Like, hey, I might just have real feelings in me, somewhere. Weird, right?

  I grabbed the HK and stuffed it into the duffel and transferred all the magazines I had in my pockets, which lightened things considerably. I added an extra pair of Berettas and extra mags for those, and fuck it, may as well toss in a flashbang or two--you never knew when those would come in handy.

  I hefted the bag, testing the weight of it, and decided I'd better call it good.

  Temple was staring at me. "Um."

  I stared back. "What?"

  "You have an actual duffel bag full of cash?"

  I shrugged. "I have several. Why? Is that weird?"

  She quirked an eyebrow. "Yes. Most people...oh I don't know...use banks?"

  I snorted. "Fuck the banks. Banks are bullshit. I don't trust any institution, let alone ones who handle other people's money for profit. My money is my money, and I don't want to have to deal with asshole bankers to get at it. Plus, there's just something satisfying about a bag full of hundos, know what I mean? Also, who's gonna rob me?"

  She bobbled her head side to side. "I see your point." A sarcastic eye roll then. "Do you have a stack of fake passports too?"

  "Holy shit! I can't believe I almost forgot those!" I dropped the bag and pointed at her. "Good call, Fancy."

  I left the door open and ducked across the hall and into the bathroom, lifted the lid off the toilet and fished out the triple-bagged, sealed, and waterproof bundle of IDs, went back into the bedroom, shaking excess water off the bundle before wiping it dry on the front of my shorts.

  Temple had three fingertips pressed against her forehead, staring at me in disbelief. "That was sarcasm, actually."

  I laughed. "Yeah, well, a high-end fake passport is expensive as fuck and hard as hell to get hold of, so I ain't about to leave these here for the cops to find. The guns, my cash, I can deal with the loss. It's gonna hurt, but I can deal. My fakes? Oh hell no. Cost me several hundred grand and a bunch of favors to procure these, and they're always useful."

  Temple just sighed. "You're a piece of work, Duke."

  I just winked. "You think this place is something? You should see my pad at Harris's compound."

  With that I led her out of the bedroom, careful to make sure she didn't glance into the bathroom on the way. I paused at the door of the apartment, watching out the peephole. When I was reasonably sure it was clear, I toed open the door and pivoted out, scanning the hallway, the stolen pistol in hand.

  Empty, for now.

  I gestured for Temple to follow me to the stairwell, putting a finger over my lips to make sure she stayed quiet. I nudged open the door to the stairwell, inched in far enough to peek down the stairs, listening and watching.

  I heard voices below, chatting in low, gruff tones in a language I didn't speak, probably Ukrainian or Russian. Damn. I glanced back at Temple, shushed her again, and then put my mouth to her ear so I could whisper.

  "Stay here, and stay low," I hissed as quietly as I could, setting the duffel bag at her feet. "Don't move from this spot until you're sure it's me coming up for you."

  "If it's not you?" she asked, sounding more than a little panicked.

  I grinned and winked. "It'll be me, sweetpea. No worries."

  Down the stairs then, in a low tactical crouch, back to the wall, aiming at the stairs below me. I got down to the first floor and then I crouched on a landing and waited. The voices grew louder as they ascended the steps, clearly unhurried and unworried. Which was stupid, on their part.

  If you're hunting Duke Silver you'd better be worried, motherfucker.

  I waited until the first one cleared the landing completely, the second right behind him. I drew a bead on the second dude's forehead and squeezed off a round. The snap of the suppressed report echoed in the stairwell, and there was a spray of red and a thumping as he fell backward. The guy in the lead burst into motion, throwing himself to one side as he hit the stairs on his belly, Tec-9 whipping up.

  I scrambled to my right just in time, his semi-automatic chattering. Half a dozen rounds smacked into the drywall where I'd been, and four more strafed across, following me. I hit the landing hard on my right side, rolled, and popped off two fast shots at the shooter. Only one hit, but one was all it took. The round splattered through the top of his head and exited near his shoulder blade, making a godawful mess of the stairwell.

  I held my position for a moment, waiting for a third dickhead to pop up. When half a minute passed without anyone shooting at me, I shifted to a crouch and inched toward the stairs, not taking anything for granted. I counted one dead guy and a second corpse on the landing below him, and a third standing in the corner--

  Fuck.

  CRACKCRACKCRACK!

  Three rounds buzzed past my head, the last one nicking my earlobe, missing my neck by gnat's whisker. I slammed against the wall to one side, pistol whipping up, cracked off two rounds one handed. Again, it looks cool in the movies when the hero does that whole one-handed, arm extended shooting thing, but in real life that's liable to get you killed, as you're likely to miss even if you're as highly trained as I am. You just don't have the stability to aim accurately one-handed. I mean, if you're a gunslinger in the Old West and you're drawing and firing in one motion, aiming for center mass, sure, you've got a decent chance of hitting someone, if you're ten or fifteen paces away at most. Further than that? Forget it.

  So yeah, my stupid ass missed. But my shots got close enough to make the guy duck, which bought me a few more seconds. And in a firefight, seconds are all you get. I used those seconds to slap my left hand up against my right in a nice, clean two-hand grip.

  SNAPSNAP--

  The suppressed pistol bucked in my hands, time once again slowing down as it does in those situations. I saw the shooter at the bottom of the stairs, tucked into a corner, crouched, both hands on his pistol in a professional grip, barrel aiming at me. I saw his finger squeeze the trigger once, twice, saw the weapon buck. My own was barking just a hair ahead of his, and then I was moving, throwing myself to the opposite wall. Something hot and sharp sliced my left bicep, and then a bee buzzed angrily past my ear, and then my foot was slipping in the gore on the stairs and I was flying, momentarily weightless.

  I hit the stairs hard enough to knock the wind out of me, stars dancing behind my eyes, and then I was rolling down them. I reached the landing dizzy and disoriented and gasping, thudding up against a bleeding corpse, with the third shooter still standing, clutching his gut, shakily drawing bead down on me.

  I was on my back, and he was behind me, and I couldn't breathe and my head was spinning and throbbing from the topple down the stairs, but I got my piece up and a round squeezed off before rolling twice to one side, away from the dead guy. A bullet hit the concrete of the landing centimeters from my face, spattering me with sharp shards of spraying concrete dust, and then a second one hit an inch from my leg, and I had to roll again, but there was nowhere to go except down the stairs again and the asshole still wasn't dead, despite a bullet in his gut and another in his chest.

  "Fucking die, motherfucker!" I growled, and shot him twice more before throwing myself down the next flight of stairs.

  I was ready that time, though, going down feet first on my back, my ass and shoulders taking the brunt of the initial impact, and then I twisted to my stomach, sliding down two more steps, my pistol aiming upward.

  The soon-to-be-dead asshole staggered into view, torso now dotted with spreading stains. Tough sonofabitch, I'll give him that.