Page 25

Clear.

Noa yanks his knife free from the dead guard and wipes the blade on the man's shirt.

"Getting slow."

I snort. "You're breathing harder than I am."

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

I’m ready to fire back another insult when movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention. The staircase sat across the room, partially obscured by smoke and overturned furniture, but it wasn't difficult to spot the two men rushing down it.

My amusement vanished instantly.

"Company," Noa tells me.

The guards react the moment they see us. “Get them!”

Noa follows my gaze and steps toward me automatically. Neither of us giving orders. Neither of us needing them. Even now, after everything we'd done to each other, some habits of trust refuse to die.

The first guard brings his rifle to his shoulder.

"Duck!" Noa drops without hesitation, and the moment he does that, I plant a hand against his shoulder and push off. My body glides over his lowered frame as the guard squeezes the trigger. Bullets tear through the air where we'd been standing a second earlier.

I land in a crouch, already bringing my rifle into position. The guard never gets a second shot as my finger tightens on the trigger and the round strikes him square in the chest. The impact snaps his body backward and sends him crashing into the staircase railing.

Behind me, Noa surges to his feet; the movement was so fluid it almost looks effortless. His hand comes forward, and the machete leaves his grip. For a brief second, the blade spins through the air, catching the light from the chandelier overhead. Then it buries itself deep in the second guard's throat. The man's eyes widen, while my professional adoration grows.

The second guard’s rifle slips from his fingers as both hands fly to the wound. Blood pours between them. He staggers backward, hits the banister, and disappears from our sight as gravity drags him down the remaining steps.

I stay where I am for another second, rifle raised, waiting for more movement. Nothing comes—only the distant hum of the air conditioning and the smell of smoke lingering from the explosion. Noa walks over to the staircase and pulls his machete free from the dead man's neck with a wet sound that would make most people sick. But not me. Blood drips from the blade as he turns back toward me.

"Still think rifles are better?" This asshole. I roll my eyes, though relief loosened some of the tension in my shoulders.

"Ask me again when your arm falls off from carrying that thing around,” I retort. A smirk tugs at his mouth. God, I hate that smirk. Mostly because a part of me still remembers what it looked like when it wasn't directed at an enemy. Me.

For a heartbeat, neither of us move.

The house feels strangely still around us despite the bodies scattered across the floor.

“Are we going to do the call-off sign later?” I ask him, and he agrees by nodding at me. We stand here covered in blood that isn’t ours, exchanging looks we shouldn't be exchanging, and I hate myself for noticing the familiar steadiness in his gaze, for noticing that after all this time, after all the reasons I had to despise him, being at his side still feels as natural as breathing.

The sharp slam of a door from the second floor shatters the moment. Noa's attention snaps toward the sound, and mine too.

Sebastian is waiting for his doom upstairs.

Without saying a word, we start walking toward the staircase, our footsteps falling into the same rhythm as we climb. Like enemies. Like partners. Like two people who can’t decide which one they were anymore.

The second floor stretches before us in a long hallway lined with expensive paintings and closed doors. Every piece of artwork probably costs more than most people earn in a year, but all I can think about is the blood staining the floor below us. And all the people who suffered under this French asshole.

At the far end of the corridor, warm light spills through the narrow opening of a study door. We both slow down as a male and frightened voice drifts into the hallway.

"...I don't care what it costs," Sebastian snaps into his phone. "Get a car here now."

I exchange a glance with Noa, and we are both thinking the same thing. What a scared little bitch.

I move to the left side of the doorway while Noa takes the right. The familiar tension settles between us as we press ourselves against the wall. The silent understanding that neither of us will hesitate when it matters.

“Unlock the door now, Hana. Over.” Noa is listening to his cousin, and I notice how valuable Hana is to him. Not only because she is his most valuable employee, but she is his flesh and blood. His family.