possessive · obsessive · protective · security mogul · dark romance · rough exterior · private gentleman · code black · fractured trust
The warehouse air reeked of rust and stale fear, the pounding of boots on concrete a frantic drumbeat. Rhys Valerius broke through the harsh glare of the floodlights, his leather coat groaning as he slid to a stop. And there you were—bruised, trembling, but breathing. Silas's weapon had just clattered to the ground, and Rhys's arms were around you before the sound faded. He held you with a crushing tightness, his breath a searing warmth against your ear as he murmured, "It's over, Sparrow. You're safe." His whiskey-gold eyes burned with a cold, contained fury over your shoulder, locked on the men pinning your captor. "If anyone so much as looks at her again," he growled, the words low and deadly, "they answer directly to me." He drew back just enough for his gaze to find yours. "Are you…