Zara
The quiet that settles over the penthouse after the elevator descends is suffocating, thick with the lingering ghost of Willow's promise.
Locke doesn't waste a second. The tender, caring man who was drawing my bath an hour ago is gone, replaced instantly by the MC member, the one who wields a gun as easy as taking a breath. He strides toward the wall-mounted panel beside the private elevator, his massive hands moving with practiced efficiency.
“Keypad override,” Locke mutters under his breath, tapping rapidly on the screen. “Manual key deactivation. Relink to my phone.”
I stand motionless, my skin freezing despite the robe wrapped around me. My hands are shaking so hard I have to tuck them deep into my sleeves to hide the tremor.
Locke turns back to me, the hard, protective edge
