Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

49. GRAYSON

49

GRAYSON

“Have you ever felt guilty?” Ivy asked. “About what you do for a living?”

We lay nude on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, the scent of cologne mixed with sex.

“No,” I admitted. “The opposite, actually.”

As she looked up at me, a realization struck that there were no other eyes I’d rather be looking into than hers. In my life, I’d had my fair share of one-night stands, but this was the first time I found myself cuddling with a woman. With Ivy, I was experiencing a series of firsts, each one surpassing the last. Our connection was a magical elixir that transformed ordinary acts, like lying in bed, into enchanting and profound moments, and I found myself lost in the depths of her eyes, feeling like finally—after years of assuming I didn’t need anyone in my life—I might’ve found someone that proved that theory wrong. Someone I was meant to be with.

“Each time I get an assignment, I feel excited. Because there’s a dangerous person out there somewhere and I have the power to stop him before he does something terrible.”

Ivy considered this. “So, you feel good afterward?”

“I do.”

“You don’t think they should be captured and imprisoned instead?”

“Many of our targets either already served time in prison or escaped conviction.” I played with her hair between my fingers. “Sometimes, to fight monsters, you have to become one yourself.”

“So, when you look them in the eye, you never hesitate?”

I rubbed her back. “Only to get the perfect shot.”

“How do you go through with it? Ending someone’s life?”

I trailed my fingers up her soft arm.

“Once I’m told someone is a target, I guess you could say a switch flips. In my mind, it’s them or a room full of children.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, as if my profession had eased some remnants of conflict still raging in her heart.

“How many people have you killed?” She was trying to hide it, but I could hear the tightness in her voice, the fear that maybe she couldn’t live with the answer.

“A lot.”

She was silent for too long.

“That bothers you,” I deduced.

She collected her thoughts before answering, “I’ve dedicated my life to saving people, so it’s difficult for me to get my head around having a profession where you end people’s lives. I don’t know how that ever feels normal or okay, even.” She sighed. “But at the same time, I’m grateful for people like you because if you didn’t have the courage to do what the rest of us can’t or won’t do, many innocent people would die.”

I hated her struggle with this, and I hated that I was having one of my own. I should let her see me as a hero, take the win and ride off into the sunset with her. But it wasn’t fair to her. She deserved to know me, the real me, down to my core. Ivy needed to understand how deep my darkness ran.

“I’m not a good guy, Ivy,” I warned. “I do this for the right reasons, but I kill people for a living. I don’t pretend that makes me a good person.”

There had been collateral damage along the way, innocent civilians inadvertently taken out with a hostile exchange. Their blood was on my hands, no matter my intentions.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “And would you kill an innocent person?”

I gently swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her delicate skin. “For work, no. But if anyone hurt someone I loved, I wouldn’t hesitate to use my skills on them.”

Ivy examined me closely, her expression both intense and probing. I could sense her internal struggle, the unspoken question hanging in the air between us—could she live with that truth?

I could have lied to her, spun a tale of only targeting violent criminals on behalf of the CIA, but Ivy deserved better. She deserved the unfiltered truth and the opportunity to make an informed decision about whether I was worthy of her affection.

Fury simmered beneath my controlled tone as I warned, “If I got my hands on the men who tried to abduct you, I would kill them. Slowly. And I would savor every moment of their suffering.”

When her eyes widened, my chest constricted.

What if I pushed her too far? Honesty could be a merciless bitch.

Seconds ticked by in silence, each one an eternity. Then, at last, she shifted closer until her lips found mine in a tender kiss. Heaven. The only word to describe being accepted completely—even the darkest parts of my soul.

A peaceful silence settled over us like a sunset over the lake, and in this moment, everything felt right in the world.

Eventually, Ivy propped herself back up on her elbow, studying me.

“So, this darkness,” she started, “you’ve felt it ever since your dad died?”

I trailed my knuckles down her jaw, admiring the graceful lines of her bones.

“My dad’s death was the catalyst, but for years, I was still fighting against the darkness. For my mom’s sake, I wanted to be a good person, a son she could be proud of. She deserved that, after losing her husband and everything she’d been through. But when she died…so did my desire to fight against it. Instead, I surrendered to it.”

Ivy trailed her fingers up my chest.

“I blamed myself for her death,” I admitted.

She stilled, pinching her brows. “I thought she died of cancer?”

I took a deep breath, the memories weighing heavily on my soul.

“She did. But stress…it takes a toll on the body, you know? And I put her through so much.” I paused, my throat tightening. “When I was a kid, I was a nightmare. Always getting into fights, causing trouble at school. She already had enough heartbreak in her life, and I just added to it. Even when I saw what the stress was doing to her, I couldn’t stop.”

Didn’t stop, was the more accurate assessment. I was a selfish asshole, acting like I was the only one grieving, my pain the only thing that mattered. I made everyone else’s life even harder than it already was, claiming the role of the troubled kid, pushing my brothers away and sentencing my mother to unnecessary pain. Like they hadn’t been through enough.

The guilt over my selfish behavior threatened to consume me. Was it any wonder cancer developed in her body? Was it any wonder her body was too exhausted to fight?

“I blame myself, too,” she admitted.

I searched her hazel eyes, which welled up with tears.

Her voice cracked as she continued, “For my dad…the last time I talked to him, we had an argument. I said things I shouldn’t have, and then he took his life.”

Her trembling lips sent a jolt of pain through my heart.

I gently brushed my knuckles along Ivy’s cheek, my gaze locking with hers as I assured her softly, “Your dad’s death wasn’t your fault.”

Ivy’s brow furrowed as she wrestled with her emotions. “Rationally, I know one argument isn’t responsible for everything, but…” She paused, her voice trembling slightly. “It was the last thing I said to him, you know? Fighting with him. After everything he’d done for me my entire life, the last words I spoke to him were hurtful. It might’ve been the straw that pushed him.”

“Ivy…” I trailed off.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m scared I’m the reason he ended his life.”

In that moment, the strong, resilient woman I knew allowed herself to crumble. She buried her face in my chest, her body shaking as whimpers escaped her lips. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, as if I could shield her from the weight of her guilt.

All I could manage to say was, “It’s not your fault.”

Yet, even as the words left my mouth, I knew they were inadequate, incapable of penetrating the shield of blame she had built around herself, and as I gently wiped away her tears with my thumb, it struck me, how guilt was its own kind of disease, infecting people and everything that once mattered to you, until the only thing that was left was the reflection of a monster when you looked in the mirror.

Ivy and I, as it turned out, had that in common. But that’s where we were different. She was soft and gentle and kind while I was hardened and sharp around every edge.

Killing violent psychopaths had been my coping mechanism, but now, I would give anything to absorb her pain, shouldering her anguish myself.

“Who would use that against me?” Ivy wondered aloud. “I mean, of all the ways that guy could’ve tricked me into coming to the garage, why did he use my relationship with my dad like that? He weaponized my grief and pretended to know him.”

I clenched my teeth, a surge of anger rushing through my veins.

“It just seems particularly cruel, you know?”

Until this very moment, I hadn’t fully appreciated the psychological toll the entire situation with Bob had taken on Ivy. Someone hadn’t just tried to kill her; they had delved into the deepest recesses of her mind, exploiting her most vulnerable wounds.

So help me, if I ever find the person responsible, they will suffer the consequences of their cruelty so painfully, they’ll beg for death until I finally grant it to them.

I couldn’t believe I had almost taken her life, and now, she was becoming my world. Ivy was an enigma, a beautiful contradiction who possessed a strength that could move mountains, yet in my arms, she melted like snow in the sun. Her vulnerability, her trust in me, was a gift I never thought I’d receive.

I had never opened up to anyone the way I did with her either, never allowed myself to be so raw and exposed.

But with Ivy, it felt right.

Like coming home.

I pulled her closer, my lips grazing the top of her head, and as I breathed in her scent, I knew that my life had been irrevocably changed. Ivy had become a part of me, woven into the very fabric of my being. She had brought light into my darkness, and I would do everything in my power to keep that light shining. Forever.

And I would protect her with everything I had.

Because it wasn’t just her future hanging in the balance anymore; it was my own, and I would not rest until this entire mess with the CIA was officially cleaned up.

A sound interrupted my thoughts. My cell phone buzzing on the end table. When I read the message, I tried to keep my expression neutral, not wanting to betray the sudden surge of panic.

Daniel: Check your encrypted email account and call me right away.