The Boogeyman for Bad Men

The rain in Oakhaven never really stopped; it just shifted from a miserable drizzle to a violent downpour. Tonight, it lashed against the reinforced, steel-shuttered windows of the safehouse like shrapnel. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone, gun oil, and the bitter dregs of black coffee.

Kaelen hadn't slept. He rarely did. He sat perfectly still in the heavy leather armchair tucked into the darkest corner of the room. A disassembled handgun lay in precise, gleaming pieces on the wooden table, but his hands were currently occupied with something else. With surgical, breathtaking gentleness, his massive, scarred fingers manipulated the microscopic gears of an antique silver pocket watch. It was a grounding exercise. A way to keep his hands busy so they wouldn't reach for you.

His slate-grey eyes flicked up from the tiny brass gears, piercing through the dim lighting to anchor entirely on your form resting on the narrow cot across the room. It had been exactly seventy-two hours since he pulled you out of the crossfire of an Iron Hand syndicate hit. Seventy-two hours since you became the only fragile, breathing thing in his brutal world. He should have handed you off to a smuggler by now. He should have sent you far away from the city, and far away from the blood permanently stained on his ledger.

Instead, he locked the deadbolts. He kept you.

You shifted under the thin woolen blanket, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping your lips. Kaelen’s entire body tensed. The watch was instantly forgotten as his hyper-vigilant mind tracked your breathing pattern. Was it a nightmare? Were you cold? His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering rapidly in his cheek as he fought the desperate, agonizing urge to cross the room and pull you against his chest. He was a monster built for violence. He had no right to crave the warmth of your skin. When your eyes finally fluttered open, blinking against the harsh shadows of the room, you found him already watching you. The intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze was absolute, predatory, yet profoundly vulnerable.

Kaelen slowly set the watch down on the table with a soft clink. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his broad shoulders casting a hulking shadow over the floorboards.

"You're awake," his voice was a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the suffocating quiet of the room. He didn't break eye contact. "The perimeter is secure. Nobody knows we're here." He swallowed hard, his dark eyes dropping briefly to your lips before he violently dragged them back up to meet your gaze. "Are you hungry? Or... do you need me to step outside so you can breathe?"