The bank was a blur of fluorescent lights and the suffocating feeling of being watched. Every time the heavy glass doors swung open, Rhoda's heart performed a violent staccato against her ribs. She kept her head down, her fingers flying over the keys as she processed transactions, but her mind stayed trapped in the amber glow of the night before.
She could still feel the memory of Evan's hands—where they had hovered, where they had touched. The weight of him had lingered long after he left, settling into her skin like heat that refused to fade. The terms no longer felt like rules. They felt like a tether.
When her shift finally ended, she didn't return to her apartment.
Instead, a sleek black sedan waited two blocks away, engine idling, patient. The window rolled down just enough for her to see him.
Those dark, ink-black eyes lifted to her face, slow and deliberate, as if he'd already been watching for minutes.
"Get in," he said.
The command slid straight down her spine.
She obeyed.
The door shut behind her with a heavy sound that felt final. The interior smelled like him—clean, sharp, unmistakable. Leather, tobacco, rain. Her pulse spiked as the car eased into traffic. Evan's hands were steady on the wheel, gloved, controlled. He didn't look at her.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice betraying her despite herself. "My apartment—"
"Is compromised," Evan said. His jaw tightened. "Your neighbor has been watching your window for hours but he's not the only one watching. Curiosity turns dangerous fast."
Her fingers curled against her thigh. "What did you do to him?"
He glanced at her briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting—not kind, not cruel. Knowing.
"I redirected his attention," he said. "But it won't hold. My crew is watching. They're wondering why I'm distracted."
"The lions," she said quietly.
"They don't like hesitation."
The city thinned as they drove, familiar streets giving way to rusted warehouses and shadowed alleys. When the car stopped, it was in front of an iron gate guarding a converted loft that looked abandoned to anyone who didn't know better.
"This is a safe house," Evan said, killing the engine. "No neighbors. No witnesses."
He turned to face her fully.
"You wanted to know what happens when the lights go out," he said, voice low. "Tonight, they stay out."
Inside, the space was cavernous and dim. Brick walls, shadows pooled deep and thick, expensive furniture placed with deliberate precision. It felt controlled. Like him.
"You're kidnapping me now?" Rhoda asked, though her tone carried more challenge than fear.
Evan stepped closer, close enough that her back brushed the cold wall.
"I'm keeping you alive," he said. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" she asked, stepping into his space instead of away from it. Her chest brushed his jacket. "Feels like you just moved your prize."
His eyes darkened.
"You're not a prize," he said. "You're a problem I can't let go of."
His thumb lifted, slow, tracing the line of her lower lip. He pressed just enough for her mouth to part, her breath catching without permission. His gaze never left her face as if cataloging every reaction.
The air shifted—thickened.
"I have a job in two days," he murmured, leaning in until his breath warmed her skin. "High value. I need access only you can give."
Her heart pounded. "You want me to help you rob a bank again?"
"I want you watching," he corrected, his mouth grazing her jaw, deliberate, unhurried. "And in return, I keep you safe."
"No," Rhoda said, her voice sharper than she intended. "Which bank?" She asked.
"Your bank", his voice was flat.
She stepped back, her hands trembling. "Evan, I work there. I've spent five years building a reputation. I'm the one who counts the money, not the one who helps steal it. You're asking me to throw away my entire life for... for what? A criminal who might decide I'm a liability tomorrow?"
Evan didn't move. He stood by the table, his dark eyes tracking her like a predator watching a cornered animal.
"You think you still have a life to go back to?" he asked softly. "The moment you picked up my wallet, that life ended. If the crew finds out you're just a witness, you're dead. If the police find out you've been harboring me, you're in prison. The only way you survive this is by being useful. By being mine."
"Yet still—I'm not a thief," she whispered, her eyes stinging with frustrated tears. "I'm a good person."
"You're a person who wants to live," he countered. "And you're a person who likes the way it feels when I'm close. Don't lie to yourself, Rhoda."
He pressed his lips on hers lightly. Rhoda wanted to pull away, to scream, to run back to her boring, safe apartment. But as his gaze locked onto hers, the dark magnetic pull of him was overwhelming.
"One job," he whispered, leaning in until his chest rubbed against hers. "You give me access, and I keep you safe from the crew. I'll be your shield. But you have to step into the dark with me."
Rhoda's heart pounded. She looked at the man who was both her greatest threat and her only protector. The internal battle was losing ground to the sheer intensity of his presence.
"And if I get caught?" she breathed.
"I don't let my partners get caught," he said, his voice a low, seductive promise.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, anchoring her. He didn't force the kiss; he waited until she leaned in, until her resistance crumbled under the weight of the moment. When he finally took her mouth, it wasn't a victory—it was a surrender.
She fisted her hands in his jacket, her mind screaming that she was making the biggest mistake of her life, even as her body moved to meet his. She was no longer just a teller. She was an accomplice. His body pressed her back into the wall, heat everywhere, solid and inescapable.
He guided her toward the velvet sofa, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth along her throat, her collarbone, skin already burning beneath his attention. His hands worked at her blouse with controlled precision, each undone button a deliberate choice.
The warehouse swallowed their sounds. The city hummed far away, irrelevant.
Here, there were no neighbors. No terms spoken aloud.
Only the weight of him, the certainty of his hands, and the dangerous understanding settling deep in her bones:
Whatever game Evan was playing, she was no longer just
caught in it.
She was stepping forward willingly.