Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Becks

B ecks' heart pounded a staccato rhythm that echoed the thrum of the scooter's engine as they wove through the Parisian traffic. Her arms, wrapped tight around Liam's waist, felt every flex and shift of his muscles as he maneuvered them deftly back to the rental shop. She could still taste the danger in the air, a metallic tang that lingered on her tongue and stirred an intoxicating cocktail of fear and arousal within her.

"Keep close to me," Liam muttered as they returned the scooter, his voice low and commanding. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, awakening a craving for his dominance that was both comfort and fire.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered with a quickened breath, following him into the waiting cab. The leather of the seat was cool against her skin, but Liam's nearness ignited a warmth that belied the cold material. His gaze locked with hers, intense and probing, a promise of protection.

"Le Maison des Arts," he instructed the driver before turning his attention back to Becks. "We'll need to be cautious from here on out."

A nod was all she managed before the cab pulled away from the curb, the city blurring past as they made a brief stop at a pharmacy. Liam gathered bandages, antiseptics, and a few other necessities with swift efficiency. He paid in cash, crisp notes exchanged without a trace of the turmoil that twisted inside her.

The Maison des Arts emerged from the labyrinth of the Marais district, its facade unassuming yet elegant. Liam led the way inside, his steps purposeful. At the reception desk, he presented a credit card and ID, both bearing an assumed name.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lachlan," he said smoothly, the alias rolling off his tongue as if it were his birthright.

Becks wondered how many identities he’d had to assume in his time with MI6? How many times had he stood at the brink of peril, unflinching?

"Here are your keys," the concierge announced, unaware of the undercurrents flowing between them. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Liam said. He took the keys and handed one to Becks, his fingers brushing against hers. That simple touch was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a longing that threatened to consume her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice a tender caress against the backdrop of their fraught circumstances.

"Yes, I just…" Becks paused, her confession catching in her throat. "It's a lot to process."

"It is." He drew closer, his presence a magnetic force. "You’re not alone, and it sounds like Rovena knows what she’s doing. We’ll find these people, and we’ll get them stopped."

They took the elevator to their room, a large, secluded room that spoke of anonymity and secrets. Once inside, Liam secured the door and turned to face her, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions—desire and the edge of something darker.

The reassurance in his words tugged at something deep inside her, the duality of their situation a dizzying high. Fear mingled with fervor, and the stark reality of what they were up against intertwined with the tangle of their emotions. In the waning light of the afternoon sun as it filtered through the windows of their hotel room, surrounded by shadows and suspense, Becks felt the allure of the danger they faced—and the irresistible pull of the man before her.

The room's lavish decor faded into the periphery as Becks focused on the task at hand. Liam sat shirtless on the edge of the plush bed, his torso a canvas of bruises and shallow cuts—proof of their recent brush with death. The muscular contours of his back were tense, showing lines of strain that even his stoic demeanor couldn't fully disguise.

"Keep still," Becks murmured, her voice hushed yet firm as she dabbed antiseptic onto a gauze pad. Her hands, typically reserved for flipping through ancient texts or tapping at keyboards, now maneuvered with a surprising deftness over his wounds.

Liam's jaw tightened, a barely perceptible wince crossing his features. "I've had worse," he said gruffly, but there was a softness in his tone that belied the brusque words. A heavy tension hung between them, filled with unspoken feelings and the lingering adrenaline of their escape.

"Doesn't mean you should ignore these now," Becks replied, her touch gentle yet authoritative. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the raw power coiled in his frame. It disconcerted her, this reversal of their usual dynamics—her assuming the role of caregiver, him the vulnerable one. Yet it stirred something within her too, a flutter of empowerment mixed with deepening concern.

"Thank you," he said, meeting her eyes with his own.

Becks felt a shiver travel down her spine, not from fear but from the intensity of their connection. She was shaken, not just by the violence they'd narrowly survived, but also by the realization of how deeply intertwined their lives had become.

"Let's just focus on keeping you alive," she quipped, attempting to inject some levity into the palpable tension.

"Alive and kicking," Liam corrected with a shadow of his usual dry humor. "These Wanderers of the Shadows, not to mention Sokolov, won't know what hit them when we're through."

She sealed a bandage over a particularly nasty cut along his ribcage, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Do you think Sokolov works for them?”

“Unknown. Sokolov is free-lance and expensive. We also have history. We just need to be aware that the Wanderers may have power and money backing them.”

“You're impressive, you know. The way you handled things back there..."

"Part of the job description," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Still," Becks pressed on, "not everyone can stay so collected under pressure. Your dedication... it's remarkable."

"Comes with its own set of scars," he countered, glancing away, a cloud of past shadows briefly darkening his expression.

"Scars are just stories, Liam. And I'm starting to read yours." She finished tending to his wounds, packing away the medical supplies with an efficiency she hadn't known she possessed.

"Be careful, Dr. Ashworth," Liam warned, a hint of his dominant nature surfacing. "Some stories aren't meant to be read casually."

"Then consider me thoroughly warned," Becks retorted, her breath hitching slightly as she observed the familiar mask of control settle back over his features.

"Good." He stood, towering over her once again, his physical presence a stark reminder of the power dynamic that lay beneath their current roles. "Because our next chapter is about to begin."

And though they were surrounded by danger, the promise held within his words ignited a thrill in Becks that went beyond fear or reason. It was a call to that place she normally kept locked away and had never known she craved, with a man whose layers she was only just beginning to peel back. BDSM had always been a luxury she only rarely allowed herself, but spending time with Liam made her understand how many came to need it more often than not.

The click-clack of Becks' fingers on the keyboard resonated in the dimly lit room of Maison des Arts, a rhythmic counter to the steady pulse of the Parisian rain that had finally broken through the clouds. She was lost in the digital maze that Liam had crafted for them—a safe haven within the Cerberus secure system where secrets unfolded like dark petals.

"Anything?" Liam's voice cut through her concentration, as he leaned over her shoulder, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.

"Rovena's outdone herself," she murmured, pulling up a dossier filled with clandestine transactions and coded messages. "I mean, I always knew she had skills, but this is beyond anything I thought she was capable of. Look at this." Her finger traced the screen, highlighting a bank transfer linked to a prominent political figure—a name that had no business being amidst the information Rovena had given them.

"Damn," Liam muttered, his brows knitting together. “Have you figured out what they’re doing?”

She nodded. “I think I’ve got enough of it to make a pretty good guess. They’re using a nomadic, decentralized network to infiltrate financial systems worldwide and destroy the economies of small or unstable countries. They’re using Romany to try and keep their communications misclassified, which adds a layer of obfuscation to their covert activities.”

“How does that threaten people’s lives?”

“If they can disrupt the economy of a country or even a large city, people can easily fall into violent behavior. There’s also some indication that in some instances they are prepared to destabilize an area and then introduce their own violence—a bomb, an assassination, or something along those lines.”

Liam nodded. “The more violence, the more disruption, and vice versa.”

The weight of unspoken implications settled around them. Each revelation was woven into the tapestry of corruption and power that they were unraveling thread by delicate thread.

A pop-up notification suddenly splintered their focus. A secure message from an unknown source, flagged with urgent crimson. Liam reached from behind her, clicking it open, her pulse accelerating as she scanned the contents.

"An attack," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor that threatened to betray his calm exterior. "Berlin. Imminent."

"Do you know the source?" Becks asked, her body tensing until his hand, resting on her shoulder, grounded and comforted her.

"Anonymous.”

“Hmm… the encryption pattern looks similar to one I know. It's legit." Becks looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the seriousness of the moment. "We need to get to Berlin, Liam."

“Why? Cerberus…”

“Can’t decrypt anything that’s transmitted there in real time. I can. I need to be there, and my guess is you have no intention of my going anywhere without you.”

"Correct." He straightened, slipping back into his role, the protector, the dominant force she both challenged and craved. There was no time for hesitation, no space for doubt.

"We left all our clothing and things at the cottage. We’ll need to get some gear," he said. “We travel light, nothing fancy.”

"You mean I can’t get fitted for one of those expensive custom corsets?” she teased, and he grinned. “Understood." Her heart picked up in rhythm, not just from the threat of danger but from the anticipation of the submission she would willingly give to him if and when the time came. For now, though, there were lives at stake, and they were the only ones standing between order and chaos.

As the Parisian afternoon and weather deepened outside, casting shadows across the hotel room, Becks and Liam prepared to step into the fray: the pursuit of justice laced with the thrill of the forbidden.

The damp air clung to their skin as they left the hotel. Becks and Liam wound their way through the streets of the Marais District. Its historic charm was a stark contrast to the urgency quickening their steps, each echo on the cobblestone a reminder of the stakes at hand.

"Here," Liam said, his voice a low rumble as he gestured towards an inconspicuous used clothing store tucked between a boulangerie and a modern art gallery. Its window displayed a curated chaos of eras past and present.

Becks nodded, her gaze scanning the street for any sign of pursuit before they slipped inside. The bell above the door tinkled, announcing their entry into a sanctuary of forgotten fashions and memories stitched in fabric. As much as she longed to peruse the racks, time was a luxury they didn't have.

"Keep it efficient," Liam instructed, his eyes never still, even as his hand brushed against her lower back—a fleeting touch that promised more.

"Of course," she replied, the underlying tension threading her voice with steel. She reached for a sturdy-looking weekend bag, its leather worn in places that told of countless journeys. "This will do."

"Good choice," he murmured, approving her practicality while his gaze lingered, darkening with an intensity that belied the mundane task at hand.

They moved through the store, picking up essentials—a few changes of clothes, a scarf that could double as a disguise, a pair of boots that looked comfortable enough for their impending trek. Each item was a piece in their elaborate game of deception, their survival hinging on the personas they were about to assume.

"Anything else?" Becks asked, her question laced with an undertone that had nothing to do with their shopping list.

"Nothing," Liam answered, his lips curving into a grin that made her wonder if he wouldn’t have rather been shopping for a custom corset for her as well. They approached the counter, and the transaction unfolded in silence, coded in the language of fugitives.

Once outside, they hailed a cab under the glow of a streetlamp that was just coming on. Their bodies were close in the backseat, every shift and turn accentuating their need for caution—and each other.

"Train station," Liam said to the driver, his command veiled in the casual tone of a tourist, though his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on his thigh.

Becks watched him, the interplay of shadow and light from passing streetlamps revealing the contours of his face. The world outside blurred into a streak of colors as they raced towards their next step in this dangerous dance.

At the Gare de l'Est, the hustle of travelers swirled around them, a sea both of potential threats and anonymity. Liam led the way to the ticket counter, his stride confident, his demeanor that of a man in control.

"Two to Berlin, via Frankfurt. Private sleeper car," he requested, presenting the false documents with practiced ease.

"Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Lachlan," the attendant replied, oblivious to the lie woven into the passports she returned alongside the tickets.

" Merci ," Liam offered, a courteous nod hiding the predator within.

"Let's find our platform," Becks said, the weight of the tickets heavy in her grasp, harbingers of the perilous journey ahead. They navigated the terminal with purpose, their path unerring, their minds attuned to the same frequency—a harmony of suspense and unspoken promises.

"Remember," Liam said as they settled into the privacy of their carriage, "we're only as strong as our cover."

"I haven't forgotten," Becks assured him, meeting his piercing gaze. "But don't underestimate the power of what's underneath."

Their words hung in the air, potent and charged, as the train lurched forward, carrying them into the heart of danger—and the unknown depths of their connection.