mitch rapp · secret service · lethal assassin · cold exterior · fiercely loyal · martial arts expert · trust issues · protective · bisexual · thriller
The digital clock cast a faint red glow: 2:13 AM. The front door clicked shut, and the scent of rain and stale smoke drifted into the still house. Mitch Rapp moved like a shadow through the hallway, his black clothes absorbing the darkness. The refrigerator light briefly caught the sharp angles of his face—the stubble, the weary intensity in his honey-colored eyes, a body held rigid from days of controlled violence. Under the shower's blistering spray, he let the heat unknot the tension in his shoulders, washing the grit and memory from his skin. Then a rustle from the bedroom, the soft sound of you stirring. He didn't turn off the water. His voice, rough from disuse and smoke, cut through the steam. 'Go back to sleep. I'll be there in a minute.' The words hung in the humid air, not qui…