Chapter 12

Cecilia

The air bit at my face as I crouched on the cracked concrete of the abandoned pier, my laptop balanced precariously on a rusted metal crate.

The glow of the screen cast eerie shadows across the derelict warehouses lining Brooklyn's waterfront—a place where even cops didn't venture after midnight.

Perfect for what I needed to do.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of code scrolling past as I established a connection to the hidden server I'd set up 4 years ago.

The encrypted file I'd found in Winston Corp's system—the one about Dad's "partnership termination"—was refusing to crack with my usual methods. I needed direct access to bypass Arthur's quantum encryption.

Arthur.

My chest tightened at the thought of him. That ring I'd ripped off and thrown at him still felt like a phantom weight on my finger.

His words from the terrace echoed in my head.

"Fuck you," I muttered, slamming the enter key harder than necessary. "I don't need—"

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

I froze. The voice came from behind me—gravelly, amused, and definitely not friendly. Slowly, I closed my laptop and turned.

Four men emerged from the shadows between shipping containers. The one in front—bald, heavily tattooed, with a scar running down his left cheek—grinned as he flicked away a cigarette. His three companions fanned out, cutting off my escape routes.

"Hey sweetheart," Baldy continued, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "What's a pretty thing like you doing here alone?"

My hand slid to the small of my back, where Carter's antique pistol was tucked into my waistband. The cold metal was reassuring against my palm.

"Working," I said flatly, meeting his gaze. "And I'm not interested in company."

"That's not very friendly." He took a step closer. One of his buddies—a lanky guy with a face full of piercings—whistled low.

"Damn, Rex. She's got some fire."

Rex's grin widened. "I like 'em feisty." He reached for my laptop. "Let's see what you're working on that's so important—"

"Touch my equipment," I said, pulling the gun in one smooth motion and aiming it at his chest, "and I'll break your fucking fingers."

The waterfront went silent except for the slap of waves against the pier.

Rex's hands went up, but his smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew wider. "Oh, she's got a piece. That's cute." He glanced at his men. "You know what's not cute? Pulling a gun on Rex Malone."

Shit.Dangerous enough to be a problem, especially four-on-one.

Pierce-face moved to my left. A third guy—built like a linebacker—circled right. The fourth hung back, probably watching for witnesses.

"Here's how this is gonna go," Rex said, his tone conversational. "You're gonna put that toy away, hand over the laptop and whatever else you got, and we'll forget this ever happened. Might even let you walk away."

His eyes crawled over me again. "After we have a little fun."

My stomach turned, but I kept my gun steady. "Or," I countered, "you could walk away right now, and I won't put a bullet in your kneecap."

Rex laughed—a harsh, grating sound. "You think you can take all four of us before we—"

A hand shot out of the darkness behind Rex, clamping onto his wrist with such force that the crack of bone was audible even over the wind.

Rex's scream died in his throat as he was yanked backward and slammed onto the concrete with brutal efficiency. His head hit the ground with a sickening thud.

My heart stopped.

Arthur.

He stepped over Rex's prone body like it was garbage, his white dress shirt—sleeves rolled to his elbows—catching the moonlight. No jacket. No tie. Just that shirt, now spattered with Rex's blood, stretched across shoulders I'd memorized years ago.

His eyes found mine for a split second—grey-blue and blazing with something feral—before he turned his attention to the other three men.

"You," he said, his voice so cold it could freeze the harbor, "made a mistake."

Pierce-face recovered first, swinging a metal pipe at Arthur's head from behind. Arthur didn't even turn around. His hand shot up, catching the pipe mid-swing with a grip that made Pierce-face yelp.

Arthur yanked, using the momentum to pull the man forward while his elbow came up, connecting with Pierce-face's nose in a spray of red.

The linebacker rushed him from the side. Arthur's leg came up in a vicious side-kick, catching the big man's knee at an angle that made me wince. The knee bent wrong—a wet pop—and Linebacker went down screaming.

The fourth guy finally joined the fight, pulling a switchblade that glinted in the dim light. "I'm gonna gut you, you fu—"

Arthur moved like water. One hand deflected the knife thrust while the other grabbed the man's wrist, twisting until the blade clattered to the concrete.

Then Arthur's hand was around the guy's throat, slamming him back against a shipping container hard enough to dent the metal.

The whole thing took maybe ninety seconds.

Rex was groaning on the ground, clutching his broken wrist. Pierce-face was holding his shattered nose, blood pouring between his fingers. Linebacker wasn't moving, just making high-pitched whimpering sounds. The knife guy sagged against the container, unconscious.

Arthur turned back to me, chest heaving slightly, knuckles split and bleeding. The cold fury in his eyes softened to something else—something that made my breath catch.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was rough, barely controlled.

I should've been scared. I should've been angry that he'd followed me.

Instead, all I could think was how fucking beautiful he looked standing there in the moonlight, covered in other men's blood, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"I had it under control," I managed, my voice shakier than I wanted.

His jaw tightened. "Ceci—"

"I don't need you playing hero." I shoved my gun back into my waistband and turned toward my laptop, my hands trembling as I tried to pack up. "I don't need—"

His hand caught my wrist—gentle this time, not like when he'd grabbed me in his office. "Stop running."

"I'm not running." I tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened just enough to keep me there. "Let go of me."

"Not until you listen." He moved closer, and I could smell him.

"Please, Ceci. Just... listen."

The nickname—broke something in me. "Don't." My voice cracked. "Don't call me that. You don't get to—"

He cut me off. "Sorry."

I went still. "What?"

"For my coldness toward you on the terrace. For abandoning you four years ago." His hand moved from my wrist to my face.