CHAPTER 69
I try to look through the slats and get a terrible view of her standing at the end of the hallway, arms wrapped around herself like a lost lamb.
“Sorry,” she calls, voice wobbling just right. “I’m looking for my friend… her appointment was supposed to be over fifteen minutes ago.”
A low male voice answers, suspicious but curious.
“You’re not supposed to be here, sweetheart. The center is closed.”
“I know, I just—I didn’t see anyone at the front desk.”
The footsteps retreat, lured by her bait.
“Wait here.”
She—in fact—does not wait.
At least she ignores what everyone says. Not just me.
She tiptoes as quietly as possible to the closet. I open it just as she arrives, and she startles like she didn’t know I’d be in here.
“What is your fucking problem?” I whisper, wrapping my arm around her waist and hauling her inside.
“Son of a mother-trucker, I am saving your booty,” she mutters, steadying herself with both hands on my chest. “You’re welcome.”
She feels perfect in my arms, and I’m struggling to remember the English language.
“No one can take you seriously when that’s how you curse.”
This woman actually sticks her tongue out at me like a seven year old.
I don’t want to let her go, but we’re on a mission.
“Let’s get this over with.” I hand her the transmitter now that she’s occupying what little room is left in here.
“Get over there, shorty.”
She snatches it from me, fire flashing in her eyes.
Tiny green lights flicker to life.
“Signal reestablished,” crackles in my earpiece. “We’re live again.”
She heard it too. We both nod, ready to get the fuck out of Dodge.
But before I can reach for the knob, the sound of voices returns.
“Hold your positions.” The techs directive is low in our earpieces.
Steps come closer.
“We can’t afford random clients running around tonight.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Calm down, Don.”
“The mayor’s supposed to be here,” one says, and my stomach knots.
Paty’s eyes shoot to mine, wide. “So it better fucking go perfectly.”
The space barely fits one body, let alone two. She’s nearly pressed against me. I feel her breath on my chest—quick, too quick and shallow. She’s starting to panic.
“Hey,” I whisper, tipping her chin so she’s looking at me. She presses into me, trembling.
I wrap my arms around her waist, murmuring low against her temple.
“Breathe, Paty. You’re okay.”
She fists my vest like she’s drowning. I don’t mind. I wish we weren’t wearing this gear—so she could hold me, not the damn vest.
I’d let her break my ribs if it kept her from unraveling.
Outside, doors open. Laughter spills out. Then they close again. They’re looking for her. Getting closer to our hideout.
“Just slow down, okay?”
I never look away—and neither does she.
Her body molds to mine, soft curves against hard lines. I feel her heartbeat, her tremble, the delicate hitch of every breath.
My hand cradles her jaw like she’s something fragile, something rare.
Without thinking, my thumb rubs her cheek.
Her eyes are wide and glassy, shimmering with something raw and unguarded.
I drag my thumb lightly across her bottom lip, feeling the slight tremble there, the way she leans into the touch without realizing it.
Her mouth parts slightly—soft, yielding—and her eyes flutter half-closed.
Every instinct in me roars to life.
I lean in, slow and deliberate, giving her the chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
If anything, she tilts her head up, offering herself with a soft, broken sound that damn near tears me apart.
Our mouths are a breath away, the tension pulled so taut it could slice us both open.
I want to kiss her.
Wreck her.
I want to taste what she sounds like when she moans my name.
I breathe her in instead, hovering on the precipice of something I can’t take back.
The sound of voices echoing farther down the hall pulls me back to reality like a punch to the ribs.
I don’t want to do this here.
Not like this.
Not the first time her lips feel another’s. Not in a fucking closet where girls are being held and drugged before being sold like livestock.
Our earpiece crackles, and her shoulders jump. The moment snaps, breaking immediately.
“All clear. Return to the van.”
I press my forehead to hers, forcing my pulse down.
Somehow, I pull away before I ruin us both.
“You ready?” I rasp, my voice lower, rougher than it should be.
She nods, and without another word, we slip back into the hallway.
We move quickly, navigating the shadows without getting caught.
She stays close, steps light, hand in mine until we’re back in the van.
But she doesn’t look at me.
Not once.
Every glance avoids mine—fixing on the walls, the floor, anything but me.
And I start to wonder if I crossed a line.
If it wasn’t just adrenaline or timing.
If I read her wrong.
If she regrets every second in that closet.
But some feral, ugly part of me refuses to believe it.
I know what I saw in her eyes.
I know how her body fit against mine, like something instinctive.
Like she needed me in the same savage, breathless way I need her.
I’m fucking crazy for her. More every goddamn day.
And there’s no cure in sight but taking more. Touching more. Having her in ways I know I shouldn’t even dream about.
I shove it all down when the mayor shows up.
The van goes silent, and no one moves.
We just watch as the city’s smiling, self-righteous, camera-loving leader strolls into a basement full of girls young enough to still believe in fairy tales. Cash burning a hole in his pocket.
A fucking monster in a tailored suit.
My stomach twists with something colder, meaner than anger.
It’s betrayal.
Disgust.
Hate so sharp it scrapes bone.
I thumb a message to Rourke, fingers clumsy with rage.
ROGER: Incoming. Shit’s about to hit the fan.
ROURKE: Team's already staged. Waiting on your call.
Good.
Because once I get the green light, we’re kicking this whole house of cards down.
I glance at the feed, jaw tight.