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The moment I step inside, the comforting weight of silence settles over me. But even now, something feels off.
I toss my jacket onto the back of the leather sofa, moving through the darkened loft like a shadow. My thoughts are still circling back to her, to the way her body trembled beneath my hands, to the sound of her breath catching when I leaned in closer.
She shouldn’t matter. Shedoesn’tmatter.
So why can’t I shake the image of her from my mind?
The monitors flicker to life as I drop into the chair behind my desk, the soft hum of the computer breaking the silence.
Time to put this ghost to rest.
My fingers move quickly across the keyboard, pulling up the surveillance footage from the office I just redecorated in blood. I didn’tjustdownload all those files. I set up a back door into their system, since I couldn’t get in before.
This would be why I had to pretend to be a potential investor and let Fedir and his dipshits lead me right to the place.
Russians aresopredictable like that. Flash some cash, and they get sloppy.
I frown as I peer at the screen, scrolling back.
There she is.
My lips purse and I steeple my fingers under my chin as I watch “Karen” slip in through the side door of the building. She moves with a caution that suggests she knows exactly what she’s doing.
It’s…professional.
“A temp”, she called herself.
Yeah,bullshit. She broke in, and she was looking for something.
I let the footage run, frowning as I watch her scan the room, her gaze darting toward the back of the offices. She moves like someone who’s used to being unnoticed, someone who knows how to slip between the cracks. That means she’s dangerous.
I don’t like loose ends. And Ihatedangerous ones.
I watch as she sinks down behind a desk, infuriatingly out of view of any of the cameras. But I do see her pop up again a few minutes later, peering around the corner of the desk and quickly darkening a laptop when I walk in.
I watch myself neatly slicing and dicing Fedir and his men. Then her bolting and running, with me right behind her.
I watch hersquirmas I wrap a hand around her pretty throat.
I pause the feed there, staring at her face—wide-eyed, terrified, but not broken.
She didn’t break.
I lean back in my chair, fingers drumming on the armrest, replaying the scene in my mind. I could have ended it right then. Ishouldhave. But instead, I put my hand on her neck. I felt her trembling pulse beneath my fingers.
I let her soft, pouty lips wrap around my fingers and felt the wet softness of her mouth.
Then I let her go.
I’m still not sure why the fuck I didanyof those things.
The question gnaws at me, but no matter how much I turn it over in my mind, I can’t find the answer. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe I just wanted to see what she’d do. Maybe the monster inside of me sometimes just gets fuckingbored.
Maybe I wanted her to run to see how far she’d get before I caught up to her.
I turn off the computer, the screen going dark as I lean forward, my fingers tapping the edge of the desk thoughtfully.
I’ll find her again. And when I do, there won’t be any hesitation.
