Page 90 of Villainous Intent

He took my brilliant, beautiful Annie, a woman drowning in her own dark desires, and smothered her with his mundane expectations until she broke down. He had tainted her with his mediocrity.

He had made her cry.

“Twenty-Three,” I said.

“Sir?”

“Bring me Adkins’ current coordinates. And ready a disposal team.”

It was simple math. Finley Adkins had lived exactly four hours and twelve minutes longer than he deserved. I was going to correct the error.

CHAPTER 17

ANNIE

I stared at my phone, the pixelated words burning back at me for the hundredth time since I’d fled the penthouse.

You really shouldn’t have run.

That was it. No follow-up texts. The silence was worse than if he had bombarded me with messages and threats. I had no idea what he was thinking. Or planning.

I shifted in my chair, biting the inside of my cheek as the movement pulled at the sore muscles in my shoulders. At least next time I knew not to struggle so hard if my hands were bound above my head. Wait—no. That shouldn’t be the take away from last night. I shouldn’t have let him tie me up in the first place.

I tore my attention away from the phone and scowled back at my computer. The Aegis’ email sat in my inbox, a bureaucratic death sentence wrapped in sanitized corporate speak.

Outstanding engagement metrics. Unprecedented cross-faction synergy.

Because Cipher and I had put on such a convincing show of dominance and submission at the Opener, the League wanted to parade us around even more. And more high-profile League events meant more exposure to the League elite, which meant more chances for my fucked up Super radar to pinpoint the rogue Trueborn.

Our next mandated public appearance was tonight.

My stomach executed a flip. What was Cipher going to do when he saw me? I had explicitly disobeyed a direct order and bolted into the night wearing his clothes, which were currently stuffed in the bottom of my closet like contraband.

I reached up and found the bruise from Cipher’s mouth resting just above my collarbone and pressed down. A sharp, sweet ache bloomed outward, sending a rush of heat through my body. I was covered in his marks. I hated myself for it, but I had spent the entire day chasing the pain. I kept pressing on the bruises under my clothes just to remind myself last night had been real.

I wasn’t afraid of whatever punishment he was currently engineering for my disobedience. I was terrified of how desperately my body craved his retaliation.

A sharp ping startled me and I snatched my hand away from my neck, lunging for my keyboard. An internal communication notification flashed green.

Bishop. My office. Now. - Havoc

I grabbed my tablet and headed off. Havoc’s afternoon schedule was a logistical nightmare of street clashes, fan meet-ups and Alliance debriefs. He probably wanted to go over the timeline.

The second I crossed the threshold into his office, Havoc pinned me with a look from behind his desk. He looked too serious for a scheduling conflict.

“I can move the mayor’s liaison to Thursday,” I said, sinking into the chair across from him, hoping to derail whatever it was he wanted to talk about. “And if you want to hit things before the street clash, the training room is clear at four.”

“I don’t care about my schedule, Annie. I care about yours.” Havoc folded his hands. “I’m putting you on administrative leave.”

“What?” His words simply didn’t make sense.

“Effective immediately. You’re on leave.”

“No.” Panic spiked hot and fast in my chest. Work was my anchor. The rules, the paperwork, the schedules—they kept the chaos out. They kept me from obsessing over silver eyes and bruised skin. Mostly.

“I’m not taking a leave. Your schedule⁠—”

“My schedule will survive,” Havoc interrupted. “You spent the night in your old room just so you could get a jumpstart on your work today, kid. That ends now.”