Page 79 of Drowning in Darkness

I’ve made it back to the lodge without paying attention to my surroundings, which isn’t like me. My survival has always depended on being alert at all times, and now is no different.

I’ve noticed Burnside circling my position under the guise of supporting the new leader. But I’m not stupid. He wants my fucked-up crown. He can have it, just before I detonate the organization and watch with glee as he shatters alongside everyone else who needs an express ride to hell.

Until recently, Camryn has been operating under the notion that the FBI isn’t corrupt. That if she got enough evidence and caught the targets in the act, they would get justice. Now her world has been turned upside down, and she’s more accepting of the cold, hard fact that the only justice these men are going to get is by my hand.

Whatever evidence she gathers won’t stick, not when it would implicate too many people in power. I have plans, none of them legal, but sometimes that’s how you have to deliver what they deserve. Will I survive it? Absolutely not. But I’m going to make sure the organization is unrecoverable when I go and that the world sees every file, every video, every scrap of evidence to expose these people.

How is that going to happen when they hold so much power? Easy. They don’t have one of the world’s best hackers, who just so happens to be my sister and who is invested in exposing their sick secrets.

I glance through the windows to try to catch a glimpse of Stephanie and come up empty. I don’t like not knowing where she is, which is a problem. It’s not like she’s out roaming the world; she’s safe and sound in my damn house.

“Get your shit together,” I grumble before snatching the hose and checking the hot tub. It’s full, but freezing, and it’s going to take a day to get up to temperature. It’s not lost on me that I’ve not bothered with it before she arrived and lit up at the prospect.

I fold the lid over it and steel myself for whatever I’m about to walk back into. A moody Stephanie because I abandoned whatever game we were playing earlier? A quiet, reflective woman as she replays her actions and realizes how fucked up I am? Maybe the version of her that pretends everything is fine and is pottering about the lodge like darkness isn’t stalking her?

The walk helped cool me off. Hopefully, it’s done the same for her.

A quick scout of the kitchen, dining room, and living room reveals no temptresses. The library is also empty. I frown as I head down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I tap against the wood of hers with my knuckles.

“Stephanie? You okay?” I call out.

No answer. She hasn’t shown any worrying signs, but I’m no expert, and those scars on her wrists flash in my mind as well as the terrifying image of her dangling by her neck from a damn chain. Nope, fuck privacy. I’m going in. She needs to learn to answer.

I push open the door, and I’m hit straight away with her berries and vanilla scent that drives me freaking nuts. The bedsheets are rumpled, but there’s no tumble of dark hair or softly snoring woman among them.

Music filters from the bathroom, and steam billows from beneath the door. Shower, heat, water... more things that form a terrifying picture. My mind is a dark place, but if I lose her, I will lose everything. My sister, who I just got back in my life; Camryn, the agent who has more faith in my soul than I do; and the woman who reminds me of the good still left in the world. Stephanie is the one I’m fighting for. She embodies every survivor, every person spared from this life of misery and pain. If she stops breathing, then I think I’ll lose my nerve.

When did that happen? When did she sneak in and become my reason for walking the edge of danger? Easy—the moment I met her. She drew me into her orbit, like my own personal sun to my cold, dark planet which circles but never touches that which would burn.

And she would burn, so freaking sweetly.

“Stephanie?” I call out. “I need you to answer me so I know you’re okay.” No answer, just sultry music. It’s an odd choice if she’s doing what I fear. But that means nothing. “Count of five, sweetheart.”

No answer.

“One, two, three.”

Fuck this.

I swing open the door, and I’m hit with thick steam and a beat that vibrates in my veins. How long has she been in there? I stalk toward the streaming shower, the outline of her body shifting in the foggy glass running with condensation.

“James, please touch me.”

The breath leaves my lungs in a short burst.

The words aren’t for me. Not really. Her hand slams against the glass, and she moves, revealing more of her body. She grasps the hand-held shower extender with her other hand.

I need to leave. Now. I will my feet to move, but they won’t obey. I swallow as her head tips back and a throaty groan leaves her parted lips.

Shit. I need to leave. Eyes up, man, come on.

She’s devastating. Hypnotizing. Every wicked fantasy come to taunt me.

And me? I’m powerless, starving, and utterly enraptured.

Her back arches, leaving her wet curls to touch the curve of her ass. The steam offers me teasing glimpses of her body. The dip in her waist, the curve of her neck, the peak of her nipples, hard despite the heat.

Her hand fists against the glass, and before I can stop myself, my hand mirrors hers. Our palms flatten, and I try to keep my focus on our fingers separated by a thin sheet of glass. I would hold her hand through her release, centering her world as she loses control. Holding her when she’s at her most vulnerable because there is nothing more exposed than letting your body fall in front of someone else. The trust it takes is something I’ll never deserve or experience, so right here, right now, I can pretend that I am that person for her.