I throw the laptop in my briefcase and tuck the small knife in my waistband.Just in case.
Not that it’ll do much if Nico decides to get handsy again.
I exhale hard through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair. I shouldn’t still feel him on me. On my skin. In my fucking head.
But I do.
And that scares me more than the job.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, slinging the briefcase over my shoulder as I step into the hall.
The guard waits just outside the door like he’s glued to the damn wall. He gives a stiff nod the second I step out, then turns without a word and starts leading me down the hall.
No small talk. No sideways glances.
Good. I’m not in the mood.
Each step echoes off the polished floors as we make our way downstairs. I try not to look too hard at the corners of the estate. There are too many cameras, too many doors I don’t have keys to. A cage dressed up like a mansion is still a cage.
Nico’s already in the foyer, black button-down rolled to the elbows, muscles on full display like a warning label. I find it odd he doesn’t have any tattoos. You’d think someone like him would.Then again, I’ve never seen him shirtless…
He’s slipping his car keys into his palm when he looks up and sees me.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches, his eyes sharp and cold.
Andfuck,he looks good doing it.
“Let’s go,” he says, jerking his chin toward the door.
He leads the way out, and I fall in step behind him, past the guards flanking the doors. Sunlight punches through the sky, blinding after hours in that marble prison. I squint and shovemy hands in my jacket pockets, pretending I’m not still replaying last night in my head.
The Benz is already parked out front, blacked out and gleaming like a loaded gun.
Nico unlocks it with a click, sliding behind the wheel. I slip into the passenger seat without a word.
It still smells like him in here. Spiced cologne. Leather.Power.
I stare straight ahead.
“Still don’t trust me to go alone?” I mutter as he pulls onto the road.
“I don’t trust anyone,” he says flatly. “But you’re aspecialcase.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach tightens anyway.
The city blurs past the windows as we head toward the docks. Sunlight bounces off the windshield, cutting lines across his face. He doesn’t flinch. Just drives like a man with a vendetta.
Because he is.
And for the next few hours, he’s my shadow.
Whether I like it or not.
When we reach the docks, he puts the car into park in an alley that smells like sea salt and diesel. Rusted fences line the perimeter, and rows of stacked shipping containers tower behind them.
Nico kills the engine but doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
