Max greets me directly outside of the apartment. His eyes flick down to the unconscious Flower in my arms, then rise back up to meet mine. He clears his throat and nods. “Ready to go?”
“Almost. There’s a feral cat in Scarlett’s bedroom; it’s coming with us.”
Max sighs. “And I suppose you want me to find a pet carrier and wrangle the cat into it?”
“Correct. There’s a pet carrier in the corner of the living room. Then, send in the guys to make this look like a multi-party break in, and do a clean to get any DNA out of here.” When Scarlett’s mystery brother finds out she’s gone, he’ll search this place, and I assume he’ll do so thoroughly—I need to be prepared for that.
“Alright.” Max glances at Scarlett again. “Greyson… she’s fragile. Don’t push her too hard too fast.”
Irritation unfurls in my chest, heating the blood in my veins. “She’s not your fucking concern,” I say flatly. “She’smyconcern.” I cock my head to the side. “Did the two of you have a chat or something?”
“Briefly, when she tried to turn and run.”
“I didn’t give you permission to talk to her.”
Max shakes his head. “Don’t do that, Grey. Don’t alienate me when I’m helping you and doing you favors. I didn’t make a move on her,and I won’t. I respect that she’s yours. But barring me from speaking to her—” he cuts off, lips thinning. “Don’t turn into Cain.”
“Cain doesn’t have a chosen yet.” Well, he does, but he hasn’t brought her to the fortress yet.
“Cain has already chosen the woman he’ll bring, but he’s tormenting her for a while before he takes her,” Max counters.
I nod. We both know that’s true—Cain’s dropped little tidbits and pieces here and there regarding his chosen, a woman who apparently stole his dead heart years ago and then turned her back on him. Evidently, he’s currently aiming to scare and destabilize her with some garden-variety stalking.
Scarlett thinks she’ll have it bad with me, but I genuinely pity Cain’s obsession, because I don’t think he’s capable of love or affection. He’s soulless and heartless, and he likes to break the pretty things he possesses. At least I’ll never aim to destroy Scarlett’s mind or spirit, but I think for Cain, breaking his chosen will be a damn prerequisite.
“I’m not turning into Cain.”
“Good, because I’m willing to bet he’ll break his girl before he can fully claim her. But you’re smarter than that. You havesomeemotional intelligence.”
‘I have emotional intelligence, andyoudon’t.’
My gaze flicks down to Scarlett as the memory of a past conversation between us resurfaces. Maybe I don’t take emotions into consideration as she does or have the same bandwidth for empathy, but I’m not a completely soulless bastard.
“Don’t talk to her if I’m not around.”
“Alright,” Max agrees with a nod. “I’ll get the cat. How feral are we talking?”
“Tried to claw my fucking eyes out.”
Max releases a soft puff of laughter. “Naturally, she chose the violent one. Got it. When’s the plane taking off?”
The Nighthawks have a few private jets to get us between ops, along with helicopters and plenty of other modes of transportation. Cain was willing to offer me use of a jet, though he doesn’t seem to be appropriately pleased that Scarlett’s returning to the fortress. He suggested I kill Scarlett rather than reclaim her when she first poisoned me and ran, but he hasn’t brought it up again since then.
“Wheels up in an hour.” It’ll be about a six-hour flight, but I gave Scarlett a strong sedative—she’ll sleep like a child the entire way. When she wakes up, I’ll ensure she starts coming to terms with her new reality.
I hold Scarlett on my lap for the entire duration of the flight, and the following drive to the fortress. Anticipation thrums through me, heightening my body temperature and speeding my heart, the closer we get to home.
The storm that constantly exists within me slowly begins to ebb the longer I hold Scarlett. In the short time I had her, she offered me an escape from my grief; now, she’s giving me purpose beyond the monotony of my work. Training her. Taking care of her. Being her everything, the way she quickly became mine.
My eyes flick up as we approach the fortress, its entrance marked with an electronic gate that looms ahead. It’s taller now, reinforced with steel, and threaded with live currents that hum in the air. Floodlights sweep the perimeter, catching on the glint of razor wire thatcrowns the electrified fencing, which surrounds the entire Nighthawk Fortress.
The guards aren’t half-asleep anymore; they’re armed, vested, and completely alert, their gazes tracking everything with military precision.
After a brief stop at the gate, the guards on shift wave us through, and the car progresses forward.
The fortress sprawls the same five miles of land, but the wasteland of neglect has been cut back into ruthless order, thanks to Cain. Old dirt roads have been paved into black asphalt, lined with stark white stripes. The brush has been razed and replaced with evenly trimmed grass fields.
At the center of property, the previous illusion of order is no longer an illusion. The stone pathways remain, but now they’re clean-cut and polished, every weed burned away. Security cameras are perched all over the place. The headquarters building still rules the grounds, but now it gleams with steel plating and mirrored windows.
