“Yes.” Clara stepped closer, heat flaring in her cheeks but her resolve hardening. “She’s my best friend. She doesn’t know what she’s walked into, and I’m not leaving her at Oliver’s mercy.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then make it simple,” she shot back.
The challenge hung heavy in the air. Bishop arched a brow, watching with barely concealed interest. Duchess’s lips twitched, as if amused by Clara’s fire despite the tension.
Watchdog’s stare burned into her, unreadable, but beneath it she caught the flicker of something else, conflict, worry, maybe even reluctant admiration.
Clara folded her arms tighter, standing her ground. “If I’m part of the problem, then let me be part of the solution. Oliver expects me to sit pretty and do nothing. Fine. Let me turn that against him. Use me.”
The silence cracked. Bishop gave a low whistle. “I like her.”
Duchess shot him a look that was equal parts warning and amusement. “She’s right. If Grant believes she’s compliant, that could give us an edge. But it’ll need to be careful, calculated.”
Watchdog’s hand curled into a fist against the console. His instincts screamed no. But logic, cold, relentless, threaded through the heat of his pulse. She wasn’t wrong.
Finally, he exhaled. “Fine.” His voice was rough, reluctant. “We’ll look at options. But not tonight.” His gaze locked on hers, unflinching. “Do you understand what you’re asking? This isn’t a game, Clara. Once you step in, there’s no going back.”
Her stomach flipped, fear and adrenaline colliding, but she lifted her chin. “I know.”
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then Duchess nodded once, decisive. “Then we plan. I’ll call Bás.”
Chapter 15
The tech roomwasn’t working, wasn’t giving him what he needed.
Usually, the low hum of the servers calmed him, steady and constant, a sound he could sync his heartbeat to. Code was safe. Code was structured and it made sense. It didn’t change its mind; it didn’t shift under you like sand. But tonight, the glow of the monitors only made his skin itch. His fingers flew over the keyboard, but the words and numbers blurred, slipping through his grasp like water.
Clara kept breaking through.
The way her body had softened against his in the control room. The sound of her breath stuttering as fear gave way to something else. The flash in her eyes when she’d looked at his mouth.
It didn’t make sense. Attraction was…irrelevant. At least it always had been. He’d categorised people by skill sets, by reliability, by loyalty. Anything more personal was background noise he could filter out. But now? Now it felt like a program running in the background he couldn’t shut down, consuming resources he needed elsewhere.
He shifted in his chair, tugging at his shirt as if he could shake the sensation off. It clung, though. Like ants under his skin, a crawling agitation that wouldn’t let him rest. His pulse beat too high, his muscles twitched with a need he couldn’t code away.
What unsettled him most wasn’t the attraction; it was the comfort. When she’d clung to him, when she’d breathed with him, something inside him had steadied. And that was more dangerous than any spark of lust. Because if he started needing that steadiness, needing her, he would unravel when she left.
He scraped a hand down his face and pushed back from the desk. The chair rolled into the wall with a thud. His legs carried him out of the room without him fully deciding to leave, the restless energy in his body too sharp, too jagged.
By the time he looked up, he was at the gym.
The thrum of a bass shook faintly in his chest as he stepped inside. Metal clanged, heavy and grounding. The smell of rubber mats, sweat, chalk. Familiar, unpretentious. A different kind of order, simple, physical, brutal.
Titan and Hurricane were on the bench, trading spots under a bar loaded to the point of absurdity. Their laughter rolled deep, rich, echoing against the walls. On the mats, Snow darted like lightning, holding pads for Sebastian, her blonde ponytail swinging as her husband’s sharp, measured strikes landed with crisp thuds. The judge had come a long way since meeting Snow.
They looked up as he entered, the surprise at seeing him evident for a split second before it spread into delighted smiles, at least from Snow. He trained every day, but usually it was alone when everyone else was asleep or at home with their families.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Titan boomed, racking the bar with a grunt.
“Surprised you’re not married to your chair by now,” Hurricane added, calm and easy, a grin tugging at his mouth.
Snow’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Yes! Finally! I was about to storm your lair and drag you here myself. Sit-ups don’t count, Watchdog.”
His lips twitched despite the weight in his chest. “I do more than sit-ups.”
“Typing doesn’t count either,” Sebastian deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth tilted.
