After a beat, three male voices, one unmistakably British, said as one, “What files?”
Chapter 23
Emily exhaled shakily. Oversized sweats hung loose on her frame—borrowed clothes someone had pressed into her hands after the rescue—but even wrapped in soft cotton, she felt raw, scraped open. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. No matter how firmly she gripped the water bottle, the faint tremor persisted. She didn’t open it. She couldn’t, not without letting go of Alec. His fingers were laced with hers beneath the table, grounding her like nothing else could.
He noticed immediately and slid his hand free long enough to twist off the cap. “Drink,” he ordered, the same steady command he’d used after their scene at the club. Then he reclaimed her hand, threading their fingers together.
Alec wasn’t wrong. She’d had neither food nor drink while a captive. The cool liquid eased her dry lips and throat.
Across the conference table, the frantic clatter of Gaby’s typing cut through the silence. Keys clicking, the processor humming, hope and dread moving in parallel. No one spoke. Not Alec, though his thumb stroked slow, steady circles on her knuckles. Not Mateo or Leland, still in tactical gear by the door. Not Devil, whose pacing carved a restless path at the head of the table.
Rhys leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, jaw locked. The tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.
Gaby’s laptop chimed, and every head in the room snapped up. It had been excruciatingly slow, but the files—the ones she’d risked her life to steal—had finally downloaded.
“Done,” she announced.
Callan stepped in, already reaching for the computer. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said briskly. “I’ve got decryption programs to run.”
Devil stopped pacing. “I’m not sure where to begin with my questions.”
The door opened.
Two men in suits entered—late, unapologetic. One scanned the room, freezing when his gaze landed on Gaby.
“Officer Flores,” he said. “Are you working for Devlin now?”
Rhys straightened, his voice low and sharp. “Officer? You’re a cop?”
Gaby didn’t even flinch. “Not anymore.”
Devil’s eyes narrowed. “You infiltrated our club undercover? How? Our screenings are extensive.”
She met his gaze, steady as she disclosed, “I used a clean identity—one the department helped me build for another case. No ties to law enforcement, no red flags, nothing to find. Joining during an expansion, with your team already stretched thin, gave me an advantage I can’t take credit for.”
Devil exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Risky, but smart.” He glanced at Leland. “We have gaps in our security to seal.”
“I’m on it first thing,” Leland replied, not looking at all pleased.
Rhys sat motionless, as if carved from stone. His stare stayed fixed on Gaby, unreadable at first, but Emily recognized the undercurrent of anger. They had been intimate, totally into each other. Even Alec, who knew a thing or two, thought so. Emily could imagine the betrayal he felt, like being punched in the gut.
“Did you join before or after handing in your badge?” he asked quietly, with no inflection whatsoever.
“After. I resigned when my superiors ignored my suspicions. When I pushed, they handed everything over to the feds—who spent months accomplishing nothing.”
The taller agent bristled. “We followed protocol.”
“While girls kept disappearing,” Gaby snapped.
Devil’s tone cut through the room. “Let me remind you—this is a debrief, not a pissing match.”
The agents exchanged a glance then fell silent. Gaby nodded once, her posture rigid.
Rhys spoke again, colder now. “So, it was a role you played.”
She didn’t answer, but the flush in her cheeks said enough.
“Are you even a submissive?” he asked.
