Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the arena like a private throne view. The desk is a slab of dark wood that probably costs more than some of the guys’ scholarships. Every pen is aligned, every frame perfectly angled. Not a single thing is out of place.
Just how he likes it.
I’m a liar. A thief.
No. I’m a soldier.
Genny is already at his desk, ignoring the massive leather chair like it’s wired to explode. She pulls a matte black USB drive from her hoodie pocket and plugs it into the docking station with a soft click.
“I’m in,” she whispers, fingers flying. “Encryption is thicker than we thought. I have to brute-force the archive.”
“How long?” I ask. My voice comes out lower than I intend, a rough growl.
“Six minutes. Maybe seven.”
I step back to the door, cracking it open to watch the hallway. I see Talia in the shadows, hovering near the corner, looking small and terrified and fierce all at once.
I gesture for her.Get inside.
She crosses the threshold in two seconds. I shut the door behind her, the latch clicking into place, sealing us in.
Now the silence is heavy. The air in here is pressurized, pressing against my eardrums. Genny is typing, a frantic, rhythmic clatter that sounds too loud.
I pull Talia away from the light of the door, dragging her into the blind spot in the corner. I press her back against the wall, my body crowding hers, shielding her from the window, from the room, from the ghost of the man who sits in that chair.
She’s trembling. I can feel the vibration of it radiating off her.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur, bracing my hand against the wall by her head.
“I’m fine,” she lies.
She isn’t. Neither am I.
My hand finds her hip, gripping the soft fabric of her hoodie. It’s a grounding wire. Touching her in here feels like a crime worse than the felony we’re currently committing. It feels like a desecration. I am muddying the pristine waters of my father’s life with the one thing he hates most.
“You just broke into my father’s office,” I say, the words tasting like ash and iron. “You’re standing in his sanctuary. You’re anything but fine.”
“We’re playing with fire,” she whispers, eyes darting toward Genny’s hunched back. “If they come back…”
“Let them come.”
The words leave my mouth before I can check them, but I mean them. God, I mean them. The reckless urge to burn it all down surges in my chest.
I dip my head, nose grazing her temple. I need to smell her—vanilla and rain—to scrub the scent of this office out of my lungs.
“I can’t be this close to you and not touch you,” I breathe against her skin. “Not anymore. I’m done trying.”
She reminds me we’re committing a felony. I tell her to add it to the list. I don’t care about the list anymore. The list was written by Alistair Reid, and I’m done reading it.
My hand slides under her hoodie, skin to skin. She is so warm. So alive in this dead, cold room.
“You said we’d fight back,” she whispers.
“We are.” I run my thumb over the dip of her waist. “But I’m allowed one selfish thing.”
I kiss her throat. I feel her pulse kick against my lips, wild and fast. She arches into me, and the surrender in the movement snaps the last thread of my control.
“We have four minutes,” she breathes, hands tangling in my hair. “This is not… a good idea.”
