I should be planning how to expose her. Catch her red-handed. Break her.
Maybe even bury her if it came to that. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to eliminate a threat to my family.
But watching her now, silhouetted against the dark water as she prepares to dispose of a man she killed in self-defense… I can’t think straight.
All I can think about is how badly I want to rip off that calm mask she’s wearing. I know she’s not emotionless—I’ve seen the frayed edges, the flashes of something real underneath. And Jesus, I want to get inside that, pry at the seams and find out what keeps her pretending.
I want to see what it would take to make her break.
My mind spirals before I can stop it. Her back pinned against a wall, my body caging hers as I strip away every defense until her shield cracks and shatters under my touch.
Fuck.
My cock hardens so fast I become lightheaded, her image blurring in front of me as blood rushes south. The fantasy heightens—cold concrete biting into her knees, my hands fisted in her hair, guiding her pretty face exactly where I want it. Those sharp blue eyes staring up at me, defiance melting into hunger as that lying mouth stretches around my cock and she chokes and?—
Enough.
Focus, damn it.
I force the images away, focusing on reality instead of fantasy.
Katie shoves the body off the crumbling dock with one final effort, and the splash is immediately swallowed by the thick, oily water. The chain drags the corpse down fast, the murky depths consuming it whole. A single bubble breaks the surface, and then nothing. Calm. As if nothing ever happened.
She lingers for a moment, watching the water, then wipes her hands on her jeans and turns back to her car.
After she gets in, I wait for her taillights to disappear down the road before following her yet again. This time, she drives back towards Queens, towards the estate, steering into the little hidden alleyway near the East River shore where the manhole is.
I keep driving past her location, heading for the main gates instead. Once I’m parked in the driveway, I pull out my phone and look up Emily’s name.
The news articles from her disastrous press conference last year pop up immediately—dozens of them, all with the same dramatic headlines about FBI corruption and exposed conspiracies.
But there’s only one name I’m interested in, and I find it in bold print halfway down the first article.
Katie Pierce, Emily’s former partner.
The pieces click into place with a satisfaction that tastes almost sweet. Federal agent.I fucking called it.The woman who helped expose Stacey Rodrigues and nearly brought down an entire corrupt network.
What the hell is she doing in my house? And more importantly—who sent her?
The Nightshades clearly want her for something, given that bounty on her head. But why infiltrate my estate specifically? What does she think she’ll find?
No more of this watching from a distance or following her around.
I need to cage her for now. Keep her close. In my house, under my roof, where I can study her without interference.
Where I can test her limits. Break her defenses. Find out everything she knows and who she’s reporting to.
And if I want to fuck her?
The thought sends heat flooding through me again, and I adjust myself in my seat with a grimace.
No one would know.
No one would dare question me.
I clench my jaw, forcing those thoughts back into the dark corner where they belong. She’s a threat. An unpredictable variable that could destroy everything my family has built. Someone I need to control, not fuck. I can’t let my cock do the thinking right now.
I managed to gain the upper hand tonight—caught her in the act, followed her without detection, discovered her real identity. Now I need to pounce before she realizes I know.
