I look up to the right, where I know the cameras in the Oval Office are recording this moment. My right hand reaches out, gripping his, sealing our fates—and the fate of the country—in one simple handshake.
Someday soon, the press will write about this. And Dove will see it. Or, if she doesn’t, she’ll at least hear about it. And every time my name pops up on the news, it will remind her of the monster she met that day. She’ll hate me, just like the rest of the country, and my name will only mean peril and despair. But that’s fine with me. Because unfortunately, it might be the only way I can make sure I stay away from her.
three
Rowan
Three years later
Red light cuts across my face as I peer through the thick cigar smoke curling through the shadows. Men in black tailored suits lounge in leather chairs, drinks in hand as they exchange words between puffs of deadly nicotine. I’ve never been here before, but Maddox has. He knows where we need to be.
Many government agents frequent this club often, but the list goes far beyond public servants. Mafia heads, billionaires, men with influence, they all come to The Hive for one thing only: to hire honeypots. Young, attractive people trained to seduce, spy, and annihilate their clients’ rivals in ways so subtle you’d fall to your fucking knees and thank them for the honor.
On the inside, the place doesn’t look much different from a gentlemen’s club. There’s a bar, subdued music, and private booths where no one dares question what you might lay on the table. It’s all a facade, though. And a pointless one, if you ask me, since no one gets to come here without an official invitation, anyway. But I guess they can’t be too careful.
Maddox stops in front of a black curtain, where a single goon is guarding whatever is on the other side.
“We’re here for Shalone,” he says.
The goon doesn’t answer. Instead, he inches closer and starts patting him down, looking for anything that might put the Matron’s life in danger. They already searched us twice when we arrived.
When he’s done with Maddox, I’m next. I clench my jaw and jerk my shoulder free from his grasp when he sees I have nothing on me either. The curtain is drawn back and I follow Maddox inside, where a long corridor leads us into a much larger and darker room. It almost smells like a fucking church in here—there’s a cool earthiness wafting from somewhere in the distance, mixed with the faint scent of old wood and spices of some sort. The Matron’s honeypots are well known for the strength of their handmade poisons, which I assume is what my senses are picking up.
“How do we find her?” I ask him, dusting myself off. “This place looks like a fucking maze.”
“We don’t. She’ll come to us.”
I don’t like that answer. Maddox is already campaigning to become president from his current role as a senator. I’ve just won the war in the Ridge for President Delaney, and more people want us dead than I dare to count. But if you’re here for business, you come alone—no security, no team, no nothing. It’s the Matron’s only rule and a risk we had to take, according to our plans. Still, I want to get Maddox out of this shithole as fast as possible.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before we’re approached by someone. Man or woman, I have no fucking clue. They’re wearing a long, red cloak with a hood and a plain white mask with two holes for eyes. What honeypot we might hire and the assignment they’re given is never to be disclosed to the other club members. Privacy is a priority for everyone who comes here, and Shalone understands that.
Except… we’re not here to hire anyone at all. But that’s not what we told her.
“Gentlemen,” the person says, the voice warm and smooth like melted chocolate.
So a woman, then.
She walks right past us, and I follow Maddox, who starts moving in her direction. We’re then led through another corridor until finally stopping in one of the empty rooms. The gentlemen’s club feels so far away already, as if we’ve entered a completely different building.
I let the woman go through the doors, but Maddox and I share a quick look. They could corner us right now if they wanted to. I’m already looking around and thinking of ways to take us out of here if need be.
“If we wanted you dead, we would’ve come to you, Commander,” she says, jerking her head toward the door. She wants it closed. “We don’t hold corpses here to sully the place.”
As if.
Before either of us says anything she unbuttons her cloak, revealing a sleek, figure-hugging silk dress in black. The fabric shimmers under the dim lights as she takes off her hood, her blond hair swaying behind her like a golden veil.
“You’re not Shalone,” I say, not letting her out of my sight.
“Perceptive,” she answers with a smile in her words, the ebb of her voice trained to perfection. Not too soft, not too bold either. Just the right amount of tease that she can easily reel back if she wants to.
I admire her precision, I really do. But if she thinks that will work on either of us, she’s mistaken. The more I look at her, the more restless I grow for checking my phone’s live view of Dove’s cameras in her new apartment.
She’s moved out of her parents’ house. She’s studying to become a lawyer in Washington. I’m so fucking proud of her, butI never get to tell her that in person. I’ve been watching her for so long while the war was ongoing… and as soon as I’m out of here, I plan on going there to see her. Only for a few minutes—she won’t even know I’m there.
Just this morning, the image of her spreading herself out on the bed and calling my name when she touched her own cunt drove me fucking insane. To think that after all these years she still thinks about me baffles me. I’ve given her no reason to. And it seems my drastic war campaign didn’t change her mind about me like I hoped it would. Part of me feels relief, while the other part continues to shout into my brain that I can’t touch this woman. I know I can’t, I just…
I sigh, the recording flashing through my mind one last time. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.
