Not thrilled by Raven’s explanation, I mutter a string of fucks and shits as I call for the dickhead slumlord’s death.
Seconds later, a black Town Car arrives. I tap on the glass, and when the response taps match my birthday, I get in the car.
Sliding into the backseat, I let the leather welcome me in its arms. The intoxicating scent of calm fills the air, forcing the tight set of my shoulders to relax. Inhaling, I bask in the woodsy, clean aroma that makes me feel like I’m back at my favorite spa.
I glance up, ready to ask what the driver is wearing, when two swirling amber-brown eyes, perfect like a ten-year-old aged bourbon, are already on me.
They stir a memory—one itching beneath my skin to remember but stubbornly refusing to show itself.
I’m not sure how long our gazes lock, but as I part my lips to ask the nagging cliche‘Do I know you from somewhere?’question, the car stops.
“Your bike will be on the eleventh floor. Three parking spaces to your left of the elevator.”
Buttery intoxicating. It’s the only way to describe his voice. My pussy clenches, calling out to the only person she’s ever bowed for.
I’m frozen in place. My hand—refusing to open the door and disrupt this magnetic connection. I try to see more of the driver, but like all our drivers for these types of missions, we don’t see their faces. Theonly reason this is safe is that it involves three to four dozen men specifically chosen and trained to handle rushed pickups.
“Lyssa!” The shout of my field name jostles me, and I blink my vision clear, quickly turning away and exiting the car.
I stand, but don’t move as I try to find my footing like a newborn fawn. Once I’m sure I won’t collapse and embarrass myself, I strut my ass to my bike. A box, perfectly wrapped with a crimson red bow, sits on the seat.
Peering into the night, my hackles rise until I see it.
Chuckling, I grab the stuffed fox.
He strikes again.
The eyes… the smell… the voice. It takes moments for everything to click. I whirl around to see headlights disappear from view.
“Fuck,” I hiss, both pissed and elated. He was so close. The closest he’s been since that night.
Unwilling to unbox whatever’s inside out in the open, I secure the gift and hop on my bike. Then, without a word, I ride the safe route back to headquarters.
“Debrief in thirty,” Raven states, and I grunt my understanding before cutting the connection.
I breeze by everyone, offering only half smiles and quick waves.
My feet don’t stop until I’m outside my suite. Eye scan, fingerprint scan, and blood match verified before my door slides open. I don’t even bother to take off the boots or the dress that I hate wearing. I’m laser-focused.
Instead, I stride to my bedroom, greeted by Lettie. She rubs her body against my leg and purrs. “Hey girl,” I murmur, stopping long enough to rub her favorite spot between her ears. “Let me just put this away first.” She quietly follows me, stopping only when I do to open the walk-in closet door. Punching in the code, a snick sounds, revealing my safe. I follow the same protocol as I did to enter my room. The lock disengages and opens to a room where all of my most prized possessions are kept. Weapons, tactical gear, whatever information about my biological parents that I could take from the Gordon family, and the walls displaying every gift I’ve ever received from B.
From jewelry to preserved severed hands, he’s spared no expense to spoil me.
My pussy clenches at his last gift. He sent the femur of a man who yelled racial epithets at me in the grocery store after I kicked him in the shin for touching my ass as he recorded it.
And they say the romance of courting doesn’t exist in the 21st century.
Kicking off my boots and tearing off the dress, I sit in my lacy boyshorts on my giant sofa bed.
Giddy with excitement, I pick up the card, flip it open, and snort.
To: My little fox.
You better play with my pussy somewhere I can see.
B
“We got another surprise, Lettie.” She stretches, sniffing the gift in my hand.
