I don’t wait for them. I’m out of the SUV before the engine fully dies, marching up the walk and punching the code in. The lock buzzes, and I shove the door open.
"Skipper?" I call out, my voice cracking.
A frantic scrabbling of claws on hardwood answers me. A tiny ball of fur rockets around the corner, slipping on a throw rug before launching herself at my shins.
I drop to my knees, scooping her up. She’s vibrating with joy, licking my chin, yapping those high-pitched squeaks that usually annoy the hell out of me but right now sound like a choir of angels. She’s wearing a new collar, a pink leather one with rhinestones and her coat is brushed and shiny.
"I missed you too, you little traitor," I whisper, burying my face in her fur to hide the fact that my eyes are burning.
I hear the heavy tread of boots behind me as the guys file in and close the door against the storm. They stand back, watching us.
I rise to my feet, holding Skipper against my chest like a shield and look around the room. There’s a pile of high-end dog toys in the corner. A bag of the organic kibble and a plush dog bed that looks more comfortable than my cot in the van.
"You spoiled her," I accuse, though the bite is gone from my tone.
"She has expensive taste and she deserves the very best." Damon says with a shrug, leaning against the wall. "Like her mother."
I roll my eyes, but my heart does a weird little flip. I walk over to the kitchen island and set Skipper down. She immediately trots over to a bowl of water and starts lapping.
"Okay," I say, turning to face them. "You got me here. You gave me the dog. Now let’s talk business."
Andre walks past me into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Water? Wine? Whiskey?"
I scoff, “Right, cause I didn’t learn my lesson about accepting any type of drinks from you guys? No, nothing for me.”
He stares at me for a beat but then nods. “I’m going to make coffee. You are welcome to watch me start to finish so you know it’s clean and safe.”
He walks past me and starts messing with a fancy espresso machine. I sigh and bite my lip at the kneejerk response that’s automatic for me now. If I’m going to accept help from them, there will need to be at least a basic level of trust between all of us so I ask for a cappuccino softly and he gets this small smile on his plush lips that makes me want to bite and suck on them. It still doesn’t stop me from watching his every move as he makes me the coffee though.
Once we’re all seated around the dining table with fancy coffees, I take a minute to get my head straight. If I’m going to do this, let them in, then there needs to be ground rules in place. So I pin each one of them with a hard look before I lay it out.
“I like your cocks. I really like fucking you. Alone or all at once, I like it all but let’s be clear about this. We are sexually attracted to each other and fit well in that aspect BUT… we hardly know each other and we aren’t in love. We're just really good together in bed. So, you want to fuck? Fine. But stop trying to make this something more than it is. We can fuck, we can work together to nail this bitch and after it’s done… So are we.”
I hold my breath waiting for their response and I honestly don’t know if I want them to agree or push back against my declaration. The silence stretches between us as they stare back at me until my skin feels too tight for my body. I finally drop my eyes and take the moment to pull the folded schematics from my back pocket. I smooth them out on the table in front of me and push the papers across to them.
"Dr. Aris Thorne," I say, tapping the paper. "She’s hosting a 'Lovers & Longevity' retreat at her Napa estate leading up to the Heart of Gold Auction and Valentine’s Day party. That’s thecover for the con. I’ve been working my way up in her staff for the sole reason to be at that party.
The goal is the 'Heart-Box' safe in her private office that holds the smoking gun for her 'Debt-to-Life' model."
"The algorithm?" Damon asks, adjusting his glasses.
"Better," I correct. "The original, un-redacted purchase agreements with the hospital networks. It proves she’s buying patient debt while they’re still in the ICU, violating HIPAA and federal entrapment laws to guarantee she gets to pick their estates clean when they die. It proves the whole model is a criminal enterprise, not a financial service. The safe’s biometric. Voiceprint, retina scan and pulse to open."
He leans over the table to get a better look at the blueprints. "Standard high-end corporate paranoia. But if it’s a prototype, it’ll have a fail-safe for maintenance, a physical bypass port to install patches and updates until it’s solid."
"It does," I confirm. "But it’s air-gapped so no remote hacking. Someone has to physically plug into the safe to run the decryption while someone else keeps Thorne distracted enough to not trigger the silent alarm linked to her vitals."
"A two-man job," Damon says, coming to stand on my other side. He smells like rain and expensive cologne. "One inside, one on the mark."
"Three," Andre corrects, tapping one of the pages that has the estate's security details on it. "One on security and extraction. If Thorne catches wind of a breach, she locks the estate down. Steel shutters, magnetic locks. It becomes a tomb."
I wrap my hands around the mug in front of me, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. "I can handle the safe. I’ve built the software but I can’t be in two places at once. I can’t keep Thorne or her security distracted and crack her vault simultaneously."
"That’s why you need us," Marcus says softly. "We’re the force multiplier, Demi."
I look at them. Really look at them. They aren't just muscle and charm. They’re professionals. And right now, looking at the impossible fortress I’ve been trying to figure out how to breach for weeks, the relief of sharing the weight is staggering.
"Fine," I say, taking a sip of the coffee and trying not to moan at how perfect it tastes. "We do this but it’s a merger. A professional partnership. I call the shots on the target. You handle the logistics."
