There’s a reason I call her hellcat. Caleb’s a walking wall in combat gear and a mask that makes most grown men rethink their lives, but not her. Tamsin doesn’t scare easy, and that’s a problem. A dumb, dangerous, and so fucking sexy I can barely think straight, problem.
“Is he okay?” I ask, turning back to the screens, making the last adjustments to our plan.
“He’ll live,” Beau replies, dropping into the seat beside me. “We doing this tonight?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
She’s been doing all the dirty work herself while we’ve played cleanup, but that ends now.
“It’s about damn time,” Beau says, clapping me onthe back. “Tamsin’s been killing off her list while we played catch-up. Let’s go get your girlfriend’s gift.”
I stand, grabbing the gear without looking at him. “She’s not my girlfriend,” I stiffen, jaw tight.
The wordgirlfriendis too small. Too clean. It doesn’t fit her.
Caleb steps in with a gun in one hand and a lighter in the other, the corner of his mouth curling under the mask. “Right. She’s your obsession.”
He’s not wrong.
The problem is… she’s starting to become more than that, but there’s no chance in hell I’m ever telling them that.
It’s late when we reach the mansion where Sterling’s been hiding, tucked away while some of his men waste their time searching for Bram.
Good luck with that—they won’t find him.
We’re already geared up, masks down, gloves cinched tight, guns and knives strapped around our waists and chests. Beau waits in the van, his voice our lifeline in the comms, feeding us the map in our ears. Without him,this place would swallow us whole. It’s a huge estate that looks more like a fucking maze than a house.
“I can’t wait to burn this to the ground,” Caleb mutters as we sink into the shadows at the edge of the tree line.
“We’re not burning it to the ground,” I growl back. The fucker’s been getting more pyromaniac by the week. “You really need to get laid.”
“You’re no fun, brother.” His chuckle is low, already moving toward the perimeter wall. I crouch, hands laced to give him a boost. He jumps up, scanning the other side before leaning down to grip my forearm and hauling me over.
“Coast is clear,” Beau’s voice hums in my ear. “Two at the front entrance. Armed.”
I signal left, and Caleb slips into the dark without hesitation, a shadow moving over stone.
We hit the first two guards like a storm breaking. My hand clamps over one’s mouth just as Caleb’s arm hooks around the other’s throat. The muffled crack of vertebrae almost disappears into the night air. My blade slides under the first man’s chin, angled up until it breaks through into his mouth. His eyes blow wide, breath hitching in a wet choke as steel steals his voice. I keep the pressure until his weight sags, knees folding.
We drag the bodies into the hedgerow’s shadow andkeep moving. Beau’s voice is a steady thread, guiding us through the servant halls that stink of mildew and old polish, steering us away from the slow, lazy sweep of roaming patrols.
“Incoming,” he warns. “Three guards, east hall, heading your way.”
Caleb’s grin is audible under the mask. “I’ll take two.”
We slip into an alcove, letting the trio pass, and fall in behind them like shadows. Caleb strikes first—one knife to the kidney of the first guard, another to the neck of the second. He drags them into the dark before the metal even clatters to the floor. I take the third, my palm smothering his mouth as my blade finds the base of his spine.
The kills pile up quietly, minutes stretching long until the mansion’s halls are hushed, the only sound our boots across marble.
“Bedroom’s west wing,” Beau says. “Sterling’s inside. No movement.”
The hallway there is choked with thick rugs, muffling every step as the air grows heavier. We ease the door open just enough to slip through.
There he is: Sterling. He’s sprawled out on a king-sized bed, mouth open, completely blind to the fact this will be his last peaceful moment.
Caleb shuts the door behind us, and I stand still,knife in hand, smiling beneath the mask.
“Wake him up,” I murmur.
