And just like that, I’m gone again.
Blayt.
Not because she’s naked.
Because she doesn’tknow.
She doesn’t know she’s standing in the crosshairs. That one bad transfer, one wrong name on a ledger, already put her on the board.
She moves like her life is still hers. Like nobody dangerous knows her face. Like she’s got time.
She tugs at her bra strap, annoyed, muttering something. Her pants don’t fit right; she yanks them up anyway, fights with the zipper. No grace, no rhythm. Just the kind of messy chaos that should irritate me.
Instead, my cock presses hard against the waistband of my sweats.Fuck.
She bends toward the drawer, towel slipping for a second before she catches it. Bare skin flashing. Oblivious of what she’s offering.
I swallow dry. Force myself to breathe slowly.
She grabs a blouse. White, crisp, it clings damply against her skin as she shrugs into it. Fingers fumble the buttons, stopping halfway up, right at the line of her bra. I should look away. Instead, I watch the slow progress, every inch covered feeling worse than the glimpse of bare skin.
Christ, I’m a fucking creep.
I’ve gutted men for letting their guard down this far. Put bullets in their throats for less.
But with her?
I want to see it all.
The curve of her spine when she stretches. The dip of her waist where the fabric doesn’t hide enough. The way her thighs brush when she walks.
And the curtain… she doesn’t tie it closed all the way. Just leaves a sliver, a gap. Like she wants someone to see.
Like she wantsmeto.
She disappears behind the wall again. I shift closer, my palm against the cold glass. Not blinking.
Then she’s back.
Phone in hand, blouse half-buttoned, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She scrolls, casual at first, then faster, something on the screen locking her in.
And then, I see it.
She freezes.
Stiffens.
Her thumbs move once, typing something quick. She bites at her finger without realizing it, eyes glued to the screen. That lazy morning softness drains from her posture; shoulders tight, chin dipped, every line of her body sharp with tension.
She doesn’t move for several seconds. Just… still.
Then the phone drops to her side.
And I know. Whatever the message says, it isn’t good. I can see it in her body before she even moves.
My jaw locks hard. I feel something crack.
I reach for the Glock. It’s already chambered.
