My heart thumps harder, a sharp twist forming in my gut the closer we get to the house. Every mile adding more substance to the lump growing in my throat. This has to be more than just a miscommunication between us. Something is off. I’ve learned to trust my gut over the years, its instinct has kept me alive on more than one occasion, and right now, it’s telling me to be wary.
Passing through the wrought iron gates protecting their fucking castle of a house, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a heavy weight seems to settle around my chest. I straighten myself in my seat, pulling away from Ryder, and immediately feel for my backpack at my feet. There is no doubt in my mind now that something is wrong, and as I look at the four men around me, they all seem to be oblivious. Lazily glancing around the grounds, or in Max’s case, still asleep.
I know the warning signs before shit hits the fan and this isn’t going to be the time I ignore them. “Driver, stop the car,” I order, my tone lowering into that of authority.
He looks over to Zane, as if waiting for approval, but Z’s eyes are locked on me with confusion swimming through them. Mentally logging that I’ll be re-addressing the “chain of command” issue with them later, my irritation is morphing from an uncomfortable simmer to a raging boil.
“Stop the car, NOW!” This time leaving no room for him to argue. It’s bolder, sharper, as I spear his eyes with my own through the rear-view mirror.
He finally hits the breaks—smart man—and brings the vehicle to a stop a mere twenty-five feet from the front door. The gates have closed far behind us, and although I hope I don’t have to chase anyone all the way back down the drive, it gives me some peace to know they wouldn’t make it far anyway.
“Bear, what the hell?” Zane tries asking but I ignore him, already diving into the mode where my darkness lives and thrives. The Mikayla from the weekend—carefree, relaxed, and sensual—has faded away. Replaced by skill, strategy, and honed instinct that’s been developed over years.
My eyes gaze through the front windshield, watching for any kind of movement or disturbance, while simultaneously reaching forward and rifling around in my bag.
I slink out the door on my left, silent and cautious, as I strap my dagger to my thigh, and grab my throwing knives that had been hidden within the lining of my bag. My hand grazes over my gun tucked into the side pocket and I quickly move it, placing it against my back.
“Stay the fuck in the car,” I shoot out over my shoulder before moving around the door and pushing on it to close.
Right before it latches, a chorus of “what the fuck,” and “what’s going on,” echo from the car. With one “is that a fucking blade!?” coming from Ryder, who must have caught everything since he was beside me, before their voices are muffled behind metal.
Using the SUV as a barrier for as long as I can, I make quick work of getting from the vehicle to the front door. It hangs slightly ajar, signs of an unwanted visitor trespassing in our home.
Our home. When did I start thinking of this place as home?
Shaking off the thought before it sinks in too far and distracts me, I slide inside without a sound. Creeping through the main floor, and checking around every corner for where the mystery person could be. I’m moving between the shadows, quietly, cautiously, as I clear each room with my blade in hand. I’m just about to head down towards the gym and Kade’s computer room when a shuffling sound echoes from upstairs, immediately catching my attention.
My hand slides along my waist, palming the handle of my Glock 19 as I begin my ascent. Knuckles white, grip tight, I climb the stairs and head for the bedroom hallway. Whoever has let themselves into our home is too busy rummaging through everyone’s shit to notice my approach. Sidling up to the half open door ofmyroom, I inhale deep and center myself before slipping past the door and pointing my barrel at our unwelcome guest.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” I snarl with a cold and distant voice. “Hands.”
When they don’t comply, I cock my gun and hear as their breath catches with the sound of the click.
Good. Now they know who holds the power here.
Slowly and without a sound, I walk the remaining five feet between us, pressing the barrel against the back of their head. Whoever they are, they took careful measures to try and conceal themself, but even the extra fabric they're wearing won’t protect them from a bullet in their brain. Black hood covering their face, black gloves on their hands, and basic black sneakers you could find at any department store.
They’re looking for something, but what is the question. Everything in here that was of any importance I took with me when I left, yet my desk sits disheveled. Papers thrown around with some falling to the floor, while others lay in weird piles. The cabinets and drawers left half open, like they thought it would take too much time to shut them after.
Definitely an amateur. All this effort to hide your identity, and yet you make a bigger mess than a toddler in a paint booth.
“Hands in the air and turn around. Any sudden movements and your brain matter will be the new art along my walls.”
This time they don’t make me wait, hands raising in the air and moving at the pace of a frozen slug, they do as they’re told. Head hanging low, when they finally get far enough to properly look at them, all I can see is a bandanna covering the majority of their face. Another tactic to hide, and yet I caught them so easily. Judging by the slim frame, that they tried to pitifully hide beneath a hoodie that’s clearly two sizes too big, my guess would be this is a female. Ex maybe?
“Maybe a current one,”the dark voice inside me rasps and my heart sinks a little lower.
“Keep your hands up. Remove the shit on your face and show yourself,” I bark, flicking my gun in their direction.
It takes a long moment, but eventually they shove their hands behind their head and the bandanna falls, floating to the hardwood below. Keeping their gaze glued on the floor, they grab the edge of the hood, pulling it back to reveal their features.
The early afternoon sun shines through my window, casting beams of light across their skin. The rays of gold hit them at just the right angle, to make them look nearly angelic. Too bad I’m going to have to fuck up that face for touching my shit.
“YOU!” growls out from behind me, and my head spins to find all four of the guys standing in the doorway.
The expressions across their faces range from confusion to anger, with a sprinkling of terror thrown into the mix. I can’t believe it, I let my guard down with themagainand never even heard their approach. The lasting tension from the ride and my feelings for all of them are playing a larger part in this than I think I care to admit.
Because, of course, they couldn’t just stay in the fucking car like they were told.
