I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll do something stupid. Something I’ll regret.
Like turning and slamming my lips against his.
I take a deep breath. “Let me leave.”
His arm falls away. “Fine.”
Fine.Funny how we both keep saying that.
I don’t think either of us is fine.
I can’t see a way to change things, either.
Wylder isn’t the only one who can’t sleep tonight.
Even with the wall between us, I can hear him pacing. Before our date, I took this behavior as a win. I loved the knowledge that I’d driven him so crazy that I was costing him sleep.
Now though, it has a pit opening in my stomach. This wasn’t what I wanted when I started toying with him. I didn’t want him to actually care.
It’s not my fault. No one has ever cared before. My behavior and neediness usually have people running in the other direction. Wylder did too…at first.
I know what’s changed for me, but what’s changed for him?
It’s that question and the sound of him pacing that have me working late into the night. There’s no hope of sleep, so I may as well keep working on Umbra’s servers.
I’m chewing on a Red Vine, the end hanging from my mouth as I suddenly hit gold. I freeze as screen after screen pops open.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
My blood turns to ice as I sift through the information Umbra hason The Firm. Information that was missing from Ansel’s initial find. Times of drops. Locations of hits. Addresses of both recipients and targets.
Most of it predates the extra protection both Ansel and I put around the servers here, but not all.
Whoever is working for Umbra is more talented than either of us.
I click on another folder, and my heart stops dead in my chest. There are photos. Countless photos.
All of the Buckinghams.
It shouldn’t be surprising. We knew they were stalking us all before. It was how they forced Ansel to cooperate with their schemes.
The thing is, they shouldn’t be getting this close now. Wylder has more safety measures and guards on us than ever before. Guards are guarding the guards so that there are multiple layers of protection. No one should be able to follow us or get photos of us without someone spotting them.
But they have been.
There’s one of Ansel wearing a shirt he only bought last week. Dalton picking Jackson up from a class he started ten days ago. Wylder and me walking hand in hand down the street on our date.
But the worst one is from a few days ago. I’m crushed between Wylder and Samson as we watch a film. Whoever took the shot even caught Wylder’s proprietary arm around my shoulders.
They’ve been near the house, inside the grounds.
And none of us have been any the wiser.
Again.
