I'm barely winded. The rage fuels me, keeps me going.
“Need to check on something,” I tell him, unwrapping my hands. “Declan’s got those files on Crowning?”
“In the office. Declan's there now, updating the surveillance logs.”
Perfect. I grab a bottle of water and head in.
I find Declan hunched over a laptop, three monitors displaying different camera feeds. He looks up when I enter and nods.
“Ash. Cavin fill you in?”
“Aye. Show me what you've got.”
He pulls up a folder and starts clicking through images. Marcus Crowning leaving his penthouse. Marcus at a restaurant. Marcus getting into a black sedan.
“He's predictable,” Declan says. “Same routines every week. Tuesdays and Thursdays, he meets with his bookkeeper. Wednesdays, he's at his club downtown. He visits some woman—we think she’s a mistress—on Fridays.”
Of course he does, the fuckin’ prick.
“Security?”
“Always two men. Sometimes three on Fridays.” Declan zooms in on one image. “Ex-military, maybe competent, but gone lazy with his predictable route.”
I study the photos, memorizing every detail. The way he walks with false confidence. The designersuits that can't hide the cruelty in his eyes. The smile he wears like a mask.
Those hands that fuckingtouched my woman.
This is the man who wanted to marry Bianca. Who planned to hurt her, kill her, and make her another statistic.
I will make himscreamfor mercy.
“Keep watching him,” I say quietly. “I want to know everything. Who he talks to, where he goes, what he eats for breakfast. Everything.”
“Right.”
I find Bianca in the kitchen with Caitlin and my cousins, laughing at something Kyla said. She's wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas, her hair still in a messy bun, and she's never looked more beautiful.
She sees me in the doorway, and her whole face lights up.
“Ashland!”
I cross the room in three strides, pull her into my arms, and kiss her like I've been gone for days instead of hours.
“Alright, alright.” Bronwyn laughs. “Ashland, whoareyou?”
I flip her off without looking, too busy breathing in Bianca's scent and feeling her heartbeat against my chest.
“Miss me?” I murmur against her hair.
“Maybe a little,” she admits, soft and shy.
“Liar.” I kiss her again. “You missed me a lot.”
“Fine. I missed you a lot.”
Christ, I love this woman.
I love her so much it terrifies me.
