Page 47 of Untamed Sinner

I’m glad Hendricks is helping you. Mason, Jake, and Luke really respect him.

Hendricks isn't helping me out of the goodness of his heart. He's helping me because I pushed him to when he wanted to back out of his contract. He thinks he can control the situation while keeping me safe.

I won’t let a thing like safety keep me from my goal. Even if I have to run, I will get Ashford.

But he also doesn't know that every time he looks at me, I feel something shift inside me—something that makes running feel less like survival and more like cowardice.

It's complicated.

Lily

Everything with you is complicated.

Pot, meet kettle.

But I'll be careful. Promise.

Lily

You better be. Because if something happens to you, I'm coming after Hendricks myself.

I love you, Lil.

Lily

Love you too.

And Mandy?

Yeah?

Lily

If you need me, I'm here. Always.

I stare at the message until my vision blurs.

I close the thread and pocket my phone, then stand there on the porch, staring out at the trees surrounding the safe house.

Lily's right. Everything with me is complicated. But this—whatever this is with Hendricks—is more than complicated. It's dangerous. Not just because of Ashford or the people looking for me, but because I'm starting to care. Starting to want things I have no business wanting.

And when this is over, when I leave, it's going to hurt.

“No regrets,” I try to remind myself, but I’m having a hard time buying my own bullshit, because I’m already starting to regret the day I walk away.

42

HENDRICKS

The secure room is supposed to be my sanctuary.

Reinforced concrete. Vault door. Three monitors cycling through encrypted feeds. No windows. No distractions. Just information, analysis, and the kind of silence that lets me think clearly.

Except I can't think clearly. I swear I can smell the sugary scent of donuts even down here. I searched for candles—it wouldn’t have surprised me if she somehow gained access to my comms room—but it’s clear.

I've been sequestered in here for two hours pretending to work—running searches on Ashford's business holdings, cross-referencing the men in the memory card photos, mapping connections between Turner's network and Ashford's legitimate enterprises. But every five minutes, my eyes drift to the monitor showing the kitchen feed.

Mandy's not there anymore. She grabbed a donut from her stash and went out to the back porch twenty minutes ago with her phone.