CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CELESTE
I’m going to die a thousand deaths from mere mortification. I never tell anyone anything.
Rule number one in the political playing field: Never document anything you don’t want broadcast to the masses, which is precisely why I stay off social media.
Good God, this is bad. I jostle my phone, fingers unsteady as I prepare to search my texts with Rena for how extensive the damage truly is, when Scott’s voice catches me.
“Everything okay, Celeste?” He sips his gin and tonic, brows furrowed.
“Yes. Fine,” I lie, setting my phone on the table to acknowledge the gentleman I’m supposed to be enamored with. “I had an all-thumbs moment while trying to reply to my friend.”
Friend.More like man I intend to maim, murder, decapitate. Semantics.
“Ahh. Were you finished?”
“I can be.” I lift my wine with a resolution I do not feel, my mind reeling with how horrifying this may be. Unfortunately, inside my current unraveling, I can’t recall all the texts.
Scott chuckles. “It’s fine. Answer your friend so she isn’t kept waiting. I can send one more email. Working in the stolen moments means it doesn’t pile up.”
“It can wait,” I protest, knowing my mother would berate me for my rudeness.
His booming tenor seeps out with a smile as he stretches across the table to grip my hand. “I don’t find it rude.” Clearly raised in the same world as me. Maybe his mother is chastising him in his head too. “I’d prefer you to be able to concentrate.” He delivers that with a twinkle and a flirty wink.
God, if I felt something here, this would be one hell of a date. But, no, my thighs only squeeze for the quippy, intrusive dark angel.
“Thank you, Scott. I appreciate that.” As the words leave my mouth, my phone pings, garnering my attention. “I’ll be quick.”
When I unlock my home screen, I no longer need to pull up Rena’s text thread because Liam has kindly attached it below a note.
Liam: Since you have no doubt caught on to my antics, the thread is below. Just to refresh your memory and clarify a few things. Pay close attention to my notes.
My stomach flips as I open the copied thread, remembering how vulnerable and utterly cheesy I was—such a girl.
Me: I have a secret.
Rena: Yes, please.
Me: I feel terrible not sharing it with Ivy, but it’s too fresh. And too tangled. So, you have to swear.
(Tangled secrets are the best kind, Carver.)
Rena: I know nothing. That’s pretty much the Noire motto. You’re in good hands. And I’m salivating over this tangled secret. Spill, girl.
(Rena’s a good friend. I’ve always liked that girl.)
Me: I like someone I shouldn’t.
(Hmm. Who could it be? This gave me, honest to God, butterflies. Edge of my fucking seat, baby.)
I hate that he’s funny and that these notes are adorable. I cannot lose my infuriated momentum.
Rena: Forbidden. Always a plus. More, please.
(Forbidden is pretty sexy. Wise girl.)
Me: Not just forbidden. He’s kind of an ass. Sometimes. Only he isn’t anymore.
(I am an ass. And yet I’m not. Best kind of man in my opinion. It’s annoying how good you are at everything, even figuring me out. No one likes a show-off, Ace.)
Me: Unless he is, but I don’t want him to be. Skewed vision maybe.
(I’ll be whatever you need, baby girl.)
Rena: Possible. I’ve suffered similar fates. In the three and a half seconds of getting to know a guy without my brothers’ interference. So, to be fair, misconceptions are a given when you lightning-speed date. But what you’re describing is far too cryptic. Name names.
(She can really go on about stuff, can’t she? But then again, she uses it to squeeze information out of the most cunning and strategic people. Brilliant.)
I groan, knowing what’s coming. Scott’s eyes flit over to me with a grin before he returns to his email. I’m not sure he’d be grinning if he was aware of the nature of the dinner literature evoking my outburst.
Me: Liam.
(Aww. That’s it. Say my name, baby. I won’t be happy until your legs are shaking, your body’s trembling, and your voice is so hoarse from screaming that everyone in a ten-mile radius knows my name.)
Dammit. Why is that so unbelievably hot? I’m pissed. Pissed. Pissed. Pissed.
Rena: I knew it. He’s only got eyes for you.
(Truth.)
Me: You think?
(Absolutely. No question about it. Only you.)
Rena: Know it, girl. Men don’t look at just anyone the way he looks at you. Sex?
Me: Best night of my life.
(I’m not going to gloat here like you assume I will. But I may have done a happy dance in the privacy of my office because you’d answered that way. You know why? It was the best night of mine too. Hands down.)
He’s good. This is definitely getting to me. Only me? Best night of his life too? I doubt he’s hurting in the sexual-partner department, so that’s saying something.
Rena: Fuck.
Me: Yeah.
Rena: So, your politicians?
Me: Still the plan.
(Shouldn’t be. I’m not done with you, Carver. Doesn’t sound like you’re done with me either. And I’m tired of being so polite.)
Rena: Then, I guess enjoy him while you can.
(Good advice. No expiration.)
No expiration? That feels like a grandiose statement somehow, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. I should be mad, outraged, aghast at how violating it was for him to read my personal messages, and yet all I can concentrate on is the sweetness. Of him wanting me. And how much I want him.
Me: I have a date tonight—aka a hearing to determine my sentencing for political eye-candy incarceration—so I think that ship has sailed.
(It will never sail.)
Oh, my heart.
Rena: I’m so sorry, girl. I wish I had some advice, but sadly, we’re both fucked.
Me: Yep.
(Not yet, baby. But I’m on my way.)
On his way? Oh fuck. That can’t be good.
My throat dries, so I lift my wine and swig the nearly full glass in a single unladylike guzzle. Scott’s eyes fling to mine in alarm.
Yep. That’s right. Twenty-four years of etiquette washed down with cabernet, buddy. I’m spiraling here. For both of us. You should drink up, too, before the demented gangster arrives to claim me.
Jesus, I kind of love that. Not the time.
Scott’s mouth drops open in concern, but before he can inquire about my newfound alcoholism, the restaurant manager arrives at the table.
“I apologize for the intrusion, sir, but there is an issue at the front desk that requires your attention.” He turns to me. “May I—”
“I’ll have another.” I lift my empty glass, still reeling in panic and searching the restaurant, to which Scott’s cheeks twitch with tamped-down mirth. That makes sense. Based on his reputation, he probably prefers his women sloppy drunk. I’m on my way. But so is my deranged spy, who has a history of scaring the life out of my dates.
“Celeste”—Scott’s muffled amusement laces through my name as he rises to button his suit jacket—“I won’t be long. Enjoy your drink.”
“You too,” I mutter, which makes no sense, but he lets me off the hook and scurries away with the manager to the front desk.
Within thirty seconds, the most delectable golden god in an all-black suit, like the night at La Lune Noire, slides into my booth. Arm perched behind my neck as he dips his mouth close to my ear, stubble grazing my cheek with an electrifying bristle—everything that was missing on this date exploding in a single touch.
“Christ, baby,” he growls, like he’s ravenous. “You are beyond beautiful. Fucking radiant. Unholy red is your color.”
Dismissing the way his scent curls around me; the way his fingers skimming my thigh instantly make me wet; the way his breath cascades over my skin, evoking a full-body shiver; and the way his words make my heart thump against my sternum, attempting to seek refuge inside him, I say what I should. “I’m so pissed at you.”
He strings his fingers through my hair, a tender ogle prancing over me. “We don’t have time for that, baby girl.”
“No?” I force ire into my tone with a sardonic grin. “You should have violated my personal communications earlier in the day. That would have afforded us some extra time for my wrath.”
“Your wrath is fucking sexy.” He smirks before capturing my earlobe between his teeth and moaning. “Lean around me and nod to Rex. He’s standing at the exit and needs to know you’re okay with me here.”
I do as he asked, kicking my chin up to Rex, who is choking on his hilarity. Some guard.
“Seriously?” I hiss.
“Yes, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry,” Liam says, referring to his observation regarding my wrath as he waggles his eyebrows. When I glare in return, he addresses the real issue. “I needed to protect you—we can get back to that later. Right now, I need you to understand—”
“Understand why you keep crashing my dates?” I cross my arms over my chest in feigned irritation when all I want is to curl into him. God, what is happening to me?
“Yes, actually.” He kisses my temple, but the innocence of that gesture is escorted by his wandering fingers crawling further up my thigh. “I have a valid reason that can’t be overlooked.”
I keep my voice strong, as if his touch isn’t undoing me. “Which is?”
He nips at the curve of my neck, tongue peeking out for a taste, fingertips slinking mischievously. “I need you. So goddamn much.” His voice is so thick with desperation, with longing, that it stills everything so that all I hear is him. All I feel is him. All I want is him. His nips and licks continue, along with his explanation. “The iota of hope you provided in that text thread was enough to fuel my obsession. I can’t stay away from you anymore. I don’t give a fuck who thinks I should. I won’t.”
Who’s telling him to stay away from me? Ivy? Wells? That stings. Even Ty or Gage would be a wound, so I don’t ask. I can’t take any more today.
Instead, I consider what Keith said. “Your dreams are worth it too.”
I’ve never allowed myself to dream, but the man beside me is definitely becoming one.
I’m over other people’s opinions. Why are so many people involved in my choices anyway? Maybe their meddling is perfectly warranted, considering what my mother said regarding Ben’s death. And the hell Ivy endured. Liam’s been monitoring my phone to keep me safe. Safe from what? My association with them?
Running toward Scott Filmore—the wealthy, handsome, above-board career man with enough spirit to keep things interesting—is the wise move. He’s ideal.
But when I’m with Liam, I don’t envy that drowning ship in Egypt. My soul doesn’t wither from the scathing flames of Ben’s crash licking over every inch of me. And I feel anything but numb. I feel renewed. Awake. Alive.
Despite him judging me so harshly, he’s become the place I feel most like me.
That cognizance means there’s only one way to respond to his admission of not being able to stay away from me.
“I don’t want you to,” I whisper.
A haughty, lopsided smile blooms into his dimple, but not before I spot a flicker of surprise. And I hate it. I hate that he has any doubts. That’s what Ivy saw—the insecurity I produced in this otherwise astute and confident man.
“No?” he asks.
“No.” I twist toward him, our legs tangling under the table. I wish so much we were somewhere else, coiled around one another. Naked. “I mean, in all honesty, it’s not that simple. I have no idea how to make this work without it being catastrophic with my family. Utter turmoil. I’m not even sure what I’m offering, but the wanting-you part is clear.”
“Good.” His hazels frolic all over my face, filling my stomach and chest with a flurry of giddy butterflies. “I’ll handle the rest.”
“Okay,” I say, realizing we’re suspended in this bubble that will surely pop at any minute. “I do need to finish my date though. He’s a nice guy. His father knows my grandfather. Making an effort will at least be something to offer my family.”
“Not yet.” There’s a sternness to that response, even as his lips brush briefly against mine without giving in to the all-consuming kiss we both crave.
I want to lean into him so badly, but we can’t. Nevertheless, I am ever so grateful that this booth is tucked into a dark corner of this restaurant. Otherwise, my revolving dates would surely draw some crass speculation.
“He might be insulted if he returns and you’re here,” I point out, that earlier panic seizing me.
“I won’t be.” His fingers grip my thigh, inching closer and closer to discovering how unbelievably drenched I am for him—not a restaurant-appropriate expedition. “He’s preoccupied at the front desk.”
“Okay.” My resolute eyes land on his. I’m unsurprised that he orchestrated Scott’s distraction. “But this still isn’t—”
“You’ve been awfully hard to get, Carver.” His voice drops to a husky purr, lips wetting my ear, long limbs coiling around me. He’s everywhere. “I’ll take your confession to wanting me as a small win even though you’re on a date with another man. But you’re going to have to prove it.”
“Prove it?” I pant as his fingers brush over my damp panties, confirming his intent in requesting evidence as my mind and body war.
“Yep.” He lifts his wrist on the arm wrapped around my shoulder, presumably eyeing his watch. “We have seven minutes before Prince Charming returns. I always keep my promises. I’m going to make you come, just like I said I would the last time we were here. Remember?”
I whimper, terrified and enthralled. The booth may be tucked out of the way, but still.
“I knew you’d remember, baby,” he rasps, sliding my panties to the side and feathering over my clit with a heavenly tingle as my eyes close in indecision. “You’re just as depraved as I am. Just as eager to chase this rush, to forget the rest of the world. It’s only you and me. There’s no one else when you’re in the room. You’re mine now, Celeste.”
His.
“Open your eyes, or tell me to stop,” he demands.
“A life without risk is flatlining.” Ben undoubtedly had other risks in mind with that advice, but they were wise words nonetheless.
My lids spring open, lashes fringing my view of him, but my vision is suddenly clear. Only him. “Don’t stop.”
“There she is,” he growls, thrusting a finger inside. “That’s my girl.” Then two. Swirl. And nip. Flick and caress. “So fucking wet for me. I’ve been dreaming about this perfect pussy clamping down on me. Tasting you. Claiming you. Making sure there’s no place you go that you don’t know who owns you. This delicious cunt is mine.”
God, his mouth is so filthy. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I love it.
My legs fall open wider, but I still manage to steady my voice enough to push out a taunt. “Better be quick, Graves. I’ve got plans.”
He flashes a wicked smile, the angelic glint of someone who chooses to luxuriate in fire and brimstone. And his eyes are so feral, so salacious with lust, that my skin prickles and flares and burns under his prowling leer. Jesus, I want to dive inside them.
“That’s right. Show me how strong and feisty you are while you ride my hand, Carver.” He bites and laps and tastes my neck. Tongue flattening to devour me in the most indecent and lewd public display of affection. There’s something so liberating about it, so erotic and enrapturing. “We both know the truth.” Dip. Plunge. Whirl. “You like being my little slut, don’t you, baby?”
Flutters. Chills. Quivering.
A cresting wave of current.
He doesn’t await an answer, which is good because I can’t form words, only whimpers and swallowed moans as his fingers caper in the most decadent cadence over my throbbing heat. A steadfast notion of acceptance washes over me. This man feeds my wildest fantasies—taboo desires I never felt safe enough to ask for. And as my body begins to tremble in his hold, eyes never leaving his, he praises, “There you go. Jesus, Ace. You’re so goddamn breathtaking.”
His pace picks up—massaging, nipping, kissing—while the world chugs on around us, and I begin to spin, soaring into a place where only Liam and ecstasy exist.
“Come for me, baby girl. All over my hand. Now.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as his order tips me over the edge, skin flushing, legs spasming beneath the tablecloth, hair shielding my twisted face and muffling the whines I can’t seem to stifle. I sag against him, riding the aftershocks and absorbing his solid warmth.
“Fuck, that was hot,” he whispers, gliding his fingers in and out of his mouth with a groan and tugging me even closer. Possessive and protective. His own breaths are shallow and harsh, so turned on.
I want to tumble into him, curl up, and never leave. Return the favor tenfold, which, judging by his tented slacks, is needed.
“Such a good girl for me,” he coos, and my heart swells.
Praise. Degradation. It all reads like a sultry lust letter in his suave, commanding bravado.
Even though I’m still coming down, still flying and satiated with a delightful headiness, reality swarms me. “Time?” I rush out.
He peers at his watch. “Two minutes. Listen,” he instructs, his hard-on retreating a little with every word. “I was never here; otherwise, Wells is going to have my head. Finish up and come home to me.”
“Shouldn’t be long,” I say, still airy and strained.
He nods, and the strife coating his features is unmistakable. “Fucking hell, I don’t know how to leave you here.”
God, I feel that, but it will make everything a hundred times worse. “Liam, this is complicated enough. Let me placate my family with a dutiful evening out before I blow everything up.”
He grinds his teeth, but the ticking clock is mocking me. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Panic threads my tone as I practically beg, “Please.”
His silence and stiff jaw envelop me in a restless trepidation until he finally grumbles, “Fine.” He kisses my forehead, combing his fingers through my hair and tucking pieces behind my ear. “So, so beautiful,” he rasps, his thumb dusting over my cheekbone. “Hurry home, Ace. We’re just getting started.”
With that parting pledge, he vanishes as smoothly as he surfaced, and I feel my heart romp after him.
It’s then that the waitress finally delivers my wine order that the manager must have relayed for me. Her timing is suspiciously perfect, brows furrowed in either condemnation or hero worship. Neither pleases me.
I flatten my dress and sip my wine when she scatters, attempting to settle my nerves as I scan the tables and doors to see if anyone is wise to what we just did. Only Rex. He winks with a sinful smirk that says he’s all too aware of my chosen dessert this evening. Fantastic.
It all reignites my irritation for Liam spying on me, so I swipe a hasty message to him.
Me: Don’t think this means your encroachment on my privacy will be overlooked. Your dick is still hard for a reason. I got mine.
The three dots dance, and I can hear his rumbling laughter in my mind, the one he belts out when he’s pleasantly caught off guard by me.
Liam: I’ve warned you about that sass before, Ace. Keep it up, and I’ll put you over my knee before I fuck you like I hate you.
His dirty talk and shameless slant on his actions should not appease or arouse me like they do. I’m in so much trouble.
Me: Sounds like foreplay.
Liam: Fucking made for me. Be mad all you want, baby girl. You’re stuck with me now. All mine.
I’m not sure it’s wise to be this giddy over a man telling me I’m stuck with him, but I can’t hide the girlish grin that sneaks up my cheeks as flutters hijack control of my stomach.
Another minute passes, and Scott appears. His eyes coast over me, and my gut cramps with apprehension. He knows. My cheeks are surely blushing, skin blotchy, hair mussed. No. I fixed myself. Liam checked me. It’s okay. Paranoia is the only thing he’s picking up on, so I readjust.
Never let them see.
“Was everything all right?” I ask, lifting my glass with a casualness I do not feel.
He slides in across from me. “Yes. There was a problem with my room. My things needed to be moved. A momentary mess, but all taken care of. I apologize.”
“Don’t,” I insist, ready to move into the parting-ways portion of our evening. “It’s fine. I’ve had a lovely time tonight.”
“I have too. I’m glad your grandfather was amenable. So often, the set-ups my father arranges are with those who aren’t …” He trails off, mouth kinked into a grimace.
I laugh. “No need to finish. Sadly, I could fill in a plethora of unfortunate adjectives to that same sentence.”
“I’m sure,” he says. “Family.”
“Right.”
“Oh”—his lips twist in annoyance—“speaking of family, I was supposed to give you some prized cigars from my father to pass on to your grandfather.”
“Yes. My grandfather mentioned that.” Shoot, I’d forgotten. I hope it doesn’t delay this evening too much longer. All I want is to get home to Liam.
“I should have grabbed them during that whole mess, but I was so concentrated on returning to you.” He really is sweet. He’ll make someone happy. “You want to follow me up?”
That may be the easiest avenue to a swift exit, so I don’t hesitate. “Sure. I’ll walk up with you.”
“Wonderful.” He stands, buttons his jacket, and holds his hand out to help me out of the booth, his blue eyes watching me in earnest. “I’ve got that book of photographs we spoke about too.”
The book is a compilation of photographs taken on his grandfather’s and father’s campaign trails—candid, behind-the-scenes shots. I would love to peek at them. But Liam wouldn’t like this at all. I don’t want Scott to think I’m being rude or give my grandfather anything to harp on though. Maybe this will give me an opening to gently explain I’m not interested and convince him to tell my grandfather we weren’t a match. If my family thinks I tried and it simply didn’t work, maybe they’ll be more accepting of Liam. Probably not. My mom was unwavering in her position on the matter. I can’t win, but I’d at least be able to hold my head up and insist I gave Scott a real chance.
He must sense my internal debate because he gestures toward the entrance into the hotel with a chuckle. “It’s a suite, Celeste. There’s a living room. No pressure. No funny business. One cup of coffee, a perusal of historical photographs, and shelter from the storm.”
“Storm?”
His face alights with humor as he points to the rain-splattered windows. “You really were in your own world while I was gone. The sky opened up with a roar about ten minutes ago.”
That’s humiliating.
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I was immersed in my own divine torrent, I giggle with a girlie innocence. “Then, a cup of coffee sounds perfect,” I agree, allowing him to guide me out of the restaurant. “My security will need to sweep your room first though.”
“Not a problem,” he says, placing a hand on the small of my back. “You’re wise to have a team.”
On the word team, we stroll through the door Dante is guarding, Rex and Keith sidling up in time with us.
“And here they are,” I say.
After exchanging brief introductions, we all board the elevator on the way to Scott’s suite. Once the guys conduct their inspection of the room, they give me the go-ahead.
Rex holds the door for me, voice low as he asks, “Standard protocol?”
Ordinarily, if I don’t check in after an hour, they come knocking. That affords me the opportunity to make a decision about the evening and alert them to it. I won’t be that long, but in the spirit of keeping things simple, I nod my confirmation and slip inside. They’ll man all the exits on this floor until I emerge.
Scott is true to his word, fixing us both a cup of coffee, setting out the box of cigars for my grandfather, and maintaining a respectable distance in a separate chair while walking me through the old photographs. The first twenty minutes whiz by. Until my gut wrenches with his subject change.
“I think there’s something here between us, Celeste. I’d like to see you again.”
“Scott, I … you’ve been the perfect gentleman, but my life is complicated at the moment—”
“Complicated,” he scoffs. “I was conflicted with my assignment halfway through dinner. You were an unexpected treasure. Gorgeous. Well spoken. Interesting.”
His words are complimentary, but his blue eyes grow colder. Suddenly, I’m soaking in my surroundings with a chill.
My phone is inside my purse on the entryway table—such a rookie mistake. Stupid. The room phone is also near the door. And he sits directly in the path.
I rise from my chair, keeping my voice calm as I inch toward the right, hoping to amble around him nonchalantly. “I found you equally as impressive.”
“Is that why you entertained another man during our date?”
Shit. My chest tightens. Bathroom about twenty feet to my right. Bedroom a bit farther behind me. Door to my left, probably a closet.
“You looked freshly fucked when I returned,” he continues, voice eerily cool as he stands, keeping his stance wide.
Floor lamps and table obstruct my route to the door. Too heavy to lift or throw.
“Looking for an escape so soon, Miss Carver?”
“I think it’s best we call it a night,” I assert, my eyes firmly planted on his, showing no fear. “My security team is waiting.”
“I’ve got my own team,” he snarls.
Sometimes, no matter how many steps ahead you attempt to see, your opponent secures the upper hand, gaining the advantage in a single move and stealing the game.
The backhand strikes my cheek so fast. I never saw it coming. My body folds and crumples to the ground from the force, pain lancing through my jaw and spine and limbs.
“Did you think you could just make a fool of me?” A kick to my ribs. “In a fucking public place?”
I curl myself into a ball, protecting my head as his heavy shoe wallops my hip, a stabbing jolt radiating through me. But I hear the clank. His hands move to his belt.
Two seconds.
No idea how my body unfurls itself and sprints, but it does. My thrashing heart and breaths direct my clumsy steps into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. I’ve probably got thirty to forty minutes before Rex comes for me. Scott will have this door kicked in long before then. I need a damn plan. Or weapon. Fuck.
I throw open the drawers in a frenzy, no idea what I’m looking for when I see the blow-dryer. It’s not much, but it’s something. Spinning in an aimless circle with it held above my head, my mind snags on the movable showerheads in both the bathtub and shower as the storm outside rages and everything becomes clear.
Flipping on all the water full blast, I aim the heads at the floor and stuff a rolled towel against the door while Scott’s voice filters through. “Showering for me, darling? Good. I’d hate to smell that asshole when I fucked you. Five minutes to come out. Then, I’m coming in to take what’s mine.”
A snapping crack whips the door, probably a promise of what his belt will accomplish.
Ignoring the sickening shiver that careens down my spine, I climb onto the counter, filling the cups with water from the sink and dumping it onto the floor, like I’m dousing a fire. This is a long shot, but it might buy me time. And my options are limited. He’s twice my size and far stronger.
“Fuck,” I hiss, watching the flood slowly rise in terror, time whizzing by too fast.
He continues to spew threats and vivid pictures of what he’s going to do to me when he breaks the door down, but I block it all out.
All I see is the flood. All I hear is the streaming water. All I feel is the steam blanketing my battered body. I assess the cord length and plug in the hairdryer, perching on the countertop and visualizing the SS Thistlegorm.
Strength destroyed.
Peace in the sea among beautiful wreckage.
Fragility in the formidable.
Death to the indestructible.
The door handle rattles in warning. My time is up. This is my only play.
My final checkmate.
The door swings open with a bang, the resistance of the towel causing him to barrel through it with more force than necessary. A cloud of steam obscures the monster as he scrambles toward me, and life slows and blurs and melds into one crashing breath of a moment.
One thudding heartbeat.
One life-altering choice.
His feet fly out from under him, the scornful slur, “Bitch,” leaping from his lungs as I hold in the GFCI trip button, switch the blow-dryer on, and toss it into the flood.
Thump.
Spark.
Splash.
Sizzle.
I can’t see his face through the steam, but his body jumps like when they defibrillate someone on a medical show. Legs twitching in the water. But that’s it.
Except for the crackling storm outside, the cascading water still rushing to the floor, and the low sob pouring from the depths of my stomach.
He’s stopped. Still. Flattened. I need to get out of here. He said he has a team. What if they find me before my guys do? The most beloved up-and-coming politician in the country is probably dead.
Jesus, I … what the hell did I just do?
As if this nightmare can’t get any worse, I hear the suite door squeak open.
It hasn’t been an hour.
And Rex would’ve knocked. My team would’ve fucking knocked.