Chapter 2 – FELIX
Chapter
Two
FELIX
T he carpet squelches when I roll it, blood seeping through the fibers like the world's most expensive sponge. I check the watch I lifted off some hedge fund prick in Monaco.
3:43 AM.
The guard shift change happens at 4:00, which gives us thirteen minutes to finish cleaning up a murder scene that looks like a particularly violent Jackson Pollock painting.
Efficiency is everything in this business. Sentiment gets you caught. Emotion gets you killed. But it's a hell of a lot easier than the one we left behind.
I secure the carpet with zip ties, methodical as a surgeon.
Each movement has a purpose, each second accounted for.
The senator's blood has already started to congeal, turning tacky against my fingers.
I'll need to burn these gloves. The suit too, probably.
Shame. I liked this suit, but the guy caught me off guard. No point in denying that.
Juniper is probably right about the drugs.
Across the room, she hums something tuneless and sweet, her fingers dancing through the stack of bills she pulled from the senator's wallet along with the ones he paid earlier for her "company".
The sound bounces off the cream walls, filling the space where our moans of pleasure and the senator's dying breaths were not too long ago.
She's sitting cross-legged on the marble counter like a child counting Halloween candy, completely unbothered by the corpse dissolving in industrial-grade acid three feet away.
That's going to be a fun surprise for the cleaning crew, but this place pays well and the lack of a body will slow the cops down long enough for us to get far and away from dodge.
"Felix, look." She fans the bills out like playing cards. "There's so much. He was carrying at least ten grand just in his wallet. And he already paid six."
"Rich assholes always carry too much cash." I test the carpet bundle's weight. Heavy, but manageable. "Makes them feel important."
"Would you pay this much to fuck me?"
The question catches me in the middle of tying the last knot to secure the carpet. I look up to find her watching me with those hazel eyes that see too much and understand too little. Or maybe it's the other way around. With Juniper, I can never tell.
"You just let me do it for free," I point out, going back to my work. The knot needs to be perfect. Can't have the carpet unrolling mid-disposal.
"Yeah, but if you couldn't. Theoretically."
I abandon the carpet and cross to her in three strides. My hand finds her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is still flushed from our earlier activities, a pink that has nothing to do with shame and everything to do with satisfaction.
"I would pay every cent in existence just to kiss you." The words come out matter-of-fact because that's what they are. Facts. "And the amount that's about to hit our account is going to make that stack look like pocket change."
Her eyes go soft in that way that makes my chest do things I don't have names for. "But we need to leave." I release her chin, already missing the warmth. "I still need to handle the security footage."
"Right." She hops off the counter, bills disappearing into her bra with practiced ease. "Can't have our Oscar-worthy performance going viral."
Together we haul the carpet to the window. The dumpster waits in the alley below, positioned perfectly because I always plan ahead. The carpet makes a satisfying thud when it lands, just another piece of rich people's garbage in a city that produces nothing but.
We slip out of the suite hand in hand, her fingers laced through mine like they belong there. She's humming again, something different this time. Maybe a lullaby. Maybe a funeral dirge. With Juniper, they're often the same thing.
My mind keeps circling back to that moment during sex when she saw something that wasn't there.
The way her eyes went wide and distant, focusing on shadows that only she could see.
She said she was fine, but Juniper's definition of fine includes active hallucinations and the occasional murder, so that's not exactly reassuring.
I know better than to push. Pushing makes her retreat into that maze inside her head where even I can't follow. Better to wait, to watch, to be ready when she needs me.
The hallway stretches ahead, all muted gold and burgundy like the inside of an expensive coffin. Our footsteps sink into carpet thick enough to hide bodies in. Not that I'd know from experience or anything.
"Shit," I mutter, spotting the guard outside the vending machines by the station up ahead.
The one who should still be there slipped out early, just like he has every day the last week I've been casing the place, but the new guard is already there, fifteen minutes early like an overachiever.
His uniform is pressed sharp enough to cut, and he's got that eager look that says he actually gives a fuck about his job.
The worst kind. But at least he's not gone inside yet.
"Don't worry." Juniper squeezes my hand once before letting go. "I've got this."
Every instinct screams at me to stop her. The thought of her talking to another man, an alpha especially, makes something primitive and possessive claw at my insides. But this is what we do. This is how we survive.
"Make it quick," I tell her, already reaching for the device in my pocket.
She saunters toward the guard like she's got all the time in the world, hips swaying in that ruined blue dress that's worth more than his monthly salary.
I don't have any clue how she managed not to get blood on it.
Impressive, really. Too bad we still have to burn it, considering how beautifully it hugs her curves.
Curves that were barely there when we left the hellhole my brother rules over like some twisted god.
A tangible reminder of the fact that I've kept her safe and provided for ever since we escaped together.
I watch her work her magic as I fade into the shadows. Not the kind Juniper sees, but the real ones that hide people like me.
"Excuse me?" Her voice carries down the hall, sweet as arsenic, and she flips her long, luxurious brown locks behind one shoulder so he gets a good whiff of her scent. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think I'm lost."
The guard's head snaps up from his magazine. His pupils dilate the second he sees her, nostrils flaring as he catches her scent. Omega. Unbonded. Interested.
Fucking alphas. So predictable it's almost boring.
I slip behind a marble column and pull out my device, immediately setting to work. The hotel's security system is decent—for a hotel. But I've cracked military-grade encryption while bleeding from a stab wound. This is child's play.
"Lost?" The guard's voice drops an octave, trying to sound commanding. "Where are you trying to go, miss?"
"I don't even know." Juniper laughs, the sound tinkling like glass windchimes. "I had a few drinks at the bar, and now all these hallways look the same."
She's so good at playing innocent it scares even me sometimes.
The code flows across my screen, beautiful in its simplicity.
I isolate the past four hours of footage, my fingers working from muscle memory while my eyes stay locked on Juniper through the feed showing the outside hallway.
She's leaning against the vending machine now, playing with her hair like she doesn't have a senator's blood under her fingernails.
"Maybe you could help me?" She bites her lip, and I watch the guard's Adam's apple bob. "I'm supposed to meet my friend, but..."
"Sure, sure." He's already putting his wallet back in his pocket, pre-shift snacks forgotten. "What's your room number?"
Delete. Replace. Loop. The footage disappears into the digital void, replaced with hours of empty hallways and nothing suspicious. Just another quiet night at an overpriced hotel.
"Oh, I can't remember." Juniper's giggle could melt titanium. "Isn't that silly?"
The guard launches into what sounds like a detailed explanation of the hotel's layout, clearly trying to impress her. I catch something about emergency exits and elevators, but mostly I'm focused on finishing the job. Almost there. Just need to scrub the backup servers and?—
"Did you know the Cardinals are up by twelve?"
What the fuck?
How long was I tuned out for?
I risk a glance around the column. The guard is holding up his phone, pointing at stats like Juniper gives a single shit about sports.
But she must have asked him about it. Or he's the worlds' worst flirt.
She's nodding along, but I can see the glaze in her eyes from here.
That's her "I'm thinking about murder" face.
"That's... fascinating," she says, in a tone that suggests it's anything but.
"Right? And their defensive line this season?—"
I type faster, willing the progress bar to move.
But clearly, Juniper's bought me a few more minutes.
The guard drones on about batting averages or touchdowns or whatever the fuck the Cardinals do.
Juniper's smile is starting to look strained, like a rubber band about to snap even through the grainy feed.
Done.
I pocket the device and step out from behind the column, making enough noise to announce my presence. Both heads turn toward me.
"There you are." I don't have to fake the relief in my voice. Another five minutes of sports talk and Juniper might have strangled him with his own tie.
"Felix!" She practically bounces away from the desk. "I was just—this nice man was helping me find you."
The guard deflates like a punctured balloon. "Oh. This is your... friend?"
"Boyfriend," I correct, because fuck this guy. My arm slides around Juniper's waist, pulling her against me. Mine. "Thanks for keeping her company."
"No problem." He's probably wondering why she isn't bonded since he can smell the alpha pheromones on me, but he sinks back into his chair and looks vaguely frustrated with himself, already reaching for his phone again. "You folks have a good night."
Juniper wiggles her fingers at him in a wave that's somehow both flirty and dismissive. We make it to the elevator before she speaks again, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Think he'll be a problem?"
"No." I hit the button for the parking garage. "We're leaving the city anyway."
The doors slide shut, sealing us into our own little world. She immediately cuddles into my side, her head finding that spot on my shoulder that seems designed for her.
"Where are we going next?" Her breath is warm against my neck. "Somewhere with a beach? I miss the ocean."
"Back to the safehouse." I calculate the drive time in my head. Six hours if we push it. Seven if we stop for food. "Your heat's coming."
She pulls back to stare at me. "Really?"
"Three days, maybe four." I've been tracking her cycles for years now. Down to a science. "You're already running warmer than usual."
"That's so creepy." She grins. "And romantic. You're like a really fucked up calendar with abs."
I roll my eyes, but don't argue. It's not just romance, it's necessity. I can't knot her properly, can't give her what her biology demands. So I compensate. Track her cycles. Stock supplies. Plan ahead.
The elevator descends, and I catalog what we'll need. Toys. Medications. Food she'll actually eat when she's deep in heat. The safehouse is already stocked, but I'll need to check expiration dates. Nothing I can't replace with a quick trip around the corner.
"Hey." Juniper's finger runs down my chest. "You okay? You've got your thinking face on."
"I'm calculating logistics."
"Sexy." She stretches up to press a kiss to my jaw. "I love when you go all murder-robot on me."
I'm not a robot. That's too generous. Robots probably have a wider emotional range than I do, minus the bottomless pit of rage that only one person in this world ever seems to quell. Robots don't wake up in cold sweats thinking about all the ways the world could take her from me.
I'm not sure I'd call it love. I don’t think I'm capable of that, so I guess that's one way the comparison is appropriate. But obsession and codependency are decent substitutes, or so I tell myself.
The elevator dings, and we step out into the parking garage. Our car waits in the shadows, anonymous and forgettable like all the best getaway vehicles. I do a visual sweep of the space. No cameras, no witnesses, no problems.
"Dibs on the radio," Juniper calls, already heading for the passenger side.
"No death metal before sunrise," I tell her. "That's the rule."
"You're no fun." But she's smiling as she says it, that real smile that crinkles her eyes and makes her look so innocent.
And she is, in a sense. That's the one thing the demon we both escaped couldn't take from her. Not completely. Me? I never had it to begin with. The closest thing I have is the all-consuming need to protect what's left of hers at all costs.
I slide behind the wheel and start the engine. In three days, she'll be burning up with need, begging for things I can't give her. But I'll try anyway. I always do.
Because that's what you do for the person who makes your dead heart remember how to beat.
Even if it's just necessity.
Even if it's not love.
Even if I'm lying to myself with every breath thinking it could ever be enough.