Chapter 10
ROAN
I watch her car idling across from the police station, wondering why the fuck she’s stalking Romero’s wife. Why is she here?
I shift in my seat, trying to ignore the throbbing length in my pants that’s been aching mercilessly since I saw her fight that dickhead who called out her real name.
Katherine Pierce. Katie.
The name suits her better than Mia ever could.
Before I could even decide whether to make my presence known and step in to help her, she had the situation handled—the man fatally wounded and bleeding out at her feet.
I don’t know if I should be impressed with her or horrified by how viscerally my body reacted as I took in the way she dominated her opponent.
She was lethal. And I want all that lethal power writhing beneath me, moaning my name as I fuck her into my mattress until she forgets every lie she’s ever told.
Focus, you bastard. This isn’t the time.
My phone chimes, and I glance down to see Dhimiter’s name on the screen.
Dhimiter
Frederik’s been released and I made sure the men know what happened—without revealing which maid he tried to harass. They know better now.
Good. One problem solved, at least.
Another message arrives in quick succession.
Dhimiter
She really doesn’t know you’re on to her?
A smirk tugs at my lips as I drop my phone and return my gaze to the rental car down the road, just a few spaces from mine. She almost caught me when she was leaving the alley, but my quick instincts kept my cover from being blown.
Then again, she wouldn’t expect to be followed by me, not when she’s been sneaking in and out through that sewer line for God knows how long without being discovered. Which raises an interesting question:
How the hell did she even know it was there?
No one on the inside could’ve tipped her off. Only Ate and I know about that exit. We had it built after we moved into the compound as an emergency contingency—a way to evacuate undetected if things ever went to shit.
Even Elira doesn’t know it exists.
If my sister had known, she definitely would have tried to sneak out a few times over the years when she was chafing under our protection. Which means Katie must have stumbled upon it on her own and capitalized on the opportunity. Smart girl.
Suddenly, she gets out of her car and jogs towards the police station, making me straighten so fast I nearly hit my head on the roof of my car.
Is she out of her goddamn mind?
There’s a fucking dead body in her trunk and she’s walking right up to the police station like she’s returning library books? What kind of suicidal—
Then I notice Leni emerging from the building, and Katie moves into her path, intercepting her. My brows pull together as I watch their interaction, wishing I had audio so I could hear what the hell she’s saying.
Leni’s guards immediately move to corner Katie, and I’m opening my car door before I can think it through—but a quick wave of Leni’s hand stops them, and I pull the door shut. What the hell?
I can’t just barge over there. If she sees me, she’ll know I followed her, and I’ll lose the upper hand I gained tonight. Knowledge is power, and right now I’m gathering intelligence she doesn’t know I have.
Be patient. Watch. Learn.
I rub my temple as I observe, Katie’s body language defensive but not aggressive, while Leni’s seems almost… calm, which makes no damn sense.
After a few minutes, Katie takes several steps back from Leni and jogs to her car. I turn my ignition as she slides into the driver’s seat, the pendant on my chain digging into my skin as I lean forward with anticipation.
She pulls away from the curb, and I wait two beats before following, keeping my distance. My headlights stay off to avoid catching her attention in her rearview mirror, the street lamps providing more than enough light for me to navigate the dark road.
It’s getting late—or early, depending on how you look at it.
The clock on my dashboard glows an accusatory 1:06 AM.
I'm not entirely sure what I expect from her at this point. She’s proven herself wildly unpredictable, so I’m only mildly surprised when, as the night stretches into morning, she keeps driving without heading back to the estate.
Where are you going now, little liar?
She takes a left turn, then another and another, weaving through backstreets darker than the main roads, forcing me to practically hug the steering wheel as I carefully trail her several blocks behind.
When she finally pulls up beside what looks like a run-down hardware store, I idle a block away, engine low, and watch as she gets out of her car.
Her movements are quick, precise, like she already knows exactly what she’s looking for. Within minutes, she comes out carrying two cement blocks, then disappears back inside and returns with a thick, rusted chain.
Oh, fuck.
She’s not even trying to hide what she’s doing—but then again, there are no working CCTVs in sight, and the low light means even parked cars with dashcams won’t capture anything useful.
I lean forward, curiosity twisting into something darker as she tosses the items into her trunk. When she climbs back into the car, I start the engine and fall in behind her again, this hunter-and-prey dance taking on an increasingly surreal quality.
We navigate several more turns, the roads getting progressively darker and more deteriorated, potholes threatening to swallow my tires. As we cut through these quiet streets, heading steadily towards the waterfront, I realize our destination.
Greenpoint. Of course.
A forgotten corner of Brooklyn where the old industrial docks stretch out like the rotting bones of a bygone era—broken concrete, rusted metal, the thick stink of salt water and decomposition heavy in the air.
A perfect place for dumping something you never want found.
She parks between two decaying warehouses, the shadows hiding her car. I stop a safe distance back, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against my thigh as I watch her.
Katie gets out, pops the trunk, and wrestles the body out. The corpse is dead weight—awkward and limp—but she doesn’t let that stop her.
A shiver of something hot twists through me when she starts wrapping the chain around the body, threading it through the cement blocks, knotting it off with vicious pulls that hint at either training or experience.
Christ, I shouldn’t be reacting like this. Shouldn’t be hungry for a woman this unpredictable, this dangerous. Shouldn’t be impressed by her cold ruthlessness, aroused by the way she handles a corpse like it’s just another obstacle to overcome.
I should be focusing on the obvious problem—why the fuck she’s wormed herself into my estate. She’s got a reason for being there, and it sure as hell isn’t to scrub toilets or earn a maid’s salary like she claimed at dinner.
If my theory’s correct—and the evidence increasingly suggests it is—she’s a fed. Some FBI snake trying to dig up dirt on my family.
I should be planning how to expose her. Catch her red-handed. Break her.
Maybe even bury her if it came to that. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to eliminate a threat to my family.
But watching her now, silhouetted against the dark water as she prepares to dispose of a man she killed in self-defense… I can’t think straight.
All I can think about is how badly I want to rip off that calm mask she’s wearing. I know she’s not emotionless—I’ve seen the frayed edges, the flashes of something real underneath. And Jesus, I want to get inside that, pry at the seams and find out what keeps her pretending.
I want to see what it would take to make her break.
My mind spirals before I can stop it. Her back pinned against a wall, my body caging hers as I strip away every defense until her shield cracks and shatters under my touch.
Fuck.
My cock hardens so fast I become lightheaded, her image blurring in front of me as blood rushes south.
The fantasy heightens—cold concrete biting into her knees, my hands fisted in her hair, guiding her pretty face exactly where I want it.
Those sharp blue eyes staring up at me, defiance melting into hunger as that lying mouth stretches around my cock and she chokes and—
Enough.
Focus, damn it.
I force the images away, focusing on reality instead of fantasy.
Katie shoves the body off the crumbling dock with one final effort, and the splash is immediately swallowed by the thick, oily water. The chain drags the corpse down fast, the murky depths consuming it whole. A single bubble breaks the surface, and then nothing. Calm. As if nothing ever happened.
She lingers for a moment, watching the water, then wipes her hands on her jeans and turns back to her car.
After she gets in, I wait for her taillights to disappear down the road before following her yet again. This time, she drives back towards Queens, towards the estate, steering into the little hidden alleyway near the East River shore where the manhole is.
I keep driving past her location, heading for the main gates instead. Once I’m parked in the driveway, I pull out my phone and look up Emily’s name.
The news articles from her disastrous press conference last year pop up immediately—dozens of them, all with the same dramatic headlines about FBI corruption and exposed conspiracies.
But there’s only one name I’m interested in, and I find it in bold print halfway down the first article.
Katie Pierce, Emily’s former partner.
The pieces click into place with a satisfaction that tastes almost sweet. Federal agent. I fucking called it. The woman who helped expose Stacey Rodrigues and nearly brought down an entire corrupt network.
What the hell is she doing in my house? And more importantly—who sent her?
The Nightshades clearly want her for something, given that bounty on her head. But why infiltrate my estate specifically? What does she think she’ll find?
No more of this watching from a distance or following her around.
I need to cage her for now. Keep her close. In my house, under my roof, where I can study her without interference.
Where I can test her limits. Break her defenses. Find out everything she knows and who she’s reporting to.
And if I want to fuck her?
The thought sends heat flooding through me again, and I adjust myself in my seat with a grimace.
No one would know.
No one would dare question me.
I clench my jaw, forcing those thoughts back into the dark corner where they belong. She’s a threat. An unpredictable variable that could destroy everything my family has built. Someone I need to control, not fuck. I can’t let my cock do the thinking right now.
I managed to gain the upper hand tonight—caught her in the act, followed her without detection, discovered her real identity. Now I need to pounce before she realizes I know.
Tomorrow, I’m moving her into my house.