Chapter 25
KATIE
After coming to an agreement with Roan two nights ago, anticipation has been buzzing under my skin nonstop. I gave him every scrap of info I had on Kayla—everything I’ve managed to collect over the years—and now I’m itching to hear something back from him.
Do I have doubts about trusting him with this? No, not at all. If anybody can find Kayla, it’s Roan. He found out everything about me while I remained completely clueless, didn’t he?
So yes, I’m putting my faith in him. Roan will find my sister while I keep fooling the fucker who has her hostage. And if this mystery man gets a whiff of someone searching for her and realizes it’s Roan, I can easily feign surprise.
What do you mean he’s looking for my sister? He can’t be—that means my cover is blown. I need to get out of the Albanian estate immediately.
This is the best possible outcome that could happen, really.
I smile as I snuggle deeper into my oversized teddy bear that I've decided to call Rowan—not because it rhymes with Roan, but because I genuinely like the name. That’s all. Pure coincidence.
I run my hand down its soft body, its fur tickling my fingers.
“The man who gave you to me is such an enigma,” I murmur. “He knew who I was all along—and he still wanted me.”
My pulse spikes at the memory of his mouth on me, his rough, unyielding hands… A tremor ripples through me as if the echo of his touch hasn’t quite let me go.
Was it the thrill of seducing his enemy? Not that he had to do much seducing to get me to spread my legs for him. Some enemy I turned out to be, I sigh heavily. Did he want me at all, or just to claim me, to prove he could turn me to his side?
A chime cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I roll away from Rowan and grab the phone from my nightstand.
UNKNOWN
I’m starting to get impatient, Katie. You haven’t given me anything concrete. I heard something interesting happened this week. Come out tomorrow to tell me all about it, or else…
My stomach churns as I read the message. It’s from a blocked number—probably a burner phone—but it’s clear as day who sent it. Only one person ever contacts me through blocked numbers and ends his texts with thinly veiled threats.
The ‘or else’ hangs there like a noose.
I slide off the bed, heart pounding as strategies start firing in my head.
He obviously heard something about Afrim’s death and wants my confirmation.
It’s hardly classified—the funeral is tomorrow, the relevant authorities have been all over it, and the papers even ran a short obituary.
My chest tightens as I’m once again reminded about his death.
But me showing up tomorrow just to confirm that Afrim died of a heart attack? That wouldn’t satisfy this bastard. He’d want something bigger. Something he can use to attack the Albanians and bring them down while he thinks they’re weak.
Too bad for him he reached out a few days too late. I’m no longer his pawn to manipulate as he pleases.
I’ll have to talk with Roan—figure out how we want to play this. Just thinking about seeing him again sends my pulse skittering, my whole body waking up like it’s been starving and just smelled food.
We haven’t really talked since that night. He’s been consumed with work and funeral prep. And I’ve been giving him space, retreating to my room just before he gets home, leaving little notes in the kitchen next to the dinners I make for him.
Food’s in the oven. Help yourself.
Stew’s on the stove. There’s bread in the basket.
Simple. Domestic.
A flicker of nerves sparks when I glance down at the faded shirt and shorts I’m wearing. I should change. The thought barely forms before I swat it away. No, no, I don’t need to dress up for Roan. Nothing is going to happen tonight, and it’s not like he hasn’t already seen everything anyway.
Focus. All I need is a plan for tomorrow’s meeting and a clear sense of what information he wants me to hand over.
That’s it. Business. To prove it to myself, I don’t bother changing or even running a brush through the messy hair grazing my shoulders.
It’s growing out again, and honestly, I don’t feel the need to cut it short anymore—my cover’s been blown, so what’s the point?
My hands are shaking a little as I turn the door handle, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before stepping out of my bedroom.
I’m not scared of Roan. My body is just jittery, knowing it’s about to see him and remembering far too vividly the pleasure he wrung from it a few nights ago. It’s pure biology. Muscle memory.
I wipe my damp palms down my shirt on my way through the hallway, spotting a small stain from dinner earlier. All the better. Extra proof that I’m here to talk strategy—not… anything else.
As I reach his door, I linger for a charged minute, heart thundering like it’s trying to jailbreak through my ribs.
Finally, I raise a hand and knock. Nothing happens.
I knock again.
Still nothing.
But I know he’s in there. I heard him go inside an hour ago and the door hasn’t opened since. Is he asleep?
I try the handle, not really expecting it to budge since he always locks it when he leaves for work, but it turns quietly under my hand. My heart jumps to my throat as I ease the door open and peek inside, my gaze darting straight to the bed.
It’s empty.
He must be in the shower then—that’s the only place he could be.
But the moment I think it, another thought barrels in behind it.
What if he slipped and hit his head? What if he’s lying unconscious on the bathroom floor right now?
The panic nudges me into the room, shutting the door behind me as I head towards the bathroom…
until a slightly open door to my left catches my eye.
My steps slow, confusion tugging my brows together. I didn’t even notice that door the last time I was here.
Probably because you were too distracted doing other things, my brain supplies.
I shove the thought away and push the door open the rest of the way—only to inhale sharply at the sight before me.
Roan’s head snaps towards me, an auburn brow arching as he takes me in. “What? You’re hungry for more now that you’ve had a taste and came for it?” he teases with a soft, knowing edge to his voice.
I try—truly try—to glare at him, but I’m afraid it’s useless because I can feel my cheeks becoming scorching hot and know I’m probably turning as red as a tomato.
But honestly, who can blame me? The man is sitting in a hot tub, butt naked, and the steam curling up in the air does absolutely nothing to hide his body.
From my position near the doorway, I can see everything. Everything.
The only accessory he’s wearing is the dog tag hanging from a gold chain around his neck, resting right over his heart. I should have taken a closer look at it while I had the chance before, but I wasn’t exactly in an observant state of mind.
My gaze betrays me, traveling lower. Over the hard-stacked abs on his smooth golden stomach, along the dark ink winding from his right elbow to his wrist, down to the delicious V of his pelvis that leads to his—
Oh God.
His cock is hardening. Right before my eyes.
I gasp, my lips parting as I watch in helpless fascination while his length swells, the thick shaft slowly rising from where it rested against his thigh, lifting up, up, up until it’s standing proud and hard just below his navel.
I lick my lips unconsciously, swallowing the embarrassing amount of drool pooling in my mouth.
His deep, rumbling chuckle has my gaze flying back up. But the amusement vanishes instantly, replaced by a hardness that could carve stone, his eyes burning with a fire that scorches me. “Come here, Katina.” His voice drops low, vibrating against my skin, threading through my thoughts.
My legs move before I can stop them, a step forward, then another, until I shake my head, trying to resist the pull. “No, no, that’s not why I’m here.”
He leans back, tilting his head so red curls fall over his left eye before brushing them aside with mild irritation. “Why are you here then?”
Yes. Good question. Why am I here, if not to fully appreciate this magnificent specimen of a man?
I have to physically turn away from him and his tempting body, looking out towards the garden and the woods beyond it to wrangle my brain back into order.
It takes a full, humiliating minute for my throbbing clit to calm enough for me to remember what actually brought me here, and when I do, I spin back to him triumphantly.
“I got a text from the man who sent me here.”
His demeanor doesn’t change, that intense heat in his gaze still burning my skin as he waves me forward. I hesitate. “I want to read the text, Katina.”
“I’ll—I’ll read it to you from here if you don’t mind.” I stammer, flustered and hating how obvious I’m being.
His lips curl up. “And what if I do mind?”
Now he’s just teasing me, enjoying my discomfort. I huff, unlock my phone, and read the message aloud. When I’m done, I look up at him. “So… what do we do?”
“Lorik—that’s my private investigator—is getting close to Kayla’s trail,” he says, and my entire world stops.
“He found where Stacey was keeping her around the Hudson River and was able to trace the car that took her to an obscure hotel. I’m assuming that’s where her captor got hold of her after Stacey’s arrest. We’re close to finding her. ”
My breath hitches. Stacey had her around the Hudson River? So close yet so far.
I’ve never even been this close to finding Kayla before. All those years of searching, of chasing ghosts and dead ends, and now—
Without thinking, I start walking towards the tub. “That’s incredible!” I grin at him. “And so quickly too.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe pleasure—before the heat in his eyes deepens. I freeze, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
“You have a very lovely smile,” he says, voice unbelievably husky. “You should do it more often.”