Chapter 19 – TROY
CHAPTER 19
TROY
I stretch out on the couch in the living room, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. It's been a few days since we moved into Braxley's penthouse, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the ridiculous opulence of this place. The leather beneath me probably costs more than my entire wardrobe.
Not that I'd ever admit that to the others.
A burst of laughter from the kitchen draws my attention. Bella's in there with Liam, learning how to make some fancy pasta dish. Her giggles mix with Liam's low chuckles, and I feel a pang in my chest.
She's been different since that day in the park. More confident, more alive. The training sessions with Liam have only amplified that change. It's like watching a flower slowly unfurl its petals after a long winter.
And fuck me if it isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. We're here to protect her, not... whatever the hell this is becoming. But it's getting harder and harder to ignore the pull I feel toward her. The way my heart races when she smiles. The way her scent makes me want to bury my face in her neck and never come up for air.
"Fuck," I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
This job is going to be the death of me.
A ping from my phone offers a welcome distraction. It's an alert from one of the monitoring programs Savva set up to keep tabs on Braxley's social media presence. I open it, expecting to see another vapid post about skincare or whatever the hell passes for content these days.
Instead, my blood runs cold.
It's a direct message to Braxley's Instagram, sent from an account with no profile picture and a string of random numbers for a username.
"Your time is running out, pretty boy. Tick tock."
Well, shit.
I sit up, all traces of laziness gone. This isn't the first threatening message we've intercepted, but it's definitely the most direct. And there's something about the phrasing that sets my teeth on edge.
I tap my earpiece. "Savva, you seeing this?"
His voice crackles in my ear, tense and alert. "Yes. I'm running a trace on the account now, but I doubt we'll get much. These people aren't amateurs."
"No," I agree, my mind already racing through possibilities. "But they're getting bolder. We need to tell Roman."
"Already on it," Savva replies. "Meeting in five minutes. Guest room three."
I acknowledge and cut the connection, pushing myself off the couch. As I pass the kitchen, I catch another glimpse of Bella. She's got a smudge of flour on her cheek, and Liam's reaching out to brush it away. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that I have to look away.
Focus, Shepherd. We've got bigger problems right now.
I slip into the guest room, nodding to Roman and Cole, who are already there. Savva joins us a moment later, his tablet in hand. Liam's the last to arrive, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
"What have we got?" Roman asks, his voice low and controlled. But I can see the tightness in the set of his shoulders, the hard glint in his eyes.
Savva pulls up the message on the room's main screen. "This came in about ten minutes ago. It's the third threat this week, but by far the most explicit."
"Tick tock," Cole murmurs. "They're getting impatient."
I nod, glad I'm not the only one who picked up on that. "Yeah, and that worries me. Impatient people make mistakes, but they also get desperate. We could be looking at an accelerated timeline here."
Roman's jaw clenches. "Agreed. Savva, what did the trace turn up?"
"Not much," Savva admits, frustration clear in his voice. "The account was created using a series of VPNs and proxy servers. Whoever this is, they know their tech."
"Or they hired someone who does," I point out. "We shouldn't assume our perp and our hacker are the same person."
Liam grunts in agreement. "Good point. This could be a team effort."
"Alright," Roman says, pacing the length of the room. "We need to approach this from multiple angles. Savva, keep digging into the tech side. See if you can find any patterns in the messaging, any linguistic quirks that might give us a clue about the sender."
Savva nods, already tapping away at his tablet.
"Liam, I want you to review all the security footage from the past week. Look for anyone lingering too long, any faces that show up more than once. And check the background of every delivery person, maintenance worker, anyone who's had access to the building."
"On it," Liam says, his expression grim.
Roman turns to me. "Troy, you're on social media duty. Go through Braxley's posts, his followers, his comments. Look for anyone who seems overly invested, anyone who might have a grudge."
I salute, only half-joking. "Aye aye, captain. I'll dive into the cesspool of Instagram influencer drama. Try not to be jealous of my glamorous assignment."
That earns me a snort from Liam and an eye roll from Savva. Even Cole's lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. But Roman's not in the mood for jokes.
"Take it seriously, Troy," he says, his voice hard. "This isn't a game."
I straighten up, all traces of humor gone. "I know, boss. I've got this."
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods. "Good. Cole, you're with me. We need to have a talk with Braxley, see if he has any idea who might be behind this."
Cole grunts in acknowledgment, already moving toward the door.
As we all file out to our assigned tasks, I can't help but feel a sense of... excitement? Is that the right word? It's fucked up, I know. Someone's threatening our client, and here I am, getting an adrenaline rush.
But the truth is, this is what we're good at. This is what we're trained for. Protecting people from real, tangible threats. Not playing babysitter to some self-absorbed influencer.
Although our scent match being involved makes it all considerably less fucking fun.
I settle into a chair in the corner of the living room, pulling out my laptop. Time to dive into the wild world of Braxley Worthington's online presence.
Joy.
Three hours and approximately ten thousand selfies later, I'm ready to gouge my own eyes out. How can one person take so many pictures of themselves? And why do people care?
But beneath the annoyance, a pattern is starting to emerge. It's subtle, easy to miss if you're not looking for it. But it's there.
There's a user who comments on almost every single one of Braxley's posts. At first glance, she seems like just another adoring fan. Lots of heart emojis, gushing compliments about Braxley's outfits or his "flawless" skin.
But there's an edge to some of the comments. A possessiveness that sets off alarm bells in my head.
"You look so good in that shirt, babe! I bet it would look even better on my bedroom floor."
"Another party without me? You're breaking my heart, Brax."
"I miss the old you. Before all this fame went to your head."
And her number of selfies actually rivals Braxley's gallery when it comes to sheer volume, which is… saying something.
I lean back, rubbing my eyes. It could be nothing. Just an overzealous fan with boundary issues. But my gut says there's more to it.
I tap my earpiece. "Savva, you got a minute?"
"For you? Always," comes the dry response. "What have you found?"
I fill him in on the mystery girl, outlining the pattern I've noticed. "Could be our culprit, could be a red herring. But I think it's worth looking into."
There's a pause, and I can practically hear the gears turning in Savva's head. "Interesting. Send me the account details. I'll see what I can dig up."
"On it," I say, already compiling the information. "Oh, and Savva?"
"Mm?"
"If you find any embarrassing old posts of mine while you're digging around, just... delete them, yeah?"
His laugh is warm and rich. "No promises, Shepherd. No promises."
I grin as I end the call. For all his sophisticated airs, Savva's got a mischievous streak a mile wide. It's one of the things I like most about him.
I push the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand. As I scroll through more of the mystery fan's comments, something catches my eye. A photo from about six months ago, showing Braxley at some charity gala. He's got his arm around the waist of a woman with red hair and a slinky green dress.
The caption reads: "Night out with my favorite cousin! Thanks for always having my back! #BestFriends #DynamicDuo"
But it's not the caption that interests me.
It's the mystery fan's comment.
"She looks like a slut."
Complete with a knife emoji.
What the fuck?
I open up the replies and see a few other fans pointing out she's Braxley's cousin, but the fan didn't reply to them. Guessing Braxley hasn't seen it, either, considering he gets a flood of comments and reactions on everything he posts.
Guess the plot just got a little bit thicker.