32. Brian
CHAPTER 32
Brian
I step into my office— my real office, not the polished, picture-perfect front I use to keep up appearances.
This place is raw, all sharp edges with no trace of comfort—no windows, no sunlight. Just the hum of two walls filled with glowing monitors and high-tech gear. And right now, it keeps me right where I need to be—focused and in control.
This is the true heartbeat of The Centurion Group. Recon. Surveillance. Where movements of everything from people to money are tagged and tracked, and every threat is neutralized.
My team’s already locked in. Harrison’s running point, his sharp eyes and gut instincts making him the best damn asset we have, now that he’s out of the service.
And Colby?
My brother-in-arms, and in matrimony, is here, too.
Between his keen eye and an arsenal of surveillance drones, the guy would’ve shown up no matter what. It’s his sister we’re looking for, and if it were mine, nothing would stop me either.
So, I didn’t even try to keep him out—I rolled out the red carpet. And now he’s here, smirking like he knows something I don’t, which is dangerous.
Colby’s grin widens, and he points at my chest. “Sorry, did we interrupt something? Please say yes.”
I glance down at my shirt—buttons mismatched, completely out of line. Damn it.
Well, considering I was just about to fuck his sister six ways to Sunday, I force my voice to stay even. “Nothing at all.”
Smart ass.
I brush past him and zero in on Harrison, who’s standing with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the screen. All of New York City stretches out across the monitors, holding his attention like the Queen’s Gambit chess board.
He doesn’t need to look up to know I’m here. “What’ve you got?” I ask as I step beside him.
Harrison’s focus doesn’t waver, zooming in on a cluster of red dots. “Every place Angi’s been in the last six days. With timestamps. You see what I’m seeing?”
My gut tightens. Yeah, I do.
I lean in, pulse pounding in my ears. Each red dot on the screen feels like a flick to the ear, taunting me, daring us to catch her if we can.
Then, I see the still shots on the other monitor, and my jaw clenches so hard I’m one second away from cracking a tooth.
Angi.
I shove my hands into my pockets, taking her in—head-to-toe leather, hair cascading down to her ass, a Hermès purse that’s definitely stolen, and heels that make it clear wherever she’s headed, she’s not walking there.
She’s still the wild, reckless girl she always was. Still lost .
Emotion slithers up my chest, coiling around me so tight, it’s hard to breathe.
She’s close. Too damn close. “She’s coming home,” I mutter under my breath, trying to steady the rush of nerves.
Colby steps forward, his features strained. “She’s got a handful of places she holes up in. I’ll start there.” His tone is disciplined, almost militant, but I know him too well.
His future’s hanging by a thread, and maybe not just his career, but his freedom, too. And finding Angi is his only way out.
I nod, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll send a few teams to sweep the areas. We’ll find her. Right, Harrison?”
Harrison’s smirk deepens as his eyes land on my shirt. “What happened? Did the laundry win this round?” He chuckles, eyes gleaming. “Or maybe it’s someone who’s got you all twisted up like a knot?”
I clench my jaw, wedged between the hellcat woman on the screen, and her sister, the one tucked safely away in my house.
My wife.
I fumble with the buttons, fixing my shirt before steering the conversation in the opposite direction. “Speaking of twisted, got a bill in the mail for Roxana Voss’s puke purse.”
Harrison barks out a laugh. “Should I organize a taco sale? Or maybe a GoFundMe?”
I snort. “She’ll get a dime from me when hell freezes over.” My gaze narrows on him, voice dropping. “If you’re here, who’s watching the kids?”
Harrison smiles, pressing the buzzer by the door. The heavy metal slides open, revealing the panic room. The kids are sprawled out in the middle, surrounded by military-grade sleeping bags, lounging with snacks in hand, eyes glued to the latest Marvel flick on the big screen.
“Nice,” I mutter, the corner of my mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. At least someone’s night is all figured out.
By the time I get home, it’s late, but there’s still time to salvage the night. Unless, of course, Jules is tucked away in bed making love to her new laptop.
I texted her to let her know I was on my way, and not because she asked or because I’m pussy-whipped, though if there’s any part of Jules’s pussy that’s involved, count me in. I did it because I wanted her to know. Being yanked away from her like that, hot and heavy and hard as fucking granite, only makes me more determined.
I want Jules.
I want her so much that in the few hours we’ve been apart, I’ve drifted in and out of physical pain.
Hell, I can still taste her on my lips from that kiss...
God, that kiss.
It’s the kind that rewires your brain and wrecks any notion of moving along without her.
I step inside, instantly hit with signs of her everywhere—her laptop tossed on the sofa, phone abandoned on the table, and her favorite plush winky face emoji slippers, tossed haphazardly on the floor, a small reminder that she’s here.
This is home now. Messy. Lived in. Happy.
A second later, her sweet voice drifts from somewhere in the house. Hmm . She must be on the phone.
The sound of her light giggles shoots straight to my dick, tightening low and deep, making me feel every damn inch of the want I have for this woman.
But then another voice cuts through the space, deflating me faster than a bouncy house rented by the hour.
I rush down the hall, following familiar laughs and voices until I step into the kitchen.
And there she is. My gut sinks like a stone, heavy and hard, when I see the last person I ever expected to find here tonight standing beside my Peach Pop.
Jess.
My sister.
The one who’s supposed to be in Fiji. On her honeymoon. With Mark.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, pulling her into a hug and forcing a grin that feels like it’s about to crack. “You’re not supposed to be back for weeks,” I add, biting out the words a little too sharp.
Because just like that, everything I’ve been holding onto—this marriage, Jules—feels like it’s about to crumble to dust.
And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.
“We came back early,” she says, her voice light as a song. Jess’s new tan and wide blue eyes beam at me, completely clueless that she’s about to demolish every last brick of my well-laid plan.
Okay, so maybe I don’t have an actual plan. But I have Jules, who’s already twisting her wedding ring like it’s suddenly strangling her finger .
Jess catches the shift in my expression and, in typical Jess fashion, blurts out, “The suspense was killing me. And there was a typhoon coming. Plus, I had to meet her—my new sister! Imagine my surprise when I find out you married Jules.”
God, I love my sister, but can she please stop talking already?
Jess grabs Jules’s hand, inspecting it closely, noticing how Jules is practically ripping the ring off her skin. “Couldn’t you at least get her a ring that fits?”
“We were...” I fumble, my throat tightening as I scramble for the right words. “Impulsive. In a rush.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re wrong. “It’s just...temporary.”
Shut up. Shut up. Shut. UP!
I glance at Jules, and it’s like watching her heart shatter in slow motion. Her eyes wide, filled with uncertainty, doubt, and so much hurt it slices from her heart to mine.
She’s already halfway gone, the need to run practically etched into every line of her face. But she covers it up with a fake smile and misty eyes that make it a thousand times worse.
“I’ll let you two catch up,” she says quietly, her voice small, distant, already out of reach.
She’s trying so damn hard to hold it together, to mask the cracks splintering her apart, but it’s all there—visible, raw. Breaking her in ways I never wanted to.
And all I can do is stand here, helpless, watching her slip through my fingers.
Because what else can I do?
I need to smooth it out with her. Talk with her. Maybe...I don’t know, explain .
But if this is going to end anyway, then fuck it, let it end now. I need to rip the bandage off and bleed out, no matter how much it kills me.
Instead of running after her, I stand there, locked in place, making small talk with my sister about her damn honeymoon, gushing over the beautiful wedding she missed and how we wished she could’ve been there. All the while my heart burns like acid and my brain screams this is wrong .
Me, playing the role of picture-perfect husband, while my wife walks away.