Chapter 9
Chapter nine
War
Iflip Olivia’s key over in my hand, the metal warm from my pocket.
Small. Ordinary.
But it opens everything.
She’ll go home tonight and have no idea I’ve already been inside her world. Her kitchen. Her bed.
Every secret she thought she could keep in that quiet little apartment.
The thought sends a dark satisfaction crawling through me.
My phone vibrates against the desk.
The name flashes across the screen.
Declan Brooks.
Seattle’s golden boy.
New money. Self-made.
Smug as hell.
I let it ring twice.
Make him wait.
Then I answer.
“Brooks.”
“Beaumont.”
“What do you want?” My tone stays flat. Cold.
“I see you’re still a pretentious prick,” he says, almost amused.
“And you’re still trash that learned how to accessorize,” I fire back without hesitation.
A low exhale hums through the line. Not laughter. Not anger. Just that flicker of temper I was hunting for.
“What do you want?” I repeat, leaning back in my chair, key turning slow between my fingers.
“I need one of your men. For business.”
I laugh once, quiet and sharp. “Let me guess—you want me to hand over one of my men so you can bleed him dry for intel and send him back slower than you found him.”
“If I wanted your intel, I’d already have it,” he replies. Smooth. Controlled. “It’s not exactly locked behind steel. Half the women in your orbit would sell it for a bottle of champagne and a photo op.”
My jaw tightens.
“Wrong assumption,” I say coolly. “You think I’d ever trust a woman with anything that matters?”
“No,” he replies evenly. “I think you don’t trust anyone. That’s the difference between us.”
Silence stretches long. A standoff. Neither of us flinches.
We’re both men used to rooms stilling when we enter them. Both men who don’t blink first.
I tap the key against the desk, slow and deliberate.
Broderick. Loyal to a fault. Always orbiting where he doesn’t belong.
Always too close to things—and people, that don’t belong to him.
“Actually,” I say finally, “I might have someone for you. But what’s in it for me?”
“I’ll owe you,” Brooks says simply. “You’ll have my word.”
His word. The one thing even I can admit he guards like gold.
I like the sound of it.
“Fine. You can have Broderick.”
There’s a sharp laugh on the other end. “The puppy?”
“One and the same,” I say dryly. “Still up my ass. Still eager to please. If you want him, he’ll help you, but don’t expect trade secrets. He’s as loyal as the dog you think he is.”
“Fine by me. Thank you,” Brooks says, his voice clean and easy. Like this is just business.
Thank you?
How soft.
Weak.
Here I thought, we were two sides of the same coin.
“Then we’re done here.”
I end the call.
The silence after tastes sweeter than the deal.
Broderick will be out of my hair. Brooks will owe me.
And Olivia Baker’s life is in between my fingers in the form of a single stolen key.
***
The lock clicks too easily.
Her lock.
Her door.
I step inside Olivia Baker’s apartment, shutting the door behind me with a soft click.
It smells like her. Not just her perfume, but her skin.
Maybe her soap.
A trace of flowers cling to the air, sweet but thin, like it’s trying too hard to be something it isn’t.
I move slowly, deliberately, letting my eyes adjust to her space.
One-bedroom. Secondhand couch sagging in the middle. A throw blanket folded neatly on the back, worn at the edges. Books stacked on the coffee table, spines cracked, pages dog-eared. All lived in.
All ordinary.
I cross down the hall into her bedroom and open the closet.
A small row of blouses in muted colors. Black, navy, pale blue. Cheap polyester that will pull at the seams after a dozen washes. A couple skirts that would wrinkle if you so much as breathed on them. Shoes lined up in pairs, scuffed at the toes, worn down at the heel.
Poorly made.
Cheap.
She needs better.
Better clothes. Better shoes. Better everything.
I slide open the small dresser drawer, sift through folded fabric. Cotton underwear, plain bras, nothing meant to be seen.
Nothing meant for me.
That will change.
On her vanity, I find it. A bottle of perfume. The kind that comes from a plastic blister pack in the drugstore aisle, shaped like an imitation of the real thing.
One spray and it’s gone in an hour.
I lift it, roll it between my fingers. Hold it to the light like it’s a joke.
She thinks this is luxury.
She has no idea what real luxury smells like.
I’ll get her the original.
She needs it.
She’ll smell like silk and smoke before I’m done with her.
I set the bottle back down exactly where it was, then take another slow look around.
The cheap linens on her bed. The dented nightstand. The empty picture frames, like she bought them on clearance and never got around to filling them.
This place is a cage, and she doesn’t even see the bars.
I imagine filling it with what she should have. A proper bed. Furniture that doesn’t creak. Clothes that don’t come off the rack at discount stores. Silk instead of cotton. Glass instead of plastic.
My vines are already in the cracks, winding through her life, bleeding like smoke into her walls.
She won’t even notice until it’s too late.
I turn back toward the nightstand—and freeze.
A picture frame. The cheap kind, metal edging slightly bent. But it isn’t empty.
It’s her. Younger. Cap and gown. Smiling. Flanked by three men who all carry the same stubborn eyes. Brothers, I assume. Arms looped around her shoulders, standing too close like they’d fight the world to protect her.
Something sharp twists in my chest.
Family.
Her family.
I stare at it too long, longer than I mean to, before setting it face-down.
I breathe once, steady, and step back. The key twirls in my hand as I leave the apartment, locking it behind me.
A voice breaks the quiet.
“War?”
Broderick.
Of course.
He’s just stepping out of his own apartment, brows furrowing when he spots me standing outside Olivia’s door.
“There you are,” I say smoothly, slipping the key back into my pocket. “You left at lunch.”
Brody blinks, caught off guard. “Yeah, since you had lunch with Liv, I figured I’d go out for a bit.”
Liv.
The way he says it makes my jaw tighten.
I nod once, cutting him off before he can say anything else. “Good. Because I need you to leave on assignment. Early.”
His brows lift. “For California?” His voice is full of barely-contained excitement.
I let a slow smile tug at my mouth.
“No,” I say, savoring the moment. “Seattle.”
The look of confusion on his face is better than any victory won.