51. Silas
CHAPTER FIFTY ON E
T he glow of the screen burned deep into my retinas.
Tension coiled between my shoulders, the dull ache in my neck creeping down to my spine. A headache pounded behind my eyes, but I ignored it.
It’d been over two weeks since we’d been in the AIFG software, and I’d gotten home late. Again.
Lilith had been asleep, curled on her side, tucked into the blankets, her hair a messy halo against the pillow. I hadn’t woken her. I’d just stood there, watching her from the doorway for a minute. Maybe longer.
Then, I’d walked right back out and straight into my office.
Now I was here. Stuck.
I was six years deep into Clark’s call history. Six years.
I scrolled through rows and rows of numbers, my fingers tight on the mouse. The logs stretched out in endless columns, showing every outgoing and incoming call the bastard had made, each one a thread I was trying to unravel.
There had to be something . Some kind of pattern. A familiar number he kept calling. An old contact. Someone.
I clicked into another entry. Private number.
Another. Disconnected.
Another. No data found.
I clenched my jaw, exhaling hard through my nose.
I was missing something. I had to be.
This was ridiculous.
He wasn’t some criminal mastermind. He was a fucking news anchor—a man who sat behind a desk and read words someone else wrote for him. A man who spent his life being spoon-fed his own inflated ego on live television.
He wasn’t smart enough to disappear like thi s.
Restaurants. Work contacts. A few calls to distant relatives, but I’d already cross-referenced those with police records.
I’d pulled every interview report I could get my hands on—yeah, I’d gained access to those too—and each one had led to the same dead end. No one had seen him. No one knew anything.
Was he really just that lucky?
I clicked back to another more recent page of data.
Lilith.
Her number. Over and over and over.
Bile rose in my throat.
Months of calls. Of check-ins. Of arguments and apologies. Of control.
Thirteen calls in one day. One day.
I ground my teeth, scrolling further.
Times she’d called him.
How often had she called him because she thought she had to? Because she was scared not to? How many of those nights had he shown up to her place? How many times had she wanted him there? Wanted him enough to let him touch her?
How many times had she moaned his name?
How many times had she gasped beneath him, writhed under his hands?
How many times had he had her like that—had her body soft and willing, had her trembling for him, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he fucked her?
How many times had she cried out for him, begged for more, dug her nails into his back?
White-hot rage blistered up my throat. My fists slammed into the desk.
The laptop rattled and papers jumped.
“Cazzo!”
I braced my hands against the wood, breathing hard as the edges of it bit into my palms.
This wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about me or my stupid ego. About the sick twisted thoughts clawing at my skull. This was about stopping him so he could never lay his hands on her ever again.
The image of Lilith bleeding and shaking on the wet pavement hit me like a bullet to the heart. Her arms curled around herself, trying to make herself smaller.
Quel figlio di puttana. Quel pezzo di merda.
I should’ve killed him. I should’ve beaten him until he was a smear on the concrete.
He’d spent so long getting into her head, hurting her, wounding her in ways I couldn’t fix.
And I’d sat here for weeks running down every lead, poring over every goddamn trace of his pathetic existence—and I still hadn’t found him.
It didn’t mak e sense. I should’ve had him weeks ago. The cops should’ve had him the day he did it.
I promised her he wouldn’t get away with it. I promised.
And yet, here I was. Chasing ghosts. Failing the one person who meant more to me than anyone else on this earth.
Failing.
My head spun, acid sizzling through my pores.
“Silas?”
I turned. Lilith stood in the doorway, wrapped in one of my shirts, a blanket draped over her shoulders, hair a complete mess.
My chest loosened, just a little. Enough to breathe. Enough to feel something other than the endless loop of failure running through my veins.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm.” She yawned, rubbing her cheek against the blanket. “You woke me up.”
“ Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she glanced at the monitors, then back at me.
“Come here.”
She hesitated for a split second before moving, padding across the room, and crawling into my lap. I skimmed a hand down her spine, anchoring her against me.
She nuzzled into my neck. “I miss you.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m right here.”
“Yeah. Physically.”
My stomach twisted. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She hummed against my skin, her breath warm where it fanned over my collarbone. “Your eyes are going to start bleeding if you don’t stop.”
A quiet chuckle rumbled in my chest. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”
“I’m serious,” she said, toying lazily with the collar of my shirt. “You should sleep.”
“I will soon,” I said, letting my lips graze her hairline.
“Liar.”
I tilted her chin up slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”
She made a small, sleepy noise of protest. “Come with me.”
I exhaled, smoothing a hand over her back. “I need to stay up a little bit longer.”
“Mm. Shame.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, tilting my head back to get a better look at her. “Shame?”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “I was really looking forward to falling asleep wrapped around you. Feeling all warm and safe and…” she trailed off, running a path down my chest with her fingers.
Warmth simmered beneath my skin, and I cleared my throat. “You’ll still feel all those things, sweetheart.”
She sighed, shifting in my lap just enough for my hands to instinctively tighten against her waist. “Not the same. Not without you.”
“Lilith.”
“Mhm?” she breathed, lifting her head to graze her lips against my jaw.
I forced out a slow breath. “You’re playing dirty.”
She pulled back, meeting my eyes. “Am I?”
“You know you are.”
She smirked, leaning back in to press a slow, lingering kiss to my throat. “Come to bed, Silas.”
My gaze flicked back to the laptop. The numbers, the logs, the endless cycle of bullshit that refused to give me what I needed. I was torn between the weight of responsibility and the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
But she shifted, sliding off my lap, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders like a cocoon. Her fingers slipped into mine and she gave me the smallest tug.
“Come on,” she said.
When we reached the bedroom, she let the blanket slip from her shoulders and skimmed her fingers along my jaw, tilting my head down towards hers as she reached up on her toes and kissed me, soft and slow.
I groaned against her mouth, hands finding her hips.
She reached for the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head slowly, letting it join the blanket on the floor.
My pulse kicked up as I took her in, the soft curves of her body, the ink swirling over her skin, the faint ridges of scars catching in the low light. I wanted to touch every inch. Wanted to sink to my knees and worship her.
But she beat me to it. She found the buttons of my shirt, undoing them one by one, each slower than the last. And then she was kissing down my chest, her tongue flicking out, making my breath stutter.
She moved to my nipple, dragging her teeth lightly before soothing the bite with her tongue.
“Fuck, Lilith,” I groaned.
She travelled back up, lips lingering over every ridge of muscle, every inch of ink and skin. When she finally reached my neck, she pressed a slow kiss beneath my jaw, her fingers sliding down, over my stomach.
She didn’t break eye contact as her palm smoothed over my cock through my slacks, pressing hard enough to make my breath hitch.
“You need to relax a little,” she whispered.
I hummed, fingers flexing against her hips as I held her close. “That so?”
She nodded, squ eezing my cock a little tighter. “Do you remember when you asked me to show you what I liked?”
Yes, I remembered. I remembered too well.
“Well, you know what I like now,” she murmured. “But I want to see what you like.”
A slow, creeping heat licked up the back of my neck, pooling hot and heavy in my gut.
She wanted me to touch myself. In front of her.
“Pretend I’m not here,” she whispered. “I just want to see how you make yourself feel good.”
Heat licked down my spine as my fingers went to my belt, unbuckling it, the metal clinking softly as I pushed my slacks down to my thighs. I stepped out of them, moving toward the bed. My cock was already thick and aching, the cool air teasing over my skin as I climbed onto the mattress.
I shifted back, pressing my spine against the headboard, settling in. My eyes flicked to her, waiting for her to join me, expecting her to crawl in beside me like she always did.
But she perched at the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, eyes hooded, burning into me with something wicked.
Fuck.
Okay.
Fuck .
I dragged my hands down my chest, nails scratching lightly over my skin. My other hand drifted lower, wrapping around the base of my cock, the weight of it heavy in my palm. My fingers flexed, teasing, before I gave myself a slow stroke, hips jerking slightly at the sensation.
Still, she didn’t move, her eyes flicking between mine and my cock.
A groan rumbled in my chest as my other hand trailed lower, cupping my balls, squeezing just enough to make me shudder.
I let my head tip back against the headboard as I wrapped my fingers tighter around my cock, stroking slow, spreading the slick pre-come over the swollen head. Each pass of my hand sent pleasure curling deep in my gut.
I rolled my balls in my palm, the contrast of pressure making my breath stutter. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release.