47. Graham
47
GRAHAM
Why. And how. And when did they start.
And who hired them.
I force myself to think logically, pushing past the red haze clouding my vision. There has to be a reason they targeted her, some motivation behind this violation. Is it retaliation for me freezing their assets and taking them down? Seems unlikely considering I just did that minutes ago.
A slow, sharp breath pushes through my teeth. If they’ve hacked her tablet to watch her, then they’ve probably piggy-backed to her other devices. Which means they’ve already touched mine.
“Fucking motherfuckers,” I seethe.
My encryption. My firewalls. My entire fucking system. All my goddamn personal data network. Sentinel and Oracle. Everything is in danger.
I push back from my desk, barely registering the screech of my chair against the floor.
“I have to shut it down,” I mutter.
But before I can move, the camera feed goes black. Text appears on the screen.
ring around the Frankie
pocket fulls of posies
ashes to ashes
you will fall down
My pulse slows, then flattens. The initial jolt of fury crystallizes into something far more dangerous.
They think this is a game, but they’re wrong. And I’m going to show them exactly what happens when someone threatens my wife.
I’m moving before I consciously decide to, my body reacting on pure instinct. My feet pound down the stairs, taking them two at a time as I race toward the basement. The house is silent around me, but my pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything else.
I hit the landing and round the corner, my hand slapping against the wall to keep my balance as I hurtle down the narrow hallway. The door to the server room looms ahead,
I fling open the door to the server room and flick on the lights. The massive array of computing power hums to life, illuminating the darkened space.
I stride to the control console and start powering down my entire system. It’s a last resort, a nuclear option. But I can’t risk them gaining access to anything else. My personal files, Sentinel, Oracle. It all has to go dark for at least twenty-four hours, twenty if I’m lucky.
As the servers whir and click, shutting down one by one, my mind races. The nursery rhyme, the threat against Francesca. It’s a message
My blood runs cold as the implication sinks in. This isn’t just a taunt or a prank. It’s a warning. A promise of destruction.
The urge to hunt down every last member of Blackwire Collective and make them pay thrums through my veins. But I force myself to focus. Revenge can wait.
The front door opens upstairs. Romeo’s nails skitter across the floor as he comes bounding in first. Then Francesca’s familiar footfalls.
I glance at my watch. It’s way too early for her to be home.
My pulse spikes dangerously, because this isn’t right. She was just at the bookstore.
I do a quick sweep of the area, making sure it’s all shut down. Then I take the stairs two at a time, until I find my frantic wife in the middle of the kitchen.
“Francesca.” My voice is sharp, but I can’t smooth it out. Not now.
“Graham.” She faces me, her bag strap is clutched too tight in her fist, her expression stretched with tension.
Romeo lets out a low whine, circling around her.
“What happened?”
“I . . . I have to go get—” she cuts herself off as she climbs the stairs to the third floor. She’s moving fast, too fast, heading straight for her bedroom like she’s on a mission.
I follow her, unease digging its claws into my ribs. My systems are probably compromised, I just went dark, someone hacked my wife’s devices, and now she’s acting like the house is on fire. She yanks open a drawer, grabs a handful of clothes, and stuffs them into her bag. She’s packing?
“Francesca.” My voice tightens, alarm threading through it now. “What are you doing?”
She doesn’t look at me. “I have to go.”
I take a single step forward. I feel like I’m about to snap. “Go where?”
She finally looks at me. Her hazel eyes are raw, burning. “Winthrop Harbor. Florence needs me.” She glances away. “She’s in trouble.”
The words hit like a lead weight in my chest. “What’s going on that you have to leave now?”
“She’s in trouble.” She zips up her bag, like that’s the end of the conversation.
It fucking isn’t.
I shove a hand through my hair, every inch of me fraying at the edges. “Francesca, I can’t—I can’t leave yet.” My voice is rough, scraping against something raw inside me. “I just shut everything down. I need to reinforce security, fix the breach. I didn’t even get to tell you what I discovered, what happened. Can you just wait a day?”
“No,” she says instantly. Sharp. Absolute.
I stare at her, pulse pounding. “Francesca.”
“She doesn’t have twenty-four hours, Graham.” She shakes her head, and I see the way her throat moves when she swallows, see the tight grip she has on her bag like she’s trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what will happen to her if I wait.”
I recognize fear when I see it. I know exactly how it feels like a noose around your throat, tightening with every breath. But she’s not hearing me.
“This isn’t about your sister.” My voice is rough, barely controlled. Panicked, but I don’t show it. “It’s about you. You could be walking into a trap. Remember what happened when she showed up here a few weeks ago?”
Her jaw tightens. “She’s my sister, Graham.”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging both hands through my hair. “Yeah? Well, you’re my fucking wife.”
My words land hard. But Francesca doesn’t shrink back. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, fire burning in her eyes.
“You think I don’t know that?” she snaps. “You think I don’t know what this means for me? For us? I know exactly what I’m doing, Graham.”
I fucking doubt that.
I step closer, my voice dropping. “Then why the hell won’t you wait a day so I can go with you?”
“I’m not asking for your permission.” Her words crack like a whip, her fists clenched tight. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be told what to do all the time. I don’t need you to save me, Graham! I just need you to love me!”
“Good, because I do!” I half-shout.
“Yeah, well I love you too,” she yells back at me. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me without blinking.
The room goes silent.
My pulse pounds in my ears, her words echoing in the sudden, ringing silence between us.
She loves me.
My wife loves me.
How the fuck am I supposed to process this when she’s walking out the goddamn door?
Francesca’s chest heaves with ragged breaths, color high on her cheeks. Her eyes shine with unshed tears and a fierce, burning emotion I’m almost afraid to name.
“You . . .” My voice comes out hoarse, cracking on the single syllable.
She swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “Yes.”
My brain lags, like my system just short-circuited. “What did you just say?” My voice comes out quieter than I expect.
I reach out, my fingers curling around her wrist—not to stop her, not to hold her back, just to ground her. To keep her here.
She exhales sharply, nostrils flaring as she drops her gaze for half a second. Then, she looks me straight in the eye. “I said I love you,” she says, quieter now but no less forceful. Like she needs me to hear it, to believe it.
Jesus fucking Christ. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a confession thrown like a grenade. And it rips through me.
My grip tightens on her wrist. “Say it again.”
She huffs a little and rolls her eyes. “How many times do I need to repeat it?”
I lean in and drag my nose along her jawline. “Only every single day for the rest of my life.”
She laughs, tilting her head a little. “And you love me too.”
“Of course I do.” I pull back a little so I can see her face. “I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I had any right to. And I can’t let you go. I won’t .”
“But you’re going to let me go to Winthrop Harbor. Because you love me,” she murmurs, placing a soft kiss along the corner of my mouth.
Fuck.
It hits me like a gut punch. This woman, standing in front of me, furious and determined and so goddamn beautiful it hurts, handed me something I didn’t think I’d ever get.
She loves me.
And I’m about to watch her walk out the fucking door.
I lift my other hand, pressing my palm against the side of her neck, my thumb resting just below her jaw. Her pulse is hammering, just as fast as mine.
“You love me,” I murmur, like I’m testing the words on my tongue.
Her eyes flick over my face, like she’s trying to memorize every detail. She nods once. “Yeah. I do.”
I exhale sharply, closing my eyes for half a second. “Then don’t go.”
She presses her lips together, and I already know the answer before she says it. “I have to.”
I hate this. I hate every fucking part of this. That she’s going into something blind. That I can’t be there. That I cannot leave when my system is dark. But I can’t let her go like this either.
I tilt her chin up, making sure she’s looking at me. Seeing me. “Twenty-four hours.” My voice is rough, barely controlled. “I’ll be there in twenty-four hours.”
Her brows pull together. “Graham?—”
“I mean it, Francesca.” I drop my forehead to hers, my grip firm at the nape of her neck. “I’ll take care of what I need to here, and then I’m coming. I won’t leave you without backup.”
Her breath catches. And for a split second, her resolve wavers. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly before stepping back. “Okay,” she says softly. She doesn’t fight me on it.
I watch her for a long moment, committing every detail to memory. The determined set of her jaw, the fire burning in her hazel eyes, the way her hair falls around her face in soft, golden waves. She’s a force of nature, my wife. Strong and fierce and loyal to a fault.
And she fucking loves me .
She loves me .
The knowledge wraps around my heart, settles deep in my bones. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I cup her face in my hands, bringing our lips together in the softest kiss we’ve ever shared. It’s tender and powerful, like the wing of a butterfly. Her lips part against mine, and I take advantage, sweeping my tongue inside to lay claim to my wife.