Chapter 22
You’re Coming With Me
Maddison lounged in Lucas’s office chair like she owned the company. Her heels off, legs curled beneath her, scrolling through an internal doc she definitely didn’t have clearance for.
“You’re snooping again.”
She didn’t even look up. “Don’t leave your tabs open if you don’t want me reading about gun shipments, babe.”
Lucas leaned against the desk, arms folded.
“I need you to pack a bag.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“We’re going to the island. Business. Dangerous. Politics. Hot as hell.”
“And romantic?” she smirked.
“No.”
“So just sweaty criminals and bad tempers?”
“And me.”
“Perfect.”
He handed her his apartment key. “Go to mine. Pack for me. Then yourself.”
She rose, circling the desk until they were inches apart.
“You’re letting me in.”
Lucas’s voice dropped low. “I want you to see who I really am. The parts no one gets close to. If you can still look at me after that… maybe this is real.”
She kissed him once, slow and deep. “I already know who you are, Helmet Daddy.”
***
The apartment was too quiet.
Barefoot in a silk robe over her slip, Maddison padded through the halls, wine glass in hand. Lucas had gone to handle “logistics.”
She explored.
Kitchen: pristine.
Closet: rows of suits in black, grey, navy , labels she couldn’t pronounce, hung with military precision.
Bathroom: minimalist. Cold. One toothbrush.
So he doesn’t bring anyone here.
Bedroom: muted greys, blackout curtains, bed that looked untouched.
Except
One thing.
A photograph.
Not framed. Tucked against the lamp like a secret.
Her.
Wild hair. Laughing. Red bikini. The pool party two years ago.
Her throat caught.
“No way.”
She touched it. Creased edges, worn corners. Handled often. She’d sent that to helmetdaddy_xo. Just a moment, not even a trap. And now? By his bed.
“Oh my god.”
She sat, photo trembling in her hands.
He hadn’t just liked her.
He’d been watching.
Obsessing.
Craving.
Just like she had.
Her voice cracked into the silence of the room. “This isn’t just a fantasy anymore, is it?”
For the first time, it hit her: Lucas had fallen first. And harder.
***
She stayed perched on the bed, photo still clutched, suitcase half-packed beside her.
His meticulous shirts folded sharp enough to slice.
What kind of man keeps a picture of you beside his bed and never mentions it?
What kind of man kills with a whisper but kisses like he’s never been touched?
She opened her phone. If she was going to fall, she had to know the truth.
Search #1: Sapphire Creams: The Star Who Vanished.
Search #2: From Logan to Lucas: The Twins Holding the Throne.
Search #3: Bonnie Creams and the Whisper War.
Search #4: The Tower Murders.
Drugs. Guns. Puppets. Shadows.
And Lucas. Always: “Clean. Controlled. Cold.”
Except now she knew better.
He wasn’t cold.
He was burning.
She closed her phone, whispered to the photo: “What the fuck did I just fall into?”
The door creaked open.
Lucas. Shirt sleeves rolled, tie loose, gun holstered. He froze, eyes landing on the photo.
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“So,” she said softly, “how long have you been in love with me?”
Silence. His jaw was tight.
“We need to go,” he said stiffly. “The flight.”
“Really? That’s your answer?”
“You keep a photo of me by your bed,” she pressed, calm but cutting. “You made me beg for attention on your account while hiding in plain sight.”
“I didn’t pretend,” he muttered, shutting the door.
“You hid.”
His hands flexed. “I didn’t think I was allowed to want something like this.”
“Like me?”
His eyes lifted, raw. “Like peace.”
Her chest stuttered. Just for a second.
“So what now?” she pushed, pulling the robe tighter, eyes narrowing. “You gonna keep pretending I’m just your assistant while you’re hard every time I speak? Or stop running?”
“I’m not running,” he whispered. “I just… I need to get us to the island.”
She crossed the space slowly, lips brushing his cheek. “You’ve already lost. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
Then she grabbed the suitcase, heels clicking.
“Let’s go, lover boy. Wouldn’t want to miss your big crime adventure.”
Lucas lingered in the doorway, heart pounding. He didn’t look back at the photo.
But he didn’t take it either.
Because Maddison?
She was real now.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.