Chapter Twenty-Nine
Connor
I stood in the living room of my penthouse, watching Sierra curled up on the couch with Toffee nestled into her side.
The light cast a golden glow across her features as she absently stroked the cat's fur.
Seeing her there, in my space, filled me with a possessiveness that bordered on painful.
After our weekend in Boston, the thought of her ever leaving this penthouse made my chest tighten with an emotion I wasn't ready to name.
“Sweet girl,” I called, crossing the room to stand before her. She looked up at me, those wide eyes that had captivated me from the first moment in that bookstore now filled with contentment.
“I need to head out for a bit. Mandatory cryotherapy session.”
She nodded, setting aside the book she'd been reading. “How long will you be gone?”
“A couple of hours,” I replied, reaching into my pocket to extract my wallet. I pulled out the black card I rarely used and held it out to her. “I want you to order some things while I'm gone.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at the card, making no move to take it. “What things?”
“Whatever you want,” I replied, pressing the card into her palm and closing her fingers around it. “Furniture, art, books, kitchen stuff, anything that makes this place feel like home to you.”
Her eyes widened, darting around the minimalist space with its empty walls and leather furniture. I'd never given much thought to decorating my penthouse before. It was just a place to sleep between training sessions and fights. But now I wanted to see it through Sierra’s eyes.
“Connor, I can't?—”
“You can,” I interrupted, not giving her a chance to protest.
“I want to see our home through your eyes, Sierra. I want to see this place decorated with all of your pretty mind.”
The word “our” was heavy with implication, and I meant it. I wanted her here, permanently. She wouldn’t be returning to her place or her job anytime soon.
“But it's your space,” she protested weakly, though the idea was taking root. Her fingers tightened around the metal card, her thumb tracing over the embossed numbers.
“It's our space now,” I corrected, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “And it needs your touch. I've got shit taste in decorating.”
That earned me a small laugh, my favorite sound from those pretty lips. “I wouldn't say that. It's just... minimal.”
“It's fucking sterile,” I countered, gesturing to the monochromatic room. "Like a hospital with better views. Make it yours, sweet girl. When I come back, I want to see what you’ve bought.”
I got my extra laptop from the study, opened it, and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. “Order whatever you want. No budget.”
“No budget?" she echoed, her voice rising in disbelief. “Connor, that's?—”
“Not negotiable,” I finished for her, cupping her face in my hands. Her skin was impossibly soft beneath my fingers. “I've got more money than I could spend, Sierra. Let me do this for you. For us.”
She bit her lower lip, and I had to fight the urge to replace those teeth with mine. Finally, she nodded.
“Okay. But don't be surprised if I go wild and order a life-sized custom statue of Toffee.”
I laughed, relieved she was accepting this. “As long as it makes you happy, sweet girl.” I straightened up, grabbing my gym bag from where I'd left it by the door to follow through with my story. “Mara will be outside if you need anything. Don't leave the penthouse, okay?”
Her expression sobered at that, the reminder of why she couldn’t dampening her earlier playfulness. “I won't.”
“Good girl,” I murmured, leaning down for one more kiss, this one on her lips. I meant for it to be quick, but the moment our mouths connected, I deepened it, my hand sliding to the back of her neck to hold her in place as I tasted her.
When I finally pulled away, we were both breathing harder. “I'll be back soon.”
She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly swollen from my kiss. The sight made me want to cancel my plans and spend the entire day buried in her little pussy, but I forced myself to step back. What I needed to do couldn't wait.
I exchanged a few words with Mara in the hallway, making it clear that Sierra was not to leave the penthouse and that no one was allowed inside. Mara nodded, and she took up her position by the door.
Once in the elevator, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to both Jax and Adrian:
Connor
Heading to Sierra’s apartment now.
Adrian
Let me know if you need any fun tools .
I didn't need to ask what kind of tools. Adrian's idea of "tools" typically involved items that made most people piss their pants. In this case, I was counting on it.
Jax
Don’t do anything stupid.
I pocketed my phone without responding. If Jerry hadn’t bluffed about the security cameras in Sierra’s apartment, I would definitely be doing something stupid.
The drive there had me drumming my fingers on the wheel. I’ll have Sierra’s car traded for one she likes and never come back here again. She had a true home now.
I used the key I slipped from her purse, climbing the stairs to her floor. It was quiet, most of the residents likely at work or school. I reached her door and paused, listening for any sounds from within. Hearing nothing, I unlocked it and stepped inside.
The apartment was exactly as we'd left it. Small, mostly empty now, but undeniably Sierra. Her scent lingered in the air, that lavender combination that had become as necessary to me as oxygen.
I moved through the space slowly, taking in anything amiss. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. No sign that anyone had been here since she left. And that’s when my eyes landed on a folded paper on the coffee table.
My blood ran cold as I crossed the room and snatched it. I unfolded it, my jaw clenching as I read the single line written in elegant script:
‘Why are you ignoring your father, Sierra?’
Rage rushed through me, red and consuming. I crushed the note in my fist, my knuckles turning white with the force of my grip.
That fucking piece of shit had been here, in her space, touching her things, breathing her air. The thought made me want to put my fist through the wall.
I pulled out my phone and took a photo of the crumpled note, sending it to both Jax and Adrian with a single word:
Connor
Found.
[Photo]
Adrian
Can we pop his balls now?
Jax
Don’t touch anything else. Any signs of forced entry?
Connor
No. The place looks untouched except for the note.
Adrian
Check the cams.
I opened the app, my jaw clenching as I watched the footage from the cameras hidden in the fire alarms I’d installed. It was from the day after he’d shown up at Sierra’s speech, and I’d brought her to my penthouse.
It showed Jerry entering her apartment with a key, a fucking key , and moving through the space with the confidence of someone who'd been there before. He looked around, clearly searching for Sierra, before sitting down at her small coffee table to write the note.
What made my blood boil even more was watching him place it deliberately on the coffee table, positioning it just so, like he was setting a trap.
Before leaving, he looked directly up at one of the new fire alarms I'd installed, the ones with the hidden cameras, and glared at it, his lips curling.
The bastard realized he was being watched.
I replayed the footage, studying every detail. How he moved through the apartment suggested familiarity; he knew exactly where everything was. The key he used slid into the lock smoothly, with no fumbling or hesitation.
Connor
He had a fucking key.
Jax
We need to get rid of him.
Adrian
I have a bug on his tech, should have the full deets by tonight.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think past the rage clouding my judgment. Jerry having a key to Sierra's apartment meant this situation was worse than I fucking thought. He could have accessed her space anytime, planted, or taken anything.
Connor
I’m grabbing the last of her stuff. She’s not coming back here. Ever.
Jax
Good. Meet at my place?
Adrian
I’ll bring everything I’ve got so far. Time to end this fucker.
I pocketed my phone, my mind racing as I gathered Sierra's last belongings. She’d never be coming back here, just like how she wouldn’t be going back to work.
The image of Jerry glaring at the hidden camera played repeatedly in my head.
I moved quickly through the apartment, collecting Sierra’s remaining items—her cushions, more books, a few framed photos.
In her bedroom, I emptied the remaining clothes from her closet, placing each item in the duffel bag I'd brought.
I finished packing, zipping up the overfilled duffel bag with more force than necessary. As I did a final sweep of the apartment, my eyes landed on a small wooden box tucked high on a shelf Sierra definitely couldn’t reach.
I didn’t hesitate before taking it down and opening it. Inside were a few items: dried flowers, small trinkets. But what caught my eye was a photo I hadn't seen before, of a much younger Sierra standing between a woman from the other photos and a man I didn’t recognize.
They looked happy, like a normal family, though I’m not one to know. Sierra couldn't have been more than three in the photo, her smile wide and carefree. It was hard to reconcile this image with what her childhood had turned into.
I closed the box and added it to the bag. Sierra might want these memories, even the painful ones.
I prepared to leave and took one last look around the apartment. This small space had been Sierra's sanctuary, her home since college. And Jerry had violated it, just as he'd violated her childhood.