Chapter 9
NINE
MAVEN
Bailey’s death doesn’t make the news, and it’s because they will conclude he died of a heart attack.
I thought that keeping Carrie busy the last few weeks would stop her from looking for Bailey, but she ends up finding out about his passing a few weeks later. And when she does, she immediately comes knocking on my door.
“Why did you do that?” she hisses as I open the door for her.
“What?” I ask.
“You know what you did. Maven, really, I could have handled it. I needed his connections,” she says. “I was planning something big, trying to get work in an area where no one has managed to penetrate before.”
I turn back to look at her.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, playing dumb, even as my pulse quickens.
“The Forsaken Society,” she whispers.
“What?” I ask, forcing casual disbelief.
But my thoughts aren’t casual at all. I’ve heard whispers before, hints dropped in passing, rumors that were always too vague, too mythic to take seriously.
Maybe that’s my stupidity, or maybe my instinct to stay detached kept me from digging.
Either way, I’ve never actually given the secret society much thought, until now.
Her gaze flicks to mine, calculating, as if testing what I know. I feel the tension rise in my chest, the slight tightening of my jaw. Part of me wants to scoff, to dismiss it as another urban legend, but the other part—the part that measures danger—knows this isn’t a story, that this is real.
“You kill people for a living, and yet you have trouble believing that the Forsaken is real,” she says with an eye roll. “The most powerful men, all together. I wanted us to be their main contact. As far as gossip goes, they don’t have a hitman yet.”
“I prefer the term assassin.” I smile at her.
She waves a hand at me.
“Yes, yes, whatever you want to call it. Anyway, Bailey was a member.” I freeze at this new information.
“That’s why I asked you not to interfere.
He let it slip once. Well, I overheard him talking about it at one of those parties.
So I’d been trying for weeks to get closer to other members, but it’s hard when you don’t know who is in it, and now my lead is gone. ”
I shake my head. “We don’t need a secret society, Carrie.”
“But we do. Not only would that mean you would never have to take other jobs, but we could work solely for them. They would pay better than anyone.” Carrie is obsessed with money.
“How’s the gambling going?” I ask, and she flinches like I hit her. “Have you done it again?”
“I went to the casino, but I didn’t play.”
“You need to go and see someone. You need help.”
“I don’t,” she insists, holding her head high. “I can handle it.”
“You can’t, and that’s obvious. No more jobs until you start going to meetings,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest.
“But I need the money for food and rent.”
“Give me the details of what you need, and I’ll cover it.” I hold out my hand.
“No. No, this is too much, Maven. I’ve got this under control.”
“It’s fine to let some of that control go, Carrie. I do with you.” She shakes her head as tears well in her eyes.
“But I look after you; you’re my baby sister,” she says. “Let me do this.”
“No, you need help, and I won’t just sit by and not do anything.”
She stands a little taller, wiping her eyes.
“You killed him, Maven. Killed him without a contract. You never do that.” She’s right. I never assassinate without a contract. I keep my personal business and feelings away from my work. But I just couldn’t let this one slide. I didn’t even try to talk myself out of it, which is very unlike me.
“Stop changing the subject,” I tell her, just as a knock comes on the door. We both turn to look at it, because who the fuck is knocking on my door? I have very few friends, and they don’t even know where I live. And I like it that way.
“Stay there,” I tell Carrie, and go to the front door. When I reach it, I pull it open and come face-to-face with the detective. A familiar prickle blooms in my chest, the kind that tells me to pay attention.
“You lost?” I ask, raising a brow and leaning against the doorframe.
“Or do you just knock on random doors?” I’m out of my riding leathers now and wearing only a baggy shirt with nothing else.
I notice his gaze drop to my bare legs for a fraction of a second before it snaps back to my face, but I don’t flinch.
“I went looking for Carrie. I had some questions. When she didn’t answer, I searched your address,” he says, trying to peer over my shoulder. I make sure to block his path so he can’t see behind me.
“What do you want to talk to her about?” I ask, planting a hand on my hip. My shirt rides up a little, and his gaze flicks to my legs again.
“Why do you have blue hair?” His tone is deceptively casual, but his eyes are sharp, scanning and evaluating everything.
“Because it’s my favorite color, and it looks good on me. Do you think it doesn’t look good on me?” I lift a strand and twirl it around my finger, appearing casual while feeling anything but.
Something flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t break his composure. “You are very weird,” he replies.
“Thank you.” I let a smirk tug at my lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I move to shut the door, thinking I’ve regained my control, but his foot slides out, stopping it from clicking shut. My pulse hammers harder. He’s not just a cop; I feel the predator in him even as he pretends civility.
“Where is your sister?”
“Not here.” My voice is calm, but my mind races, noting the space between us, every subtle gesture he makes.
“I watched her walk in,” he says, letting it hang between us, proving that he knows I’m lying.
“Well,” I say, tilting my head and letting the barest hint of annoyance slip in, “you can watch her walk out if she leaves.” I nod. “Have a good day, Detective.” I smirk, and nudge his foot with mine, a push that reminds him I’m not intimidated.
He doesn’t move immediately, his eyes unreadable. I hear him exhale slowly, the tension between us almost a living thing in the narrow hallway. I snap the door closed after his foot retracts, my hand still tightly gripping the knob.
“Goodnight, Maven James,” he singsongs through the door. I lean against the wall, feeling the adrenaline in my veins, my mind running through the next steps, wondering what he knows. And what he’ll do next.
Asshole.
“Was that detective looking for me?” Carrie asks worriedly.
“You should stay the night,” I tell her.
She nods and drops onto my couch. “I have to go out. I’m meeting up with Antonia for her birthday.
Don’t leave, okay? And if he comes back, don’t answer.
” I point my finger at her. She’s safest here, and I don’t want to miss Antonia’s birthday again.
I missed the last one, and she wasn’t happy with me.
She sinks further into the couch, grabs the remote, and turns the television on. I head to my room and throw on a cute pink dress, because Antonia requested we all wear pink for the occasion.
After putting on some hot pink heels, I step out of my room to find Carrie asleep already, the television still on. Checking to make sure my cameras are on, I feel better leaving her, knowing I can keep an eye on everything.
I receive a notification that my Uber has arrived, and as I’m leaving, I spot Boston’s car.
Instead of walking to the rideshare waiting for me, I head in Boston’s direction instead.
Opening the passenger door, I carefully slip inside.
The interior smells like him—leather and something intoxicating.
My pulse ratchets up, heightening my awareness.
He doesn’t tell me to get out. Actually, he doesn’t give a visible reaction at all.
His face is unreadable, flat. But his eyes?
His eyes track me, tracing every inch of me, as if mapping my movements and reading my intent.
I angle my body slightly toward him, shoulders back, chin up.
His presence fills the small space. It’s almost suffocating in a way that makes me hyperaware of how I move.
I can see his posture shift as I settle, one arm resting lightly against the center console.
Every detail registers—the curve of his jaw, the way his hand hovers near the gearshift, the faint flicker in his eyes when he notices me holding his gaze.
“Since you enjoy stalking me,” I say, letting the words dance teasingly in the air between us, “how about you accompany me to a gathering? They asked me to bring a date.” I smile at him.
I don’t want him hanging around my apartment in case Carrie does leave.
I know she’s full of emotions right now, and I’m afraid she might blurt something out.
Lifting my phone, I cancel my Uber and then wait for him to say something.
“I don’t do dates,” he grumbles, voice low and rough. “Get out of my car.”
I scrunch my nose up, tilting my head so he can see the challenge in my expression.
“It’s not an actual date,” I say deliberately.
“You’d be accompanying me. There’s a difference.
” I buckle up and face him again, letting my gaze roam.
His muscles flex under the fabric of his jacket as he adjusts his grip on the wheel.
His eyes catch mine, something smoldering in the gray depths.
The quiet intensity presses against me. I feel the magnetic pull of him and the slight ache of wanting to push closer, to test the line he hasn’t crossed.
I breathe in, slow and controlled, keeping my pulse steady even as the space seems charged with something neither of us is ready to name.
“I’ll give you directions.”