Chapter 15 #2
“I—I locked it,” she says, her voice smaller now. “I double locked it.”
“Doesn’t matter. They worked that lock until they got in. He said there were scratches all around it.”
“What’d they take?”
“Nothing.”
She furrows her brows. “So, what were they after…”
Her voice trails off, and I wait a moment before saying, “Do you get it yet?”
Noelle finally looks me in the eyes, and I can see the moment it clicks. She knows she's in danger. She knows it has to do with my story. She doesn’t know exactly why, but she's got the feeling that she’s stepping into something deeper.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispers, half to herself.
“You can and you will.” My tone is final. “Until we figure this out, you don’t go anywhere alone. And you don’t go back to your place.”
Her lips part, ready to argue, but I close the distance between us entirely. I plant my hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in, not touching her but leaving her nowhere to run.
“I mean it, Noelle.”
Her breathing quickens, and not just from fear.
I see it in her eyes, the way her pupils dilate while looking at me.
She wants to be mad; she wants to not like me, but she can't. She doesn’t know who I am, she can’t figure it out, but she’s intrigued.
That could be the reporter in her, or maybe it's just the woman wanting to know the man.
“Who else did you contact for an interview?”
She shakes her head. “It was just Trevor.”
“What about requests for information? You said you called the university?”
“I went there.” She whispers.
I close my eyes and drop my head. I can’t believe this is happening right now. “Noelle…”
“I put in freedom of information requests but I needed the information faster. So I drove there.”
I look at her. “Who did you tell about the alley the other night?”
“No one.”
I drop my head. “Then someone saw us.”
“But who would know? You had that hat and sweatshirt on and–”
I shake my head, trying to will my thoughts into making sense. “You submitting just one request was enough to get this all moving. My guess is they’ve been watching you since then. They knew where you live, enough to go there tonight.”
“Who’s they–”
I speak over her. “Rhett and those two malakas aren’t acting alone. They’re being told what to do.”
“But why?” she yells. “Tell me why! What did you do?”
I hold her stare. She's flushed, and her hands are in fists. She’s trying to hold it together.
“I can’t tell you.” I stand to my full height in front of her. Even sitting on the counter, she lifts her head slightly to me. “You have to just trust me here. And I have to trust you. But you have to stop writing.”
“I won’t ever stop writing.”
“This story, Noelle. Skatá!” I run my hands through my hair.
“Damn it. You have to stop writing this story. All you need to know is that it's dangerous. Clearly, you’re seeing blowback already, and if what you’re telling me is true, you don’t have much to go on.
I’d hate to see what happens if you do.” She shudders, then tips her head slightly, that mask coming back into play.
“Listen, what I can tell you is that there is a guy named Ghost. You woke him by digging for this article.” I hold up my hand as she begins to protest, “I don't know how he knows or what he knows. I have an idea, but I’m not going to tell you yet.”
She’s quiet, and I see her processing all of this. She’s too smart for her own good.
“How do you and Dante know each other?”
“He’s an old family friend.”
She raises a brow. “He’s kind of young to be an old family friend. Do you trust him?”
“With my life.”
She holds my stare, not giving one inch. “Why do I get the feeling you like this? The whole bodyguard complex. You get off on being the one in charge?”
I grin, slow and dark. “I’m always in charge.
Plus, I think you like it more than you want to admit.
I saw how hard you work to maintain professionalism, keeping things in order, and keeping interview questions moving at your pace.
I bet you’d like to take a break once in a while from all that control, huh? ”
She scoffs, but it lacks heat. Her pulse is visible on her neck now, and I can tell she’s not sure if she wants to punch me or pull me closer.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to, Nik,” she mutters.
But her voice is husky. Her body doesn’t lie.
And as I stare at this beautiful, infuriating woman in my shirt, sitting on my counter like a dare, I realize something that turns my blood to ice.
She’s already in this. And I don’t just mean the danger, or my story.
She’s under my skin. I’m protecting her not just out of obligation but because I want to. I want her in my space.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
She swallows hard. “You think they’ll try again?”
“Naí. I know they will.”
We stand there, frozen, both caught in the realization that we’ve crossed some invisible line. And somehow, the danger outside only sharpens what’s happening between us.
“I hate this,” she mutters. “I hate needing you.”
I let out a low, rough laugh. I know now isn't the time. But it’s late, the adrenaline is still running through me, and to be honest, I've never known a woman like her. I had a girlfriend in high school, but my life has always been football. I’ve had an occasional one-night stand in college, but since my senior year, I've avoided being alone with a woman—no dates, no chances for trouble.
My sister always reminded me how fast it can come crashing down because of one wrong choice with the wrong person.
If they only knew how close I am to it crashing every day.
But Noelle. She’s not a girl or a jersey chaser. She’s a woman who knows what she wants. And she’s sitting here half-afraid, half-not, waiting for some kind of answer.
I step in closer, lips barely a breath from hers.
“You hate needing me?” I question, eyes locked on hers.
“Funny, it looks to me like you crave it. Like you’ve been aching for someone to take control and you hate that it’s me even more than you hate that it turns you on.
” My eyes flick to her lips, linger, then back to her gaze, and I keep pushing.
“You chose that shirt to wear, with my name on it. Why? Just to test me or test yourself?”
“You’re so fucking arrogant it's disgusting.”
I scoff. “Say whatever you want, Noelle. Lie to me. Lie to yourself. But this right here?” I brush along the edge of her thigh with my thumb, my hand still firmly planted on the counter beside her. “This isn’t hate.”
She stares at me, and the silence is deafening.
She drops her eyes from mine, her head falling loosely on her shoulders.
And for a moment, I debate just walking away from her.
But I can't. And when she raises her head again, eyes full of fire connecting with mine, I know walking away from her is going to be impossible to do.