Chapter 19
The week crawled by. Emily worked her morning shifts as usual and—keeping up appearances—served at Devil’s Pointe for Regina on Wednesday. She gave Benny an extremely wide berth.
She went to class and somehow aced all her skills tests, probably because her mind was on Friday night instead of whether her soufflé would crater or if her mushroom risotto needed another minute to cook.
In between her normal routine, she attended briefings at Devlin HQ.
Callan funneled the team a steady flow of information from inside Coral Gables.
Emily wasn’t sure how much of it he obtained legally, but she left that for Dev and his licensed investigators to decide.
If they shut the traffickers down, she didn’t care about his sources.
In preparation for her role, she studied faces, memorized names, learned which guards smoked, and which ones lingered too long near the girls.
To feel normal, she cooked for the team twice. Alec stayed close, not crowding or interfering, but near enough to know he was there. Every night, she went home with him, and he held her as if she might vanish. Guilt gnawed at her, but it didn’t lessen her determination.
Rhys taught her how to spot hidden cameras.
Mateo walked her through panic protocols.
Callan adjusted the earrings twice, tweaking the signal range and battery life.
He also had her practice disabling an alarm panel identical to the one in Coral Gables tucked behind a prep shelf, easy to miss unless you knew where to look.
“Three taps then hold,” he said, guiding her fingers. “Don’t rush it. If you panic, you’ll trigger the failsafe.”
“I won’t panic,” she assured him with more confidence than she felt.
He gave her a look that said he saw right through her. “Just remember the sequence.”
She did. She remembered everything.
Midweek—after another update full of important but mind-numbing minutiae—Alec caught her hand.
“Come with me,” he said quietly.
She followed him through the network of corridors that made up Devlin headquarters, past the break area with its deep leather couches, massive wall-mounted TV, and no-nonsense commercial coffee station.
They moved on past the humming control center, where banks of monitors glowed with heat maps and silent camera feeds, until the hallway narrowed and quieted.
He pushed open a door, revealing a gym with padded floors, punching bags, and racks of free weights. Mirrors lined the walls, and the faint scent of rubber and sweat hung in the air.
Emily raised a brow. “Planning to work off some stress?”
“Definitely,” he said. “I want you to know a few moves. Just in case.”
“You think I’ll need them?”
“I hope you won’t. But if you do, I want you to have a fighting chance.” He faced her, crouching a little. “Come at me.”
“What? No gloves?” she teased.
“This isn’t sparring, Em. This is survival training.”
He showed her how to break a wrist hold, how to drive her thumbs into soft targets—eyes and carotids—how to rake nails across skin, and pivot out of a choke hold.
There was a lot of physical contact. His hands guiding her, their bodies brushing, heat sparking wherever they touched.
More than once, the solid proof of how much it was affecting him pressed up against her.
She was officially one more bear-hug-from-behind escape drill away from combusting.
The last move he showed her was how to disarm a man with a gun.
“I really hope I won’t need this one.”
Alec’s jaw flexed. “Not more so than me. Let’s go.”
She lunged, trying to surprise him. He caught her wrist easily and had her arm bent behind her before she could react.
“You’re distracted,” he chided. “Focus.”
When he released her, her gaze dropped to the erection straining the front of his pants.
“Easier said than done with your weapon constantly nudging me,” she joked, pulse jumping.
He didn’t deny it. “Try.” He raised his hand as if aiming point-blank. “Let’s run it again.”
She ducked under his arm and pressed close, grinding her hips against him. “Need me to get serious?”
His eyes darkened. “Need me to turn you over my knee?”
She gazed up at him, lips parted, considering that option a little too long.
“Emily,” he warned. “I need you to concentrate.”
“Sorry, but we’ve been at this for over an hour.”
Wanting to end this, she dropped low, swept his leg, and took him down. He hit the mat with a thud, eyes widening for just a second before she straddled his chest and pinned his hands above his head.
Panting, flushed, and feeling mighty proud of herself, she grinned down at him.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Did you forget who my brother was?” Her gaze dropped to his mouth as his tongue swept across his lower lip. She cleared her throat. “Still think I need a lesson?”
“Fuck yeah,” he rasped. “But not the kind you have in mind.”
Alec rolled them, reversing their positions. His mouth found hers, and the kiss—hungry, urgent, perfect—melted away a week’s worth of coiled tension.
The door banged open.
They both jumped as Leland and Mateo stepped in, gym bags slung over their shoulders.
“Are we doing this in here now?” the younger man asked.
“Gives me ideas for a new theme room at the club.” Leland snorted, tugging on gloves and tossing a pair to Mateo. “Subbies have to be naked, though.”
“If you score a knockdown, just remember where we are,” Mateo grumbled. “I’m not kissing you, old man.”
Emily laughed, mostly at his horrified grimace.
“We’re done here,” Alec announced, hopping to his feet and helping her up.
“You can regroup and try again next time,” Emily teased.
Mateo glanced at Alec—six-foot-three, 230 pounds, and all muscle. “You let a five-foot-nothing, 110-pound girl beat you?”
Alec didn’t answer, but Emily did.
“I’m 118 and 5’3”,” she corrected, giddy in her triumph, “and I dropped his ass. Ethan would have cheered. He always said the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Before she could smirk longer, she was upside-down over Alec’s shoulder, ponytail swinging, bottom smarting from a crisp smack.
“No one likes a gloater, baby,” he said pointedly, carrying her toward the door.
She craned her neck to glare at the two snickering men. “You think it’s funny? Who wants next?”
That sent them into peals of laughter.
Alec’s hand curled firmly around her bottom. “Don’t get cocky, Em. They won’t get distracted imagining you naked, feet by your ears, getting fucked into the mat the way I just did.”
“Wanna bet?” Leland called, wheezing.
“Fine,” Alec threw back. “Just remember—either of you only get a shot over my dead body.”
His tone was light, but the warning message underneath wasn’t.
Out in the hall, after the door swung shut on their laughter, her legs trembled from adrenaline or desire. Maybe both.
“Alec…”
“I’m right there with you,” he said, navigating the halls until he reached a vacant office.
A moment later, she was stretched out on the desk, and he was tugging down her shorts and panties. His mouth found her pussy, devouring her until she was panting and begging, “Please…”
He rose, eyes locked on hers as he yanked his pants open. They groaned together as he sank into her. He pushed her legs up, folding her in half, holding her there with his chest as his mouth claimed hers and his cock thrust deep.
It was frantic, and completely wonderful, both reaching a peak within seconds.
They were still joined when a soft knock sounded on the open door that Alec, in his hurry, had forgotten to shut.
Greta, the business manager, leaned against the frame, arms crossed, one brow raised.
“If you two are through,” she said dryly, “may I have my office back? Payroll doesn’t run itself.”
Emily made a mortified sound and covered her face. Her cheeks burned hotter than the Florida sun.
Alec didn’t even flinch. “Greta dear, your timing is abysmal. But at least you waited until we finished.”
“Alec!” Emily gasped, scrambling to cover herself. He was too cool for that. He stretched, unhurried, all the time in the world.
Greta had other ideas. “I’ll give you thirty seconds,” she said then strolled down the hall.
Her soft laughter echoed behind her as they adjusted their clothes. Emily could laugh too—almost. Despite the gym and the stress reliever on Greta’s desk, the tension over what lay ahead descended again.
***
Although the week dragged, Friday came too fast.
Emily stood in front of the mirror and clipped the transmitter to her bra strap.
It was flat and small, and barely noticeable.
She studied her reflection—petite frame, small breasts, stick-straight hair.
All inherited from her mother. All the things that made her look younger than her years, but also harmless, useful, a target.
The perfect bait.
Movement in the doorway shifted her focus. Alec leaned against the frame, arms braced overhead, eyes unreadable. His stance looked casual, but his white-knuckled grip on the wood told the truth.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
Her gaze slid to the mirror, to the girl who looked braver than she felt. “No,” she admitted. “But I’m doing it.”
He crossed the room, stopping behind her. His hands settled on her hips with quiet possession. “I hate this,” he said.
She’d lost count how often he’d told her that. It had dominated every conversation. The fear and fury beneath every argument.
Emily replied like she always did, whispering, “Yeah.”
He turned her to face him and lowered his forehead to hers. “In my head, I understand why you’re doing this. But my heart, my gut.” His voice broke. “They’re shouting in protest, demanding that I cuff you to the bed and post 24/7 guards.”
“My gut doesn’t tell me things like yours does. But today, it’s saying I’m coming back so we can get to that unfinished business you mentioned.”
“You’d better.” The crack in his voice widened.
“You’re still my knight,” she whispered.
This time, he didn’t scoff at the analogy or tease her for it. He kissed her as if memorizing her mouth, her breath, her heartbeat. As if he had to.
When she pulled away, she was weak in the knees for a completely different reason.
She’d trained for this. She could do this. But doubt edged her mind. Alec had been her hero, her white knight, since forever. This time, she was heading into battle alone.