33. Samson
SAMSON
“It almost looks like a castle,” she says.
Funny that she uses that word. Although Nathaniel has the codes and comes here, usually when he knows I’ll be here, this place is mine.
“It used to be a private dining club,” I say.
“And now?”
I don’t reply.
This castle belongs to a beast. Delaney feels it. I can tell by the way she shifts in her seat.
I bring the car to a stop, and she gets out first without waiting for me. She turns slowly, taking it in—not just the building, but everything around it.
“What is this place?”
“Mine,” I growl.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s enough of one.”
She exhales but doesn’t push.
Not yet.
I move past her toward the door. She watches me closely as I raise my right hand and press the face of my ring to the keypad.
Click.
The outer lock yields.
But the second lock doesn’t answer.
It should.
Three seconds after the first release, the inner bolt always pulls back. A lower sound. Heavier. Built into the frame.
This time there’s nothing.
Did I miss it? The sound is subtle, for sure. I don’t always listen for it. But today I’m not taking chances.
“Your ring opens things,” she says.
I don’t answer.
Because something is wrong.
Not visibly. Not enough for her to see. The foyer is still. The table is centered. The lamp near the wall burns low, exactly as I left it. No broken glass. No forced door. No obvious breach.
But the inner lock is already open.
Someone got here before us.
Delaney steps in behind me. “Samson—”
I close my hand around her wrist, not gently. She inhales sharply as I pull her forward and then pivot, placing her behind me. Her body hits my back for half a second before I move again.
“Stay.” I demand.
“I didn’t hear anything,” she says.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
I scan the space now. Nothing out of place. No visible breach. No sound.
But the feeling doesn’t leave.
My hand is still on her wrist. I feel her pulse. I release her slowly.
She doesn’t step away.
Interesting.
“Do you always do that?” she asks quietly.
“Do what?”
“Decide where I stand.”
I turn slightly. She’s closer than she should be. Closer than she was a second ago.
“I decide what keeps you alive,” I say.
“And this keeps me alive?”
“For now.”
She drops her gaze briefly to my hand and then back up. “And after?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know, and I don’t say things I can’t guarantee.
I move farther into the foyer. She follows. Her boots echo softly against the floor. She turns once, scanning.
“This isn’t a house,” she says.
“No.”
“What is it?”
“A place no one finds unless I want them to.”
She looks back at me. “And I’m here because…?”
“Because you’re already visible.”
She raises her eyebrows slightly but then walks deeper inside and brushes her fingers lightly along the back of a chair.
“Do you bring women here?” she asks.
“No.”
“You didn’t hesitate,” she says.
“Because it’s the truth.”
She smiles. “No. I mean you didn’t hesitate at the door. You didn’t check anything. You didn’t even look. You just knew.”
The dock access should have been secured.
It wasn’t. The chain hung loose, tapping softly in the wind. I saw it and ignored it. We were already moving. Already committed.
Halstead was already there, watching. For a second, something didn’t line up.
But we were all in.
I told myself he was the target. I didn’t question the open access. Didn’t question the timing.
Didn’t question why everything was already in place.
I stepped forward.
I made the decision.
Or I thought I did.
The present snaps back hard. Delaney is watching me too closely.
“You went somewhere,” she says.
“I didn’t.”
“That’s not true.” She cocks her head, squints at me. “It was like you were someplace else for a minute.”
I step toward her. “You notice a lot.”
“It’s kind of my job,” she says. “We have that in common. Our observational skills.”
I close the distance between us, inhale her fresh fragrance, remember the feel of her, the sound of her…
Close.
Too close.
Last night isn’t gone. It’s here. In the air. In her body. In mine.
“You’re not wrong,” I say.
“About what?” she asks.
I raise my hand slowly, give her time to move.
She doesn’t.
I slide my fingers around her neck, but I don’t squeeze. “That I didn’t hesitate.”
She swallows. “Why didn’t you?”
Because I’ve never been allowed to.
Because hesitation gets people killed.
Because I didn’t know I was stepping into something already decided.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead—
“Because I don’t walk into places I don’t understand.”
She narrows her eyes, glancing at the doorway. “You understood this place.”
“Yes.” I shift my thumb slightly against her soft flesh. How easily I could snap her neck. Nothing I haven’t done before. “They know you’re vulnerable. That you’ve been moved. That I took you out of the open.”
“Who?”
“People who set traps and let other men take the blame.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re talking about the marina.”
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
Her throat moves beneath my hand. “They’re trying to do it again,” she says.
“Yes.”
“What, exactly?”
“Put you in danger. Make me react. Turn my violence into their solution.”
Her breath catches.
The inner lock stays silent in the back of my mind. It should have clicked when I opened the door. It didn’t, which means one of two things.
Someone found a way in.
Or someone wants me to believe they did.
Either way, I won’t give them what they want. I won’t drag her back into the street. I won’t move blind because someone touched a lock and expected me to become predictable.
Not again.
Delaney glances toward the door. “Then we should leave.”
“No.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. “No?”
“No.”
“If they know where I am—”
“They don’t know enough.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Her pulse beats harder beneath my fingers.
“This place is mine,” I say. “Every entrance. Every camera. Every room. Every way out.”
“And if they come here?”
“Then they come somewhere I understand.”
Her lips part, but no sound emerges.
The memory settles deeper.
The dock access.
The loose chain.
The wrong man.
The moment that wasn’t mine until it was already over.
No.
Not this time.
This time I see the door.
This time I feel the trap.
This time, I won’t make the same mistake.
“Will it work?” she asks. “For them, I mean.”
I lean in just enough that she feels it.
“No.”