CHAPTER 9
DAMIáN
Saturday
I wake up the next day after my date with Oliver and Zara, completely naked and curled next to a towel.
Wow…
It’s been a while since I’ve slept the second I sat on the bed. Even more since I slept this deeply and was unable to move when it’s past—wait… what time is it?
I grab my phone off the nightstand.
Given my track record with casual hookups, I usually wake up the next morning after cumming together to at least one or two texts from them, and I expected Oliver to be no different. But when I tap the screen, there is absolutely nothing.
Not a single notification from him.
Okay, that’s a first…
I let out a groan, flop backward onto the mattress, and yank a pillow directly over my face to block out the blinding sunlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows that cover most of the walls of my bedroom.
Note to self: buy thicker curtains.
On any normal day, by this hour, I would already be done with the gym, walking into HQ, freshly showered, fully debriefed, a warm croissant in hand, and probably annoying Law with the help of the twins.
But since my undercover assignment started, my schedule for most days is pretty free… sleep it is!
I close my eyes and go right back to sleep.
When I finally drag myself out of bed two hours later, I take a hot shower and spend the rest of the day unpacking the last boxes I have.
…I know.
It’s been over a month since I moved in here, and everything should’ve already been unpacked, but I’ve been… well, distracted.
Although if I am being honest with myself, I’ve also been dragging it out because I hate this place, and that’s mostly because absolutely nothing in this creepy, modern mausoleum is my style.
Everything is made of square edges and bright, shitty colors.
Take the kitchen stools, for example.
What the hell are those? They look as stiff and uncomfortable as a pile of rocks.
Quién mierdas designed them? An orthopedist in need of new clients?
A sadist? …Satan?
I sigh, pulling three of my favorite fantasy series out of the last moving box left and arranging them between two floating shelves. Then, I add a hanging plant at the very top, and right next to it, I place a tiny astronaut figure that Carlitos gave me.
Once I’m finally happy with the result, I grab the thick, super heavy quilt my mom knitted for me years ago and toss it over the stiff couch to give it at least a bit of a cushion, then lie down.
I look around; everything is finally unpacked, the apartment is spotless, and I have nothing left to do when it’s barely 7:00 p.m.
Ahhhh… I’m so bored.
Which is weird. I am never bored.
I always have something to do, someone to meet, or somewhere to go, but this mission is insane. And I’m not talking about insane as in how dangerous it is, which it definitely is, but the sheer level of surveillance.
Just by cleaning the windows, I was able to see one car and four pedestrians checking my building. It’s not even two months, and I already feel like a zoo animal, constantly being watched, unable to do a single thing.
I can’t imagine how Oliver manages to live this way.
And just like that, my mind drags me somewhere else; the same place it drags me to whenever I think about Oliver.
A dark parking lot.
Since yesterday, whenever I close my eyes, it is as if I am right back there. I can feel the seat pressing into my spine and the weight of Oliver’s body straddling my hips. I hear the delicious little sounds he made. I feel the desperate grind of his hips against mine as he chased his release.
I can still taste his tongue and feel the way his arms clung to my shoulders as I wrapped my hand around both of us and took us over the edge.
My groin hardens, and my eyes snap open.
No… not going there.
Ugghh… Oliver would be horrified if he found out I’ve been acting like a freaking teenager, just constantly thinking about how good it felt to kiss him.
I pull out my phone to check what Oliver has sent me, but once again, the screen is blank… No texts, no missed calls, nada.
Mmm… okay.
This is… unusual.
Is he just being cautious? Or did something happen?
Nah… maybe he is used to never contacting anyone after getting off.
Trying to ignore the weird twist in my stomach, I stretch my legs out over the coffee table and kick a very heavy, Grim Reaper-looking bust.
“Shit!” I jump off the couch, lunging forward to snatch the ugly sculpture mere inches before it smashes against the hardwood floor.
Annoyed, and with my headache flaring up again, I place the damn thing onto the absolute furthest corner of the table. I sit back down, crossing my arms as I stare around at my cold, lifeless home.
Ugh. Couldn’t Elijah be into something else?
Like, I don’t know… a car collector? Or a foodie?
Fuck, I would love to be a foodie.
But no. Mr. Monster-drug trafficker had to like weird sculptures and art dealers with boring-ass apartments.
And so, with absolutely nothing else to do and no one I am allowed to talk to, I grab the remote control. I turn on the TV and just binge on a series until I finally pass out.
TUESDAY
It’s been four days since our hookup in the parking lot, and I haven’t heard a single word from Oliver. No text, no call, no encrypted email.
Nothing.
Not even a fucking carrier pigeon, and I am strangely… confused.
If you can call it that.
?Qué mierdas!
Am I the only one thinking about what happened and how good it felt? Am I the only one fucking hoping we can do it again?
I thought by now there would be some word about how he was doing, or at least about the mission. But there is just radio silence.
I mean… I did give him the last part of the list. Shouldn’t he at least contact me with questions or notes?
?Carajo!
I check the time on my watch: barely five in the morning.
I spend the next hour staring at the ceiling, trying to force myself back to sleep, but my brain absolutely refuses to shut off.
Screw you, brain.
Giving up, I throw on some clothes and head straight to the only place in the city where I know someone who is actually awake at this ungodly hour.
I arrive at Chapters & Crumbs and knock on the locked glass door. Finnian pulls it open a few seconds later. His copper red hair, his freckled face, and his shoulders are completely coated in a fine, white powder.
“Vaya…” I nod. “Is this how I find out you really, really love coke?”
He glares at me, which somehow makes him look even funnier. “I was attacked by a bag of flour,” he huffs, and I instantly start laughing. “The bloody thing was too heavy an’ the shelf was too high.”
I step inside, and he locks the door behind me.
“Want some help?”
“I would love some,” Finnian says, pointing a powdery finger at five large industrial bags of flour sitting near the counter. “Those need to go in the back.”
I walk over, bend down, and haul three of the bags up against my chest.
“Careful! Each one is fifteen kilos—” Finnian starts, abruptly cutting off as I effortlessly straighten up with forty-five kilos of flour in my arms.
I flash him a smug grin, and he just sighs.
“I’m partly amazed an’ partly annoyed by you.”
“Gracias. Where do you need these?”
Finnian walks ahead, guiding me toward the back of the bakery, and points to an open doorway. “In there, please.”
I step inside and lift the bags onto their shelves, but as I dust off my hands, I notice something is… off.
The walls in this storage room are made of reinforced steel, and the open door behind me has a bulletproof core that is as thick as my thigh.
I freeze.
“Finni… are you using your panic room as a pinche pantry?”
Finni winces. “Nae…?”
“Logan is going to kill you.”
“Shite. Please don’t tell him!”
“Are you kidding me?! Do you know the line of work we are in?” I gesture wildly at the shelves of baking supplies. “Do you have any idea what Logan would do to me if something happened to you, and he found out I knew your emergency safe room was stuffed full of flour and chocolate?”
“He would nae like it…?” Finni offers weakly.
“He would kill me with a spoon! Or something equally slow and painful.”
“Sorry!” Finni sighs, looking at his beautifully organized shelves. “It’s just… It’s so much space, an’ it’s incredibly useful. Why waste a perfectly good room on an emergency that’s probably never going to happen?”
“Finnian…” I warn, crossing my arms.
“Aye fine… I’ll move some of the stuff out.”
“Thank you,” I say, as I notice a pile of ingredients scattered across one of the stainless steel counters. “Need help with anything else?”
“Nae, that’s okay. We can head out front now.”
“Are you sure? I can help you bake the cookies.”
“Nae bloody way.” Finni literally jumps in front of me, spreading his arms to physically shield the counter. “Last time a Harknett ‘helped’ with ma cookies, he ate half the dough.”
I burst out laughing. “It was Leif, wasn’t it?”
“It was…” Finni groans.
“I mean, that’s kind of on you for letting him anywhere near Fika food.”
“Aye, I had that coming.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands, herding me out of the room. “Come on, everything is already in the ovens anyway. Let’s get you a coffee with ten spoons of sugar so you can tell me why on earth you’re awake before nine.”
So, with my caramel coffee in hand and a delicious Lord of the Scones pastry, I tell Finnian absolutely everything that’s been going on these past days.
Finni stares at me, his mouth literally hanging open.
“Ooft!… When I told you to be careful nae to get hurt, I didnae think it would take you a few days.”
“I’m not hurt. I’m… confused.”
“How so?”
“I’ve never felt—” I press my hand over the strange, hollow pit in my chest. “—whatever this is. I don’t understand it, and I don’t understand him. For over a month, he’s been great, and now he is acting like—”
“Like you?” Finni interrupts. He’s acting exactly like you do with every person you’ve ever shagged. Only this is the first time you’ve been in their seat.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but absolutely nothing comes out.