OLIVIA
What was wrong with me?
I barely registered Callum’s words as Jax quickly retreated, extracting himself from my body with awkward, jerky movements.
I watched him with wide eyes as he stuffed himself back into his black briefs, then buckled his belt.
Disappointment crashed through me. My heart was pounding, adrenaline surging, core throbbing in a way that felt bad for my health.
I was so wet, I was nearly sliding off the table like a puddle of needy goo.
I’d been so close, not just to a surprising orgasm, but to a total sexual awakening.
I wasn’t a virgin, but damn, I had missed the mark somewhere.
Sex was always good, except for those first few times, but those didn’t count.
I was good at sex. I moaned at the right times, took my fair share of the work, and toed the line between sexy and demure that made Heath go nuts. It was never mindless, never boring.
But, god, it was never this.
Raw, dangerous, heady with sweat and a bit of terror, the risk of being caught, the wrongness of it being Salvadore’s dining room table.
It was Jax and his huge body, his bracketing biceps and near-pained groans, his trembling restraint.
It was my hatred of him, powerful and electrifying, making everything more intense.
My therapy bill was going to be huge.
“Come on,” Jax snapped, gripping my face and jolting me back to reality.
A reality that involved twenty to life in a Mexican prison if we were caught.
Fear surged through me. “Shit. What—what do we do!?” I scrambled to my feet, smoothing down my hair, trying to regain my bearings.
My backpack was tucked beneath a chair. I grabbed it and slung it over my shoulder.
I didn’t have my binder, and for a second I was relieved—I didn’t want to be caught with a backpack of evidence that could be used against me.
Or a knife that could be classed as an aggravated burglary.
Was that why Madoc took it?
I shook my head, unable to split my focus with that infuriating green-eyed sadist. Jax grabbed my hand and led me into the foyer, where the unmistakable beat of helicopter blades filled the space.
“Scatter!” Jax barked at his crew. Like cockroaches, they split off in different directions, with Nate and Zola taking the stairs and Callum and Ryle disappearing into one of the many guest bedrooms. I couldn’t see Madoc, but I wasn’t worried.
He probably enjoyed curling up in the drywall like a demented possum.
Jax dragged me up the stairs to the third floor.
“What are we doing?” I hissed when Jax eyeballed a few rooms and then dismissed them. He ignored my question and tugged harder on my hand when I tried to pull back. I felt like a lost little kid in a shopping mall, overwhelmed and directionless.
Finally, Jax stopped at a walk-in linen cupboard directly opposite Theodore’s office. He snapped open the door and shoved me inside. “Stay,” he commanded.
I gaped at him. “For how long?”
“Until I come back.”
“What if it’s Salvadore?” My voice cracked. For all my talk of murder, the idea of being anywhere near him made me tremble. Girls like me didn’t survive in prison.
Jax held my eyes, his face hardening. “I won’t let him near you.”
“Okay.” I believed him. “What are you going to do?”
“Stay here,” he said, ignoring my question again. His voice was like grated steel. “Don’t move. Don’t be a hero. I’ll come back for you.”
He shut the door, and I was enveloped in darkness.
When my eyes adjusted, I looked around helplessly at the shelves of towels and linens, the soft scent of detergent somehow amplifying my dread.
I bet a funeral home smells like this, my brain piled on helpfully.
I slid down to the floor and hugged my backpack.
At least I had my phone. Worst case, I called Preacher for an emergency extraction.
But it was a last resort—he scared me as much as Jax did.
I strained my ears and caught the sound of footsteps creaking on the floorboards. Instantly, my heart rocketed, my stomach bottoming out. What if my intel was wrong and Salvadore had caught an earlier flight? Or what if he’d sent his staff to prepare the mansion in advance?
God, what if they insisted on changing the sheets first?
My linen cupboard just became a hot sauna of death.
Sweat beaded over my temples, prickling down the back of my neck.
The creaking got louder, confident steps, the steps of someone who belonged.
I held my breath and squeezed my backpack when the footsteps neared, then paused.
Shadows flickered under the crack of the door.
“Hello?”
Oh god oh god oh god
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” the voice continued without a reply, sounding impatient. It was male, young. Not one of Jax’s crew. Another pause, and he said: “Don’t ask me. I’m just the errand guy. Maybe he’s finally going digital.”
The lack of reply meant he was talking on the phone.
That meant he was distracted, and not scenting the air like some demonic bloodhound ready to hunt me down.
Another minute later, the shadows moved on, his voice pitching in annoyance as it drifted away: “Cool your jets, Marcus. I’m headed to the safe now.
There’s a reason I’m the one holding it and not you. I’m fucking trustworthy.”
Panic thrummed through my veins. The safe. The painting. As soon as he saw it was missing, he would raise the alarm. There was no time to delay.
I stood up and reached for the door, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I waited, and waited, but there was no cry of shock, no sirens. Was there another safe we didn’t know about?
More secrets, Molly whispered.
A fresh tear of grief ripped through my panic.
I couldn’t leave now. Not when I was finally onto something.
With trembling fingers, I opened the door and peered cautiously across the sun-lit hall into Salvadore’s office.
The stranger was in there, speaking in low tones.
I expected him to sound angry, like he’d just discovered a hundred-million-dollar hole in the wall.
Could he be so distracted that he hadn’t noticed?
That didn’t seem likely. His conversation made it seem as if he were a frequent visitor, someone trusted with the safe.
I stepped forward, pressing my sneaker delicately onto the floor so I didn’t trigger a creak.
The new angle let me see the stranger, his back to the door, half-perched on the mahogany desk, his phone pressed to his ear.
He was wearing a lime green shirt and black jeans and—
My brain stalled.
The painting was in front of the safe.
I blinked hard, thinking it was a trick of the light. But no, it was the same painting I’d seen Callum and Zola slip into a travel-friendly case. The stranger waved his hand, and my heart stopped, but then he grumbled, “You know how it is. He’s got a taste for it now. He’ll be back.”
Before I could second-guess myself, I skulked across the hall and into the office, immediately beelining for the huge wardrobe next to the door.
Luckily, it was partially opened, as if the latch didn’t quite work anymore.
I squeezed myself inside, nearly choking on my tongue when I was engulfed in fur.
“Hang on a sec.”
I froze, my heart pounding in my head, my mouth full of slaughtered mink. As I eased back, the hangers above me made a terrible clinking sound. I froze, my eyes plastered to the crack between the doors, waiting for him to come over and investigate.
Stupid, Molly said.
I know, I replied miserably.
There was a shuffling sound, like papers being sorted, and then he was talking again: “Do you know if he keeps his cigars in the top drawer? What? Since when?”
I released a winded breath. I couldn’t move, not without setting off the hangers, a task that became increasingly difficult when the fur stuck to my sweat-slick skin, making me itch. This was a stupid idea. Stupid and reckless and desperate.
“Brunette? Meh, I prefer blondes.”
My stomach made a low, grumbling complaint. God, not now. The rollercoaster of adrenaline was wreaking havoc on my digestive system.
More shuffling, a sound of a drawer being opened and shut. “Senator who? Never heard of him.”
He let out a short, barking laugh. “You know what? I wouldn’t put it past him. Nothing like good pussy to sway the vote. He can have the brunettes.”
A ghost of air brushed the back of my neck.
Terror bolted through me. I stiffened, a scream budding in my chest before a firm leather hand clamped over my mouth from behind. Solid warmth pressed to my back, a terribly familiar voice in my ear: “Don’t fucking scream.”
Madoc.
The overwhelming relief was short-lived. His other hand latched onto my throat, cutting off my air supply. I realized I was making noises, small gasping whimpers against his palm. The squeeze of his hand stopped all sound from escaping. It also sent sparks shooting behind my eyes.
Would he kill me to maintain his cover?
Probably. Out of all of them, I suspected Madoc was the most ruthless. Jax was the only one who didn’t fear him. Plus, he clearly hated me, and the fact that I kept finding myself under his hand was like tempting fate.
“Stop moving.”
Hard to do when my muscles were spasming with oxygen deprivation. His hand on my throat loosened, enough that I took in a long, silent breath.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Move one step to the left. Make a sound, and I’ll slit your throat.”
Jesus.
Madoc wasn’t playing around. His voice was terse, clipped.
I could smell his sweat, woodsy and masculine, tinged with the sweet notes of stolen chocolate.
The space was extremely limited, so I felt all of him—the press of his thighs on the back of mine, the clip of his belt in my lower back, the hardness of his abs, the sharp butt of his gun.
His leather glove was clammy on my mouth from my desperate gasping.
On his command, a hard nudge to my ribs, I moved one careful step to the left. The hangers didn’t clink, the fur coat slipped slowly off my shoulder. Madoc slithered around my body, his chest dragging against my shoulder, before he took up position in front of the crack and peered into the office.
He had to have put the painting back as soon as he heard the chopper. It didn’t lessen my vehement dislike of him, but I admired his quick thinking. I stared at his profile, the sliver of light slicing across his left cheek and turning his eye emerald. His jaw was tense.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, man. I’m not on the clock, you know. I might just stick around for a while, take advantage of those double showerheads.” The stranger barked another laugh, then said: “Man, this painting sucks ass.”
The sound of the safe clicking made my pulse kick. I stared at Madoc with wide eyes, hoping he had super vision that could see the combination. Madoc was so still, I was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing.
“Alright, it’s in. Tell the boss man he can relax.”
Footsteps approached, and my hand snapped out to tangle in Madoc’s shirt on instinct.
I held on to him, taking comfort in his solidness.
His stillness. When the footsteps receded, the annoying voice with it, Madoc reached down his side and gripped my wrist. It took a herculean effort to unpeel my fingers from the material.
Madoc didn’t rush me, perhaps suspecting I was right on the edge.
Once he was free, he slipped out. I made to follow, but he shot me a dark warning look.
Somewhat sheepishly, I stepped back into the wardrobe and watched him scope out the corridor.
He disappeared for a few minutes, but I knew he didn’t go far.
His return was as silent as the grave, his face just as cold.
“He’s in the shower.”
I burst out of the wardrobe, nearly tangling myself up in the coats. “What—did you get it?” I pointed frantically to the safe.
Madoc’s face didn’t change. “What do you want?”
Was he for real? I flailed in exasperation. “What do you think? I want you to open it. This is our chance.”
“Ask nicely.”
My teeth ground together. “Please,” I managed.
His mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Please, what? Be specific.”
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
“Please open the safe. Quickly, before he comes back.”
Madoc watched me for another long, frustrating moment before he shrugged and went to the safe. I sagged in relief. I knew I couldn’t make him do anything, but god, I was glad I didn’t have to try.
He lifted the painting and placed it carefully against the wall at his feet, ready for transport. Then he started on the dial of the safe, turning it with such confidence that it was like he’d done it a thousand times. I was begrudgingly impressed.
“How do you—”
“Eidetic memory,” he said shortly.
I stopped asking questions.
With a click and a slight woosh, the safe yawned open. I tried not to step on Madoc in my haste to peer inside.
“Oh.”
My world tilted once more.