Chapter 3 She’s Going to Ruin Me
THREE
SHE'S GOING TO RUIN ME
KNIGHT
The second I walk through the door, I know she’s been here.
My boots thud across the hardwood as I scan the apartment. Nothing’s out of place. The blinds are shut. My gear is locked up. My work laptop still sits on the desk, closed but not exactly how I left it.
Because I’m obsessive like that. I remember exactly how I left it.
And now it’s been touched.
And the scent that lingers? Not cologne. Not cheap cleaning spray. No.
Vanilla.
And fire.
Lark Dawson.
I yank off my jacket and toss it onto the couch, my mind already racing. I should call Arrow. I should call her brother, Gage. Hell, I should track the GPS ping I embedded in her burner phone just in case she tried something this stupid.
Again.
But I won’t.
Because if I call Arrow, or Gage, I’ll have to admit she hacked me.
Again.
And if I do that, Arrow will just grin and say what he always says.
“She’s good, man. You could use her.”
I don’t want to use her.
I want to tie her to a chair and interrogate her until she explains how the hell she got past my encryption. Then I want to duct tape her mouth shut so she stops driving me insane. And then—God help me—I probably want to kiss her.
I rub a hand down my face and head to the fridge.
There’s a sticky note on the milk.
Nice try, Hayes. But I already drank the last one. — L
My blood pressure hits new heights.
I hate her.
I really, truly do.
And worse? I respect her.
That video she sent? Shot from a perfect perch. Camera steady. Target framed. Audio crisp. She's got serious skills. She's not just watching our missions—she’s dissecting them. Mapping them. Learning us.
And now she's dropping little breadcrumbs like she's daring me to catch up.
I crack open a beer and take a long pull.
My phone buzzes.
Arrow: You good?
I text back.
Me: Peachy. We need to talk.
Arrow: About?
Me: Lark.
The typing bubble appears. Then disappears.
Then reappears.
Arrow: You didn’t kill her, right?
Me: Not yet.
Arrow: Then it can wait until morning.
I growl and pocket the phone. No. This can’t wait until morning.
This isn’t just any girl. This is a professional pain in my ass with surveillance footage, top-tier hacking skills, and the ability to bypass my personal firewalls—both digital and emotional.
She knows I’m watching her.
And she likes it.
I’m halfway through my beer when there’s a knock at the door.
Of course.
Of course she wouldn’t text like a normal stalker.
No, she has to show up.
I swing the door open and there she is—leaning against the frame like a damn Bond villain, all leather and smirk.
“Hi, Knight.” She grins. “Miss me?”
“Lark.” My voice is flat. “Did you really break into my apartment to drink my milk?”
She tilts her head, faux-innocent. “Technically, it was expired. So really, I was doing you a favor.”
“You do not have clearance to be in my space.”
“Neither does Arrow,” she says sweetly. “And yet you let him crash on your couch.”
“That’s different.”
She steps past me like she owns the place, and I let her—why do I let her?—because part of me wants to know what the hell she’s really after.
She walks over to my wall of monitors and raises a brow.
“Dual screens. Solid RAM. Not bad for a vigilante who works in data entry.”
My jaw clenches. “You broke into my work computer?”
“I’m not saying yes,” she says, spinning slowly in my chair, “but I’m also not not saying yes.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Oh, Knight.” She stops spinning and pins me with those wild eyes. “I’m not playing. I’m recruiting.”
I fold my arms. “Excuse me?”
She stands, walks up to me, and pokes a finger into my chest. “You think you’re running some kind of underground justice club, but you’re soft. You leave trails. You don’t finish the job.”
“We get results.”
“You get close. I can help you finish.”
“By blackmailing me? By sending me videos I didn’t authorize? By tracking my IP address?”
Her smile is feral. “Exactly.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
It’s a standoff.
One I should win.
But I’m not so sure anymore.
Because this girl? This unhinged, brilliant, impossible girl?
She’s not backing down.
And worse?
Part of me doesn’t want her to.