Chapter 2
TWO
ORCHID
The warehouse air clings to my skin like cheap perfume mixed with the metallic tang of fear.
I stand in the half-light, arms crossed tight over my chest, watching Poe Cameron push that damn gurney like it weighs nothing.
Arthur Charles lies there, sedated and useless for now, but Serafina wants him breathing.
For questions. For leverage. For whatever twisted game she plays next.
I hate this assignment already.
Serafina's voice still echoes in my head from earlier. "Keep him close, Orchid. Watch every move. He’s useful, but useful things break if you don’t handle them right.
" She said it with that smile of hers, the one that promises pain if I fail.
As if I need reminding. As if I have not spent years proving I can make men fold without raising my voice.
Poe stands there now, tall and coiled like a spring ready to snap.
His eyes flick to me, then to the shadows where Serafina disappeared moments ago.
He thinks he hides it well, that calculated calm, but I see the rage simmering underneath.
Good. Rage makes people stupid. Stupid people are easier to control.
"You look like you swallowed something sour," I say, keeping my tone light, almost bored. I step closer, heels clicking sharp against the concrete. "Relax, Cameron. This is not a trap. Not yet."
He doesn’t smile. His jaw tightens instead. "Where’s my sister?"
"Somewhere safe. As long as you behave." I circle him slowly, letting my gaze drag over his shoulders, the way his hoodie hides what I already know is muscle built for trouble. Maddox Security trains their dogs well. "Serafina is busy. She left me in charge of you. Lucky me."
His eyes narrow. "What like some sort of sadistic babysitter?"
The word babysitter lands like an insult, and irritation flares hot in my chest. I stop in front of him, close enough to smell the faint hospital scent still clinging to his clothes. "I prefer handler. Or enforcer. Whichever makes you obey faster."
Poe's mouth twitches, not quite a smirk. "I don’t take orders from pretty faces with badges that mean nothing."
Pretty. He said it like it was a weapon.
Cute. Men always think flattery or dismissal will throw me off.
I lean in just a fraction, voice dropping low.
"You will take orders from me because your sister's life depends on it. And because if you don’t, I’ll make sure the next photo they send you shows her missing a finger. Or worse."
Something dark flashes in his eyes. Not fear. Defiance mixed with something sharper. Heat, maybe. The kind that comes when two predators size each other up and neither wants to look away first. My pulse kicks up despite myself. Annoying. I do not have time for this.
"Follow me," I say, turning on my heel before he can argue.
I head toward the side corridor that leads to the secure wing of the warehouse.
The safehouse section. One bed. Reinforced doors.
Cameras in every corner except the bathroom, because even Serafina has limits on voyeurism.
"We’re staying here tonight. You do not leave my sight. "
He falls into step behind me, gurney wheels squeaking as he pushes Arthur along. "You’re kidding, right?"
"I don’t kid about containment." I swipe my keycard at the heavy door.
It hisses open, revealing the sparse room beyond.
Industrial gray walls. A single king bed dominating the space.
A small couch that looks about as comfortable as concrete.
A mini-fridge stocked with water and nothing that could be turned into a weapon.
"This is home sweet home until Serafina says otherwise. "
Poe stops in the doorway, staring at the bed like it personally offended him. "One bed."
"Observant." I gesture for him to wheel Arthur inside. "Put him in the corner. There’s a cot for him once he wakes up. You and I get the bed. Or the floor. Your choice. But I sleep light, and I sleep armed."
He maneuvers the gurney into place, then straightens, rolling his shoulders. The movement pulls his hoodie tight across his chest. I force my eyes up. Focus, Orchid. He’s the enemy in a pretty package. Useful bait. Nothing more.
"Why me?" he asks, voice rough. "Why not lock me in a cell like a normal prisoner?"
"Because normal prisoners do not have skills Serafina needs.
And because she wants you broken in slowly.
" I close the door behind us, the lock engaging with a solid click that sounds final. "You’ll eat when I say. Sleep when I say. Answer every question I ask. And if you try anything stupid, like charming your way out or hacking the locks with whatever gadget you hid in your shoe, I’ll know. "
Poe chuckles, low and dark. The sound vibrates through the small space and does unwelcome things to my stomach. "You think you can read me that well?"
"I think I’ve broken better men than you with less effort." I peel off my jacket, hanging it on the single hook by the door. My shoulder holster stays on. The gun is a comforting weight. "Strip."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"Clothes. Off. Down to your boxers. I need to check you for wires, trackers, anything Maddox might have planted." I pull a small scanner from my pocket, holding it up like a threat. "Or I can do it the fun way and pat you down myself. Your call, vigilante."
He hesitates for half a second, eyes locking on mine.
The air thickens, charged with something that feels too much like anticipation.
Then he reaches for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.
Ink and muscle greet me. Scars. A tattoo that snakes along his ribs, something technical-looking mixed with shadows.
He’s built like someone who runs toward danger, not away from it.
I keep my face blank as I run the scanner over him, stepping close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. No beeps. No surprises. But my fingers itch to touch anyway, just to see if he flinches. Just to test how far this leash can stretch before it snaps.
"Turn around," I order.
He does, slow and deliberate. His back is a map of old fights. I hate how my gaze lingers.
"Satisfied?" he asks over his shoulder, voice laced with mockery.
"Not even close." I toss him a plain black t-shirt from the supply stack in the corner. "Put this on. You smell like hospital and bad decisions."
Poe catches it one-handed, slipping it on. The fabric clings in all the wrong places. Or right places, depending on how I look at it. I push the thought away hard.
"Now what, handler?" He drops onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me like I’m the unpredictable one here.
I grab a chair from the small table, dragging it over to sit across from him. Legs crossed, scanner set aside but gun still visible. "Now we talk. You tell me everything about Maddox Security. Their next moves. Their weaknesses. And I decide whether you get to call your sister again tomorrow."
His expression hardens. "And if I don’t feel like chatting?"
I smile, slow and sweet, the one I save for men who think they can negotiate. "Then we play games. I ask. You answer. Or I make things uncomfortable. For you. For Enley. Your choice."
Poe stands, stepping closer. He leans forward, close enough that I catch the faint scent of him again, something clean under the tension. His eyes drop to my mouth for a split second before snapping back up. "You enjoy this, don't you? Playing warden."
"I enjoy results." My voice stays even, but heat creeps up my neck. Damn him. "And right now, you’re the job. Nothing more. So start talking, Poe. Or the night is going to get very long and very painful."
He holds my gaze, the silence stretching taut between us like a wire about to sing. Outside, the warehouse hums with distant activity. Inside, the one-bed reality settles in, heavy and intimate and full of bad ideas.
I don’t like it.
But something in the way he looks at me says he might like it even less.
Or maybe he likes it too much.
Either way, this is going to be a problem. A delicious, dangerous problem wrapped in forced proximity and too many secrets.
I cross my arms tighter and wait for him to break first.
He doesn’t.
Not yet.
But the night is young, and I’m very, very good at making people obey.