Chapter 8 Orchid
EIGHT
ORCHID
The party buzz still clings to my skin like cheap sunscreen and grilled meat as I climb the stairs. I need a shower. Badly. Something hot and long to wash away the fake smiles, the forced laughter, and the memory of Poe’s arm wrapped around my waist like it belonged there.
I slip into my room, lock the door out of habit, and peel off my clothes. I toss everything into the hamper and step into the bathroom, twisting the shower knob until steam billows around me.
The hot spray hits my shoulders and I let out a slow breath, tilting my face up into the water. For a minute I just stand there, letting it pound against my neck, trying to rinse the day off. But my mind refuses to cooperate. It keeps drifting back to Poe.
The way he looked at me when he caught me doing yoga. That dark, hungry stare from the bottom of the stairs. The low rumble of his voice when he called me beautiful. The easy way his hand settled on my hip at the party, thumb brushing just under the edge of my cover-up like he had every right.
It’s been forever. Years since I let a man get close enough to touch me like that. Years since I even wanted it. Work, survival, keeping my head above water in Serafina’s world… it all pushed everything else away. Desire became a distraction I could not afford.
Until now.
I close my eyes and the images come anyway.
Poe’s dark hair, messy from the pool, water dripping down the side of his neck.
The way his t-shirt clung to his chest when he came out of the shallow end.
Those tattoos. The black ink curling over tan skin stretched tight over muscle.
The confident roll of his shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw when he laughed at something Mark said.
The way his board shorts hung low on his hips, revealing that tempting V-line every time he moved.
Heat pools low in my belly, sharp and unexpected.
I press my forehead against the cool tile, but it doesn’t help.
My body remembers what it feels like to be wanted.
To be touched. To have strong hands sliding over wet skin, pulling me close, pressing me against a wall while the water runs hot around us.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.
He’s the enemy. My prisoner. The man whose sister’s life is the leash around both our necks.
Yet here I am, pulse quickening, thighs pressing together as the fantasy sharpens.
Poe behind me in this shower, hands on my hips, mouth at my neck, whispering filthy things while he pushes inside me slow and deep.
The sound he might make when I arch back against him.
The way those tattooed arms would cage me in, holding me exactly where he wants me.
A soft sound escapes my throat before I can stop it. I bite my lip hard and reach for the soap, scrubbing my skin like I can wash the thoughts away. It doesn’t work. The ache lingers, warm and insistent, making my breasts feel heavy and my breath come a little shorter.
I finish the shower quickly, towel off, and pull on soft black leggings and an oversized tee. My hair goes up in a damp knot. Professional enough. Controlled enough.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the encrypted phone Serafina’s people gave me. Time to check in.
The line connects after two rings. One of her lieutenants, a cold-voiced man named Victor, answers. “Report.”
“Everything is stable,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Poe’s compliant for now. The new safehouse is secure. No issues with the equipment.”
Victor makes a small sound. “Good. Stay put. Serafina wants him focused on the hack within the next forty-eight hours. No outside contact. No slip-ups.”
I hesitate, then decide he needs to know. “There was a complication today. The neighbors invited us to a pool party. We couldn’t refuse without raising suspicion. We played along. Acted like a married couple.”
Victor is quiet for a beat. Then Serafina’s voice cuts in, smooth and sharp as a blade.
She must have been listening the whole time.
“Orchid. You did well to blend in. Play the part as needed. Keep the neighbors happy. Keep Poe visible but harmless. Just make sure he doesn’t get any bright ideas about using them for escape. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer automatically. My stomach twists at the easy way she says it, like this is all part of her grand design.
“Keep me updated,” she says, and the line clicks dead.
I stare at the phone for a second, then dial another number. A different one. One I keep buried deep in my contacts under a fake name. It rings twice before a woman’s voice answers, low and smoky, laced with that familiar edge of caution.
“Orchid?”
“It’s me,” I say quietly, glancing toward the door even though I know it is locked. “Situation is… developing.”
Marlo lets out a soft breath, like she’s been waiting for this call. “Tell me everything. How’s our boy holding up?”
I lean back against the headboard, keeping my voice low. “He’s doing what he’s told. For now. The leverage with his sister is working. She’s still being held. They haven’t hurt her beyond what was necessary to keep him in line, but the threat is constant.”
Marlo hums thoughtfully. “And you? How are you holding up with him under the same roof?”
I hesitate, the shower fantasies still too fresh in my mind. “It’s… manageable. He’s angry. Defiant. But there are moments when he looks at me like he sees more than the woman holding the leash. The neighbors think we’re newlyweds. We had to play along. It was almost convincing.”
A quiet laugh comes through the line. “Convincing is good. Keeps everyone looking the wrong way. What about the hack? Has Serafina given him the target yet?”
“Not yet. Soon. She wants results fast.” I rub my temple, suddenly tired. “I’m keeping him close. Watching every move. But if he finds an opening…”
“He won’t,” Marlo says, voice steady. “Not while his sister is still in play. And not while you’re there. You know what to do if things shift.”
“I do.” The words feel heavy. “I’ll update you when I can. Stay safe.”
“You too, Orchid. Keep your head. And remember why we’re doing this.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else. I set the phone down and stare at the wall, heart still beating a little too fast from the shower thoughts and the secrecy of the call.
I stand up, smoothing my shirt down, and head for the door. Poe’s somewhere downstairs, probably still riding the high of playing husband in front of the neighbors. I need to keep my distance. Keep my head clear.
But as I reach for the handle, the memory of his dark eyes watching me move through yoga flashes again. The way his gaze lingered. The way my body had reacted even though I pretended it didn’t.
Years without touch. Years without wanting it.
And now this man, this dangerous, tattooed, unfairly attractive man, is living across the hall and looking at me like he wants to ruin every careful wall I’ve built.
I push the thought down hard, lock the phone away, and step out into the hallway.
Whatever’s happening between us, whatever heat is building in the quiet spaces of this safehouse, I can’t let it matter.
I have a job to do.
A sister to keep alive.
And secrets of my own that could burn everything down if I let myself slip.
Even if Poe’s hands felt dangerously right around my waist today.
Even if the thought of him in that shower with me refuses to leave my head.
I head downstairs, chin high, mask firmly back in place. I can handle this. I have to.
Because the alternative is losing control.
And in this game, losing control gets people killed.