Chapter 17 - August #2
If she’s still tied to Mercury, I can’t risk revealing everything.
“I know Blackthorn buries reports and protects men like the one who tried to take you.” I leave it at that and wait to see what she gives me.
Rigid with dread, she picks at the comforter like she’s unraveling her nerves stitch by stitch. “He buried my sexual assault report. Got the cop investigating it demoted. Pulled strings to get me fired.” Her fingers claw into the material. “My career? Gone. Reputation smeared.”
My spine locks. It’s not just her story anymore.
Blackthorn did the same to me with equal precision.
I was the cop who didn’t play ball. Reported the wrong man, asked the right questions.
Just like that, I became unstable, volatile, and a liability to the force.
They scrubbed me out of my badge like a fucking stain.
Honestly, I can’t bring myself to share this just yet. She doesn’t need my ghost haunting her right now. Or the fury simmering beneath my ribs for both of us.
“You’re gathering stories to go public?” I push her for more.
“That’s the plan.” Her hands still, but her voice doesn’t.
I drag my palm along her thigh, slow and steady. “That’s brave, Glitter Bomb. But dangerous. He’s got reach and can monitor your phone and internet.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she snaps, her eyes igniting with lethal fury. “Sit around and let him destroy me again?”
My grip on her legs tightens. “No. You crush him.”
Her jaw softens. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I’m useful to you? We can help each other.”
Clever girl. Knows when she’s being handled and still dares me to lie. Now I don’t have to pretend to play friend anymore. I don’t know what we are anymore. Allies with benefits? Stalker with benefits? Arranged marriage and forced proximity trope?
She studies me like she’s weighing my worth. “Fuck. I was so stupid to think otherwise.”
The words knock something loose in me. I don’t want her thinking this is a one-sided game, but I can’t let this get messier than it already is.
I drag a palm down my helmet. “It’s not like that, Glitter Bomb.”
She sits taller and straighter. “What do you want?”
Time for a partial confession aimed at getting me the answers I seek. “Which side are you on, Glitter Bomb? Are you connected to the Romans?”
Pink floods her cheeks. Guilt. Anger. Embarrassment. I’m about to find out. “You know about my father. My, you do have connections.”
I tip my head. “Isn’t going after Blackthorn frowned upon in your Order?”
“I’ve never met him, and I’m not one of them.” Her voice sours. “Charles Huntington raped my mother and used his connections to make sure nothing stuck in her paternity case.”
She takes a deep breath through her nose to steel herself.
“Huntington had the judge disbarred, trashed my mom’s name, got her fired and evicted.” She sniffs. “She crawled back to her parents with nothing.”
No wonder Kate’s records are sealed tighter than the Vatican vaults.
“Fuck, Glitter Bomb.” I press my visor to her forehead, soaking up the storm in her so it doesn’t break her from the inside.
“I’m one of three confirmed bastard children,” she whispers, pulling away.
“I think there’s more. The other two weren’t so lucky.
Mom eventually got paid child support and saved every penny, giving it to me when I turned twenty-five for a down payment on this house.
I almost lost it when Blackthorn ruined everything. ”
I run a hand over the top of my helmet to stop myself from tracking Huntington down. “Some men were never meant to be fathers.”
Her eyes flick to the ceiling, caught somewhere between memory and agony. “Huntington reached out to me once to score PR points to get me the job at The Reporter. Told me I should thank him and be grateful. I told him to get fucked and never call me again. That was almost three years ago.”
Romans don’t do remorse. Only cover—ups and casualties that leave scars or gravestones.
I brush hair back from her face, needing to see every inch of her. She doesn’t melt like she did before. “Don’t give up. There are still witnesses. The judge, for one.”
“If he’s willing to talk,” she replies.
I rake a hand over my neck. “Everyone’s willing if you find the right leverage.”
A different kind of fire lights her eyes, one that doesn’t burn but devours. “I’ve already got enough on Blackthorn.”
She’s planning to set fire to the whole fucking system and sprinkle glitter over their ashes.
I’m here, sitting in the middle of it, wondering whether to stop her or light the match for her.
Either way, she’s pulling me deeper into her current, and it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t want to be here.
I make my choice. Her. Spartacus. My friends and operatives. It’s not a strategy anymore, it’s personal. Somewhere between rescuing her multiple times, broken rules, and shattered judgment.
“I want to help you, Glitter Bomb. I want to destroy the Order. Get revenge on Blackthorne for what he did to you and me. If he knows you’re coming for him, we have days before he makes his next move.”
A week tops, if Katar’s trick pays off. If we’re lucky. I’m not sure I’ll be fast enough to stop what’s coming.
“You really think we can take them down?” Kate’s voice fills with doubt.
PJ3 leaps off the bed and trots to the window nook, growling outside, then flops down on the pillows like it’s nothing. I don’t miss the way his eyes stay trained on the shadows.
“You ready to burn them down with me, Glitter Bomb?” I propose. “Bonnie and Clyde-style? Or vigilante girl boss and grumpy bodyguard arc?”
“I love it when you talk tropey to me.” She chews her lip for a beat. “I know I should Think Twice and Just Walk Away.” She sings the last bit, and just like that, Celine Dion is back with a vengeance.
Goddamn. I’m turning into a pussy who enjoys her quirks.
“I don’t want to check over my shoulder anymore.” Her voice hardens into steel. “Don’t want to be scared every night and wake up from nightmares. I want to destroy the bastard who’s raped over thirty women!”
There’s no dampening the fires of justice once they’ve caught.
Her defiant and rebellious gaze says she’s already made her decision.
No fear or flinching, just the defiant spark that says she’s in.
My brave little Glitter Bomb wants to explode hell for every woman silenced, for every story buried, and every secret locked behind Roman marble and blood money.
And the selfish, vindictive part of me is letting her.
The other side of me, weary and war-torn, knows this isn’t one of her romance novels with revenge orgasms and righteous victory. This is real, messy, and unforgiving, and the ending may not leave her standing.
Both halves of me know she won’t give this up, not the pursuit of truth or the fight for justice. If she’s marching into the fire, I’ll be damned if I let her walk this path alone. Whatever happens in this war, I’ll burn everyone and everything to keep her safe.
She throws out her hand to shake. “Fuck it. I’ve always wanted to be morally gray. But I have one condition—we get glitter in our mugshots.”
I chuckle and clasp her hand, ready to sign a contract in blood. “Nothing less for my Glitter Bomb.”
Her lashes flutter, then still. “I’m tired and achy. I’m going to sleep a little longer. Want to cuddle with me?”
PJ3 barks and trots over and jumps back into position.
“Hmm.” She scratches his chin. “Getting all territorial, huh? Warding off competition? I want it on record that you’re a tramp when Harper’s here, and I don’t exist.”
He groans with objection, and she giggles and curls into her pillow.
I know I should rest in the armchair in the opposite corner, but the adrenaline, fear, and rage of her almost-abduction is wearing off. She shifts, restless, and won’t settle unless I’m close. The thought of her waking up alone turns my stomach.
I’ll stay until the sun comes up. Longer if I have to, even if it undoes me.
When she’s out for the count, I slip off my helmet for air and text the group chat.
Me: Set up perimeter alerts and cameras. The whole package.
Fuck. I’ll have to deal with Murder Spice and ensure she doesn’t remove them again… when she comes home.
Grayson: Want retina-activated lasers too?
Smartass.
Me: Where is Murder Spice?
Katar: We’re playing.
Code for him torturing someone for answers. Kate will call everything off if he kills her friend. I rub my forehead.
Me: Playing what?
Katar: Detective and victim. You wanted time alone. I want answers. Win-win.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s a psychopath with a flair for improv torture, but he gets results. I let it slide since he came back with answers I need on the roommate’s history. We’ll need to check in once I finish this task.
Me: Bring her back before I break your kneecap. And drive Grayson down here.
I end the chat and rig the doors and windows, setting them up for a warzone.