Chapter 35 - August #2
I move to my workstation, clearing a space for us to work amid the computers and half-dismantled rifle Katar abandoned mid-maintenance.
I won’t chew him out for this one, since I called him last night seeking a favor to secure her laptop, personal documents, and files, leaving them with Grayson for safekeeping.
Then Katar disappeared into whatever hidey-hole he’s sharing with Murder Spice.
I set up her laptop and flip the lid open. “We rescued your things from your house in case the Romans raided it.”
“Thank you.” She gives me a brighter smile after nothing but darkness for the past twelve hours.
I gesture for her to take my chair, pushing her in when she drops her ass to it, crushing my fingers into a fist instead of brushing her shoulder.
“We’ll plug you into Spartacus’ secure system and review every shred of evidence on Burt.” I shove an Ethernet cable into the connection on the side of her laptop. Old-school because we lack wi-fi. “Ready to drop your first glitter bomb?”
She glances up at me, eyes twinkling with mischief and awe that shows me she understands what it means to be fully immersed in my world. “Hell to the fucking yeah, Daddy.”
Jesus. She’s riddling me with bullets. That nickname is more than I deserve, but I’ll spend every breath earning back her trust. I school my face to not give my pleasure away.
We start combing through the data Grayson pulled for us.
“Why does plotting the downfall of a secret empire feel like foreplay?” she muses.
She needs to stop before I tell Grayson to take a fucking hike while I lift her ass onto the bench and show her how truly sorry I am.
Our hands skim the same page, fingertips colliding. Neither of us moves. Her natural citrus and sugar scent blankets the stale of the bunker and wraps around my lungs. The betrayal is unresolved between us, the tension explosive. All I need is one more chance and I’ll make this right.
I clear my throat and move first, getting back to the document.
Numerous HR complaints. Sworn statements from women who never got their day in court.
Settlement documents with gag clauses. Court records buried under seal, all showing similar patterns.
Burt’s protected because he’s too valuable to the newspaper to lose.
Kate snorts at reading that. “Valuable as a heart attack.”
Fucker will wish for a quick death with what I’ve got planned for him.
Kate shakes that off and scrolls through each file with a reporter’s precision, lips pressed thin, forehead creased. Every so often, she flicks to a notepad screen, jotting down thoughts, deleting them, and typing something else.
She glances over at me. “Ideas for a headline?”
Not my strong suit, but I give it a try. “How about Esteemed Editor Exposed as a Piece of Shit?”
Her mouth presses together to hide a smile. “Needs a bit of work.”
She enters this onto the screen.
Subject: Burt Travers: A Pattern of Protection.
Subheading: From Complaints to Complicity - How a Newsroom Fed a Predator and the Romans Paid the Bill.
I rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “That will make more than HR shit their pants.”
She glances at my hand, lingering a second too long. Friendly and supportive. How I pat Grayson’s shoulders after he nails a hack.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing treating her like one of the crew? She’s not a soldier. Kate’s bright, reckless, and brave. I snatch my hand back before I do something stupid like trace her collarbone just to see if she leans into it or slaps me.
She stares at me like my eyes have changed color. “It doesn’t have to be weird. We’re adults. I started it by calling you Daddy.” Her lips twitch. “Bad Book Girlie.”
And just like that, she steals the air from the bunker.
I tap the screen, telling her to get back to it before I catch the back of her neck, draw her in, and declare war on her mouth.
She huffs at me and dives back in, and together, we discuss ideas, punchier words, or get each other a coffee.
An hour in, the article’s starting to take shape.
It’s not just a hit piece, it’s a precise missile strike that will devastate our adversaries.
Every line is sourced, every claim backed with documents, which we’ll attach as supplementary evidence.
We link in Burt’s misconduct to the newspaper’s leadership covering it up, and stitch in the ending so it lands with enough perfect punch to dislodge teeth.
It’s her voice, but my fingerprints are all over it.
Kate pauses her fingers over the keyboard. “It feels weird writing about myself like this.”
“It’s strong and brave,” I correct. “You’re setting the record straight, not letting them dictate the story.”
She smiles and returns to typing. I lean into her and brace my arm beside hers.
She doesn’t pull back, and neither do I.
By the time we’re done, our coffee’s gone cold, my neck aches from leaning in close, and Kate’s smile has grown.
Our knees have brushed more times than I can count, and in the end, hers stayed pressed against mine.
“How’s it coming together?” Grayson is the smart one, getting in a yoga workout on his floor mat, bending in the downward dog, stretching his back and leg muscles.
“It’s gonna start a war.” I lift out of my seat to stretch my back, linking my hands behind my head and stretching my chest.
Kate closes her laptop, resisting the urge to hit send. “I want to let this draft rest for a night and think on it.”
Smart. Once this article goes out, there’s no taking it back. Her relative anonymity as a community reporter goes up in flames, and her freedom is compromised.
She explains her practice, “A college professor drilled into us to sit on our work for a day and let the words breathe. To give our mind time to reset and come back to it later with fresh eyes, sharper angles, fresh perspectives, or the humility to admit we wrote garbage. Revise, if necessary.”
“Giving yourself space is fair, Glitter Bomb. No deadlines, no chaos, just breathing room.” I lean back in my chair, close enough to feel her body heat.
“I love that you get me.” She realizes her mistake and tucks her head, letting her hair curtain her face.
I don’t give those thoughts room to breathe. I want this to be our next chapter of redemption. “How about we take the bike out for a ride? Grab a meal? Watch a movie? Wear hoodies, caps, and sunglasses.”
“Like a date? A real one.” Her brows arch. “August Kelly advocating for fun?” She snaps open the laptop lid. “I’m sending out a press release to the media.” Her grin makes it difficult to maintain my dignity.
Yeah, I’ve been strict, cautious, and very careful. I can accommodate her need for normalcy for one night. Reassess the threat tomorrow. She’s earned this treat.
“Think about it.” I make my case. “Tomorrow, we light the match and fire the first blow. Tonight, we ought to enjoy the last hours before everything changes forever.”
Her expression shifts, and she chews on her bottom lip. “You’re right. Tomorrow we walk into Hell.”
I don’t like the way she puts it, but she’s right.
“Harper invited me to the Velvet Viper tonight,” she says. “She’s performing a burlesque routine. Want to go?”
She may as well have suggested walking into a burning building.
My heart works overtime. “That’s a Pluto club. Their clientele isn’t safe. We’re already wanted in connection with an aggravated assault. Going out in public is risky.”
“I know.” She goes quiet for a few beats. “I want to see my friend if I have to say goodbye.”
Kate knows I hate this idea. We may walk into a trap. May never walk out alive. She’s watching me with that fire in her eyes, daring me to tell her no. I should. But this may be our last night as free people. Dropping the article paints an even larger target on our backs.
“We can wear masks,” she counters, trying harder to convince me, when every nerve screams fuck no. “Half the city’s celebrities, politicians, and VIPs wear them to avoid a scandal. Trust me, that’s another article I have up my sleeve. No one will look twice at us.”
A smarter man would hold the line, keep her out of sight, and protect her from the fallout I dragged her into.
I’m not smart when she’s concerned. I take her hand and warm it between mine.
Fuck the betrayal. Fuck the rules. She needs me.
If this is the last night before the world catches fire, I’ll give her the one thing she won’t have to run from.
Love. Her radiant smile makes the risk worthwhile.
I drag my hand down my stubbled cheeks. “If You Asked Me To, then we’ll blend in, Glitter Bomb.”
Her eyes light up with comprehension. “I’ll make a closet Celine fan out of you yet.”
Something kicks in my chest. I read into her words, maybe too much.
She wants me to stick around. After everything—the secrets, surveillance, the mess I made between us—she could have shut me out forever.
Instead, she is giving me one more chance, at least for tonight.
The question of whether she wants me in her life is one for another day, and I hold onto hope she makes that choice.
I want to believe that I haven’t ruined things between us.
I get in my conditions before she wrangles any more crazy agreements out of me. “Backstage access only. Masks on at all times. Out of camera view. We split if anyone sees us.”
“Yes, Daddy.” We’re back to the nickname. Another sign the tension between us is thawing.
She grabs her phone. “Can I call Harper from here? It won’t alert anyone?”
I nudge a burner phone from Katar’s desk in her direction. “Use this. It won’t be traced.”
She moves into the corner, making the call and outlining the plan.
I overhear bits and pieces of Harper’s reply, especially the snarky last line. “Bring your broody ass. I’ll make sure no one sees you, cupcake.”
“I will. Love you.” She crushes the phone harder.
“I love you, cupcake,” Harper reinforces, louder this time. “Remember that. And if Kelly fucks up once more, I’m coming for his balls.”
Kate’s eyes tear up and nods. “See you tonight?” She nods again, finishes the conversation, and drops the phone on the desk.
I get up to clutch her elbows. “Are you okay, Glitter Bomb?”
She puts on her brave face, the smile that hides the shadows. “Yep. Want to get ready?”
I stroke her jaw with my knuckles. “We’ll have to stop by your house and mine to pick up clothing. If anyone’s scoping out your place, we leave and head for the safehouse.”
“Okay.” She consents to the backup plan.
I bring her in for a cuddle, and she buries her face against my chest and fists my shirt. The small gesture tells me she’s left the door unlocked for me, even if she hasn’t forgiven me. I’m reaching for the handle carefully, as if moving too fast will scare her back into the shadows.
I brush her hair. “Let’s have a night we’ll never forget, Glitter Bomb.”
This time, I’m not letting her go. I’ll be by her side, fighting off the monsters, lopping off heads, until none of them remain.