He leaned in, just slightly. “Should you be able to assist my friend out of his current predicament—and keep me informed first, of course—I’d be happy to sponsor you. A seat at the table, full investor privileges. Most people only hear about the kind of opportunity after the door has already closed.”
My stomach turned, but I kept my expression relaxed, as if he were offering me season tickets instead of a way to get my hands dirty for profit. I nodded slowly, as if I’d consider it. And then, we were done. He paid for the meal, shook my hand, and we parted ways. I headed straight back to the office, using the private elevator to take me straight to the Cave.
Caleb and Sonya were staring at me, and Caleb was still wearing headphones from listening in.
I slumped in the closest chair, scrubbing a handdown my face as if I could wipe away the weight Lassiter’s words had left behind.
“Jesus, Killian, he offered you a seat at the fucking table at Bad Guys Inc.,” Sonya said, and I nodded.
“You heard the word lyric in there, right?” Caleb added. “The same that was coming up in our searches. No trails on Lyric-Night Investments or any variation of the name,” Caleb replied, already clicking through windows.
“But you could track it down through Lassiter’s financials?”
“I’m already on it,” Sonya said, tapping her pen against the edge of her laptop. “We’ll start with his shell holdings and cross-reference transfers linked to any flagged charities.”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “So what do we do now that the devil thinks we made a deal with him?”
Sonya looked up, her eyes hard. “We build a prison around him. Quietly.”
Caleb huffed. “Brick by fucking brick.”
FIFTEEN
Jamie
I didn’t knowwhy I was here.
The street was clean. Like, aggressively clean. Not a scuff on the pale sidewalk, no graffiti, not even a loose bit of trash floating past on the breeze. Just the hiss of traffic, the occasional chirp of a crosswalk signal, and the echo of designer heels clicking on polished concrete. Across the street from me, a boutique coffee shop already had a line stretching to the corner, all sleek suits and curated leather bags, phones pressed to ears as if they’d been born conducting million-dollar deals. Beside it, several high-end boutiques blinked awake, metal shutters rising on clean glass and white-lit displays. A curated kind of chaos. Perfect on the surface.
The building Killian worked out of stood tallamong them—an old thing, probably a hundred years or more, but renovated and modernized in all the right ways. Stone pillars, polished brass fixtures, and the kind of heavy glass doors that didn’t open for just anyone. It reminded me of the LA I’d only ever seen in movies—old money, old power, and the kind of shine that masked every rotten thing underneath.
Killian’s office was on the seventh floor, and he had a private elevator. I pictured him inside—tie loosened, sleeves rolled, tearing someone apart across a conference table with that razor-sharp voice and cold smile. Probably looked fucking good doing it, too. Untouchable. Controlled. Everything I wasn’t. Coffee cooling in my hand, my hoodie pulled low, I watched the people come and go. Leaning close to the door, flush to the building, with the keypad, I examined it closely. It was biometric, and if I spent too long standing here trying to mess with it, people heading into work would eventually notice.
I didn’t exist for them at the moment, but then, they’d never see the things I did.
They wouldn’t clock the guy across the street loitering with his phone upside down, casing the jeweler’s shop one block over. Wouldn’t notice the battered old Corolla parked at the curb, windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see who was inside. Theway the engine idled too long, as though someone was waiting for something-- -or someone—to make a move.
They wouldn’t see the shadows in the corners. But I did. Always had.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The snarling voice didn’t surprise me—I’d hoped for him to find me. But I didn’t expect my cock to be so happy, stiff and desperate just from Killian’s anger as it cracked something open inside me—ragged heat, memory, want. I’d only seen him last night, but I needed to see him now, and I hated it.
I didn’t want that. I wanted him to take it all back—the control, the way he stripped me bare without touching me. I tried to erase the desperation curling hot and tight in my belly, the part of me that ached for more even as I fought it. I wanted to snuff it out like one of my fires, leave it in ash and ruin.
But I couldn’t. Not when the truth that I wanted more burned. More of the way he looked at me as if I were worth wrecking. More of his hands on me, rough and unforgiving. More of that dark promise in his voice when he called me Pretty, as if he knew exactly how fucked up I was and didn’t care. More of his anger at what I’d done, putting me in my place. My skin buzzed with the memory, my pulse racing. Ididn’t want to want it—not the rush of heat low in my gut, not the hunger curling like smoke through my veins—but I did, every inch of me traitorous and aching for more of what he could do to me.
I sipped my bitter lukewarm coffee, then, “How far have you got?” I asked.Can I destroy it all yet?
He didn’t look at me as he used to. Not with that unreadable heat or the smug tilt of his lips. Today, his stare was cold. Controlled as if he’d shoved every emotion behind a wall just to stop himself from breaking something. Or someone. And yet, I braced for it anyway—half expecting him to yell, to shove me to the glass, to kiss me as if he had no choice.
“I should haul your ass out of here,” he muttered, voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to stand outside my office. Do you know how many cameras are pointed at this fucking place, and if someone sees an ex-con, afucking murderer, standing outside here. What the fuck, Jamie!”
I kept still. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer. Because what could I say? That I needed to know I could burn? That there was something about him that made me want to crack? That I didn’t know where else to go this morning because I wanted his touch as much as I wanted to burn, and I didn’t understand any of it?
“You wouldn’t be standing here with me if youdidn’t already know that this is a camera blind spot,” I said, and I swear he growled.
“You think this is a game?” he snapped, stepping closer, and for a second, I thought he might grab me. Shake me. Pin me to the wall as he had before—not with fury, but with lust.
