“You really don’t have any manners, Peach.”
“Yeah? Well I’llshoveyour manners up your stupid?—”
“Wow,” Conner cuts in, and I spin around so fast I almost give myself whiplash.
He’s smirking.Smirking.The color drains from my face so fast I might pass out right here on the gravel like a goddamn Victorian debutante.
“I—I’m so sorry, Professor?—”
He raises a hand. “Conner.”
“I—Conner—I just… I don’t think it’sappropriatefor you to be here,” I stammer, words tumbling over themselves as I try to recover some level of dignity, which is laughable at this point.
Conner cocks his head, stepping just close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his all-black outfit, every inch of him givingoffdangerous older man who’s too composed to panic and too smart to miss a thingvibes.
“I think we’re a little past appropriate, don’t you, Miss Rivera?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth.
My spine straightens like it’s been yanked by a string.
“W-What?” I stammer, blinking too hard, too fast.
Conner leans in—not enough to touch, but enough that I can smell him. Smoke. Clean soap. Gunmetal. Trouble.
“I mean I use your panties almost every night,” he says, low enough that only I can hear it. “Now I have organized a murder for you. I don’t think you should argue about what is or is not appropriate. I think you should just saythank you.”
My brain does this twitchy static thing like an old radio trying to find a station as I feel my pussy clench around the air, because holy shit he’s been…to my…fuck I can’t breathe.I think I black out for a second because when I blink again, he’s still standing there, too close, too calm, like he didn’t just casually drop that he jerks off with my underwear and arranges hits like it's Wednesday brunch.
“This is—” I gasp, hands flailing as I try to find a sentence that will not get me immediately arrested or committed, “This is still—unacceptable behavior!There are rules! Boundaries! Ethical—things!”
Conner chuckles, slow and deep like he’s amused by a particularly feisty pet. “Say thank you.”
I blink again. “I—what?”
“You heard me.” He leans just a little closer, voice like silk-wrapped steel. “Say thank you.”
“For what?” I breathe, heart hammering.
“For cleaning up your messes, sunshine.” The nickname breaks something in me, and my knees almost give out.
My mouth opens, closes. Fires up again. “I—thank you,” I grit, because what else am I supposed to say to a forensic scientist who apparently moonlights as my personal goddamn assassin?
His green eyes flick over my face, and for a moment they darken, satisfied. “Good girl.”
“Fuck,” Landon chuckles, sliding an arm across my shoulders. “If I knew all I had to do was steal your panties to make you behave. I would have done it a while ago.”
I growl, elbowing Landon hard in the ribs.
He grunts, grinning like an idiot as he stumbles half a step away, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
I roll my eyes and shift toward Conner, who’s far more composed—though the faint twitch in his jaw suggests he might be two seconds away from losing his patience with both of us.
“Okay, so how are we doing this?” I ask, licking my lips. My voice comes out steady, but my fingers twitch at my sides. The adrenaline is already crawling up my spine.
“I’ve arranged for Xavier to move up his plans,” Conner says calmly, like he’s reciting a grocery list and not outlining a coup. “He’s going to challenge Marcus tonight. Publicly. Loudly. When things start to unravel, you move in. You end it.”
I raise a brow. “So what—you want me to knock on the door and just put a bullet in the guy’s skull?”
“Preferably between the eyes,” he says with a shrug, then glances at Landon. “But I’m not picky.”
