Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
His throat bobs. He knows I’m right.
“And because…” My voice softens even more. “…you’re trying to protect people without letting anyone protect you.”
Silence.
Knight’s not good with emotions. They scramble him. He prefers anger—it feels cleaner. He finally exhales and sits across from me. “What’s on the drive?”
“Footage of every op you’ve done in the last three months.”
His head snaps up.
“Plus,” I add cheerfully, “the weak points in your encryption, your blind surveillance angles, and a list of ways you could’ve gotten arrested.”
“You—assessed us.”
“I evaluated your deficiencies.”
“That’s worse.”
“And I also included a folder titled ‘Why Knight Needs Me.’ It’s color-coded and formatted. You’re welcome.”
He glares. “Delete it.”
“Not unless you accept my terms.”
He leans forward. “There are terms?”
“Oh yes.” I hold up one finger.
Term One:
“I go on missions. Not behind a screen. In the field.”
He opens his mouth to argue—I cut him off.
Term Two:
“You train me. Properly. No half-assed ‘stay in the car’ crap.”
His gaze drags over me, slow and heated.
My heart trips.
“And Term Three…” I lean in, close enough to smell his aftershave, to feel the electricity between us crackle.
“If you tell me no…” I tap the drive. “…the world gets a front-row seat to every illegal thing you’ve done since April.”
Knight’s nostrils flare. “You’re blackmailing me.”
I smile sweetly. “I’m encouraging your growth.”
He stands abruptly, pushing away from the table like he needs distance.
Not to think.
To stay sane.
“You are chaos,” he says.
I hop off the counter and saunter toward him. “And you? You’re control.” I stop inches away. “Imagine how deadly we’ll be together.”
He swallows.
Hard.
I tuck the USB into his hand and pat it twice. “We start tomorrow.”
He whispers, “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“You will.” I head to the door, swinging my bat over my shoulder. “See you at 7 a.m., Knight.”
“You don’t have access to our HQ.”
I wink. “I’ll find the key.” The door clicks shut behind me.
And I know he’s standing there, staring at the USB drive in his hand, totally losing his mind.
Good.
Let the games begin.
FIVE
OFF-LIMITS LOOKS A LOT LIKE HER
KNIGHT
Our “HQ” is a converted office that’s a closed-down print shop that still smells faintly like toner and broken dreams.
Arrow calls it Riverside because it overlooks the river.
I call it evidence that we’re all one bad decision away from a felony conviction.
The stairwell light flickers as I climb, the metal door at the top guarded by a pin pad, a deadbolt, and the illusion that we’re in control of any of this. I hear the faint sound of music before I punch the code.
The lock clicks.
The second the door swings open, I know something’s wrong.
There’s music blasting—loud, obnoxious, aggressively upbeat. The kind of bubblegum pop song that would never end up on our shared playlist unless someone was actively trying to annoy me.
Also?
The system’s already on.
And someone’s sitting at my station.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Lark Dawson spins in my chair like she bought it, with a wide smile, and fingers sticky with orange dust from an open bag of cheese curls.
On my keyboard.
I stop in the doorway.
Very calmly.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to say something that gets me stabbed with a mechanical pencil.
“How,” I say, “did you get in here?”
She grins. “Door.”
“No.”
“Stairs?”
“Lark.”
She sighs dramatically and points over her shoulder with the half-empty bag of chips. “Arrow thought I should see the place if I’m going to be part of the team.”
My eyes narrow. “Arrow is asleep on the couch with a hoodie over his face. Arrow doesn’t think anything until after coffee.”
She glances over at the couch where Arrow is, indeed, dead to the world, hood up, one arm hanging off the edge, an empty energy drink can on the floor.
“Okay, technically I got here before he passed out,” she amends. “I may have sent him a fake security alert on his phone that said you were under active cyber attack from a North Korean botnet.”
I stare.
“He rushed down here and let me in. Then realized the alert was fake. Then fell over. Kind of impressive, honestly.”
My eye twitches. “You faked a security alert on our secure channel?”
“I tested your incident response time,” she corrects. “You passed. Barely.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Do you own a single respectable boundary?”
“I’m wearing pants,” she says. “That feels like growth.”
She is wearing pants. Tight black jeans, torn at the knees, combat boots laced up her calves. Black tee. Leather jacket hanging off the back of my chair like she plans on staying awhile.
Her hair’s twisted up in a messy knot, with streaks of purple catching the light. There’s a silver hoop in her nose now, and two studs in one ear that weren’t there the last time I saw her at one of Gage’s half-assed family dinners.
She looks like trouble.
She looks like everything I said I’d never touch.
And all my body hears is touch.
I look away, jaw tight. “Feet off the desk.”