Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Not in pain, not anymore.
Only an ache for what just happened, that I could want it so badly.
He collapses beside me, drawing me back in hard and fast. He lifts me so I’m lying half on his chest. I press my face into his neck and breathe in his salty scent.
He brushes my hair back, grazing my scalp with his fingers as if he’s checking to see if he’s broken the skin.
I want to tell him he hasn’t.
I want to tell him he could bite deeper and I’d still reach for him.
Instead I lie there, so ragged and spent I could dissolve into the mattress and be content to never get up again.
He says nothing. I say nothing.
That’s a first.
The world feels different afterward.
Like something that was held back is no longer contained.
I’m not standing at the edge anymore. I stepped over it.
I chose it.
I chose him.
I lie there for a moment, staring at nothing, feeling everything.
The house around us. The locked door. The key.
The truth sitting just out of reach.
And him.
Always him.
This isn’t just an investigation anymore.
It hasn’t been for a while.
I know that now.
I know it in a way I can’t undo.
I turn my head slightly. He’s there. Still. Watching. Not relaxed.
If anything, he’s more dangerous than before.
Because now he knows I’m not walking away.
And worse…
I know it too.
I should say something.
I don’t.
Because there’s nothing I can say that won’t make this more real than it already is. More permanent. More impossible to step back from.
So I don’t speak.
Neither does he.
But the silence between us is no longer empty.
It’s full of every line we just crossed.
And everything we haven’t even begun to understand.
41
SAMSON
I don’t sleep long. I don’t need to.
But when I wake, I don’t move.
She’s still here.
That’s the first thing that hits.
Not the castle.
Not the threat.
Not the open questions waiting for answers.
Her.
Delaney.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of her without touching her. Close enough that I remember exactly what it took to get her here.
What we didn’t stop.
My body tenses.
That’s the problem.
Not the old man at the marina.
Not the one who ran.
Not even the one who sent him.
Those are variables.
Variables can be dealt with.
This…
God…
She’s on her side, facing away slightly, one arm tucked beneath her, hair spilling across the pillow. There’s nothing guarded about her like this. Nothing sharp or defensive.
And that’s what makes this dangerous. Because she’s not the only one who let her guard down.
I did too.
That’s not something I allow.
I lift my hand but I don’t touch her yet.
If I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull back.
Damn.
I don’t like anything that shifts the ground under my feet. Delaney does that without even trying.
I drop my hand and get out of bed.
I pull on jeans and step out into the hallway. Then I go downstairs to the security room and bring the system online.
I move to the security wall and check all the feeds. Nothing immediate. No movement on the property. No breach.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
Not anymore.
I shift to external tracking.
Her building.
The marina.
Known routes.
Then—
Not active. But recent. Too recent.
I pull the data forward.
Routing markers. Access logs. Financial shell pings. Someone is moving through old cleanup channels. And it’s not random.
That’s not street-level.
That’s not the kind of man who runs when he’s seen.
That’s structure.
That’s planning.
That’s—
I stop the thought before it finishes.
No.
Not yet.
I dig deeper.
The pathways aren’t current.
They’re old.
Dormant accounts.
Closed loops.
Things that were used once and buried by someone who knew how to make things disappear without leaving a trace.
I know exactly one person who operates like that.
Nathaniel.
I lean back slightly, eyes still on the screen.
It doesn’t mean it’s him. It only means someone has access to his work. To the systems he built. To the way he makes things disappear.
That’s worse.
Because if it’s not him, it’s someone who understands him. Someone close enough to move through his structures without setting off alarms.
Someone who knows what matters.
And what doesn’t.
The memory hits without warning.
The dock.
The chain already open.
The timing.
The positioning.
Everything already in place.
I didn’t question it because it didn’t feel like something I needed to question.
That’s the part that doesn’t sit right.
I tighten my hand on the edge of the console.
I should tell her. She’s already in it too deep to pull back.
I still don’t do it.
Because once I say Nathaniel’s name I can’t take it back. And I don’t move on instinct where he’s concerned. Not without proof. He’s still my brother. He’s still blood. My blood. My father’s blood. We were taught to respect each other’s place in the system. I may not always like how Nate handles things. I may not always like what he says. I hate that he called Delaney my weakness. But he has his place, and I have mine.
I shut down the monitors so Delaney won’t see what I saw if she comes in here.
Then I hear her. Soft footsteps and then her fragrance.