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)
She knows I’m watching her.
And she likes it.
I’m halfway through my beer when there’s a knock at the door.
Of course.
Of course she wouldn’t text like a normal stalker.
No, she has to show up.
I swing the door open and there she is—leaning against the frame like a damn Bond villain, all leather and smirk.
“Hi, Knight.” She grins. “Miss me?”
“Lark.” My voice is flat. “Did you really break into my apartment to drink my milk?”
She tilts her head, faux-innocent. “Technically, it was expired. So really, I was doing you a favor.”
“You do not have clearance to be in my space.”
“Neither does Arrow,” she says sweetly. “And yet you let him crash on your couch.”
“That’s different.”
She steps past me like she owns the place, and I let her—why do I let her?—because part of me wants to know what the hell she’s really after.
She walks over to my wall of monitors and raises a brow.
“Dual screens. Solid RAM. Not bad for a vigilante who works in data entry.”
My jaw clenches. “You broke into my work computer?”
“I’m not saying yes,” she says, spinning slowly in my chair, “but I’m also not not saying yes.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Oh, Knight.” She stops spinning and pins me with those wild eyes. “I’m not playing. I’m recruiting.”
I fold my arms. “Excuse me?”
She stands, walks up to me, and pokes a finger into my chest. “You think you’re running some kind of underground justice club, but you’re soft. You leave trails. You don’t finish the job.”
“We get results.”
“You get close. I can help you finish.”
“By blackmailing me? By sending me videos I didn’t authorize? By tracking my IP address?”
Her smile is feral. “Exactly.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
It’s a standoff.
One I should win.
But I’m not so sure anymore.
Because this girl? This unhinged, brilliant, impossible girl?
She’s not backing down.
And worse?
Part of me doesn’t want her to.
FOUR
THE CHAOS APPLICATION
LARK
Knight Hayes is the human embodiment of a locked cabinet.
And I absolutely love picking locks.
He stands in front of me now, arms folded like steel doors, jaw clenched, eyes stormy. He looks like he’d rather wrestle a bear than have a conversation with me.
Which only makes this more fun.
I drop my bag onto his kitchen table and unzip it, slow and dramatic.
Knight watches me like I’m a live grenade. “Don’t take anything out of that bag,” he warns.
I ignore him completely. A stack of manila folders lands on the table. Then a burner laptop. Then a USB drive with a tiny pink bow on it.
Knight stares.
I flash a smile. “Time to talk business.”
He blinks once. “No.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You don’t have to. Whatever you’re planning, the answer is no.”
“You’re not even curious?” I tilt my head to study him.
“Not even a little.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“That’s a lie,” I sing.
Knight scrubs a hand down his face.
I flip open the first folder, turning it so he can see—pictures, profiles, bank trails, timestamps, and locations. Each page is labeled with a codename.
PROJECT SCORPION — CHILDREN'S REHAB FRAUD
Another folder.
PROJECT SILK — HUMAN TRAFFICKING COURIER
Another.
PROJECT WOLF — GAMING COMPANY EXPLOITING DATA MINORS
Knight’s arms drop from his chest.
Bingo.
I tap the top sheet. “These are predators who hide behind non-profits, charities, and corporate boards. You go after the scraps—the low-hanging fruit. Meanwhile, I’m tracking the ones who know how to erase their trails.”
His voice is gravel. “How did you get these?”
“Public record. Private servers. One secure Department of Justice database that definitely needs better encryption.”
His eyes widen. “You hacked the DOJ?”
“Relax. I didn’t break anything. I just borrowed information they weren’t using.”
Knight pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like I need holy water.
He takes the folder from my hand and starts flipping through, scanning the intel. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He realizes something.
My intel isn’t surface level.
It’s mission-ready.
He closes the folder slowly. “You shouldn’t have access to any of this.”
“I do.”
“You shouldn’t be tracking criminals alone.”
“I’m not. I’m tracking criminals with you.”
He looks up sharply.
I slide the USB drive across the table. The little bow bounces.
“What is that?” he asks.
“My application to the team.”
He stares at me like I handed him a time bomb. “We don’t take applications.”
“You do now.”
“No.” He shoves the drive back. “Absolutely not.”
I shove it right back. “Watch it.”
“I don’t work with civilians.”
“I’m not a civilian.”
“You’re not trained.”
“Oh, I’m trained.” I lift my bat from where it rests against the chair. “In emotional terrorism.”
Knight closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience.
I hop onto his counter, boots kicking lightly. “Knight. Face it. You need me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I literally don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
His voice goes low and dangerous. “Why?”
I soften—just barely.
Because this is my moment.
“Because you don’t finish,” I say quietly. “You drag these guys into the light, you give the evidence to the authorities… and then you walk away. But sometimes? The system breaks. And bad men walk back into the world.”