“He keeps his back to the wall,” she says. “But only when he’s sober.”
I nod.
“That’s instinct fighting ego. Ego usually wins.”
Knox grabs his phone from the table. The girl slides off his lap. He pushes himself up from the couch and heads toward the restroom. He starts typing as he walks.
He never looks over his shoulder. He never feels us in the room.
Brooke’s fingers tighten around my forearm.
“He doesn’t think anyone followed him out of that manor,” she whispers.
“No,” I reply. “He thinks you’re dead.”
Her breathing sharpens. The softness leaves her eyes.
“And what do we do with men who believe that?” I ask quietly.
“We let them feel safe.”
I lean closer, my mouth brushing her temple.
“Exactly,” I murmur. “Because the moment a man feels safe… is the moment he dies.”
Chapter 36
The drive home blurs together in a haze of bass, cocaine, and rain-slicked streetlights.
Knox leans back in the rear seat of the town car, collar open, head tipped against the leather. His jaw aches faintly from grinding. The inside of his nose still burns from the last line he has taken off the VIP table.
He thinks it’s worth it.
The driver keeps his eyes forward as the estate gates slide open.
Gravel crunches under the tires while the car curves up the long drive. The mansion rises out of the dark beyond the hedges, tall windows glowing warm against the wet night.
Safe.
That word settles comfortably in Knox’s chest.
The car stops beneath the covered entrance.
One of the guards steps forward and opens the door. Rain drips from the brim of the man’s cap.
“Evening, sir.”
Knox barely looks at him.
“Yeah.”
He steps out, swaying slightly as his shoes hit the stone. The world tilts pleasantly. His heart still races from the cocaine, every nerve buzzing.
Frank, the night supervisor, closes the car door behind him while another guard moves aside to let Knox pass through the front entrance.
The doors shut with a soft click.
Inside, the mansion is quiet. Too quiet for this hour, maybe, but Knox barely registers it.
