Grayson:Remind me: whose fault is it I had to replace my rental?
Grayson:And she’s MY car now.
Reece’s fingers tightened on the phone. Grayson was baiting him. That’s all this was. Reece had stolen his truck and incapacitated his rental, so he’d retaliated by stealing Reece’s Smart car and putting an outrageous upgrade on it. He was trying to make Reece say or do something stupid, but Reece was smarter than that. Reece was in control. Reece was goingto put the phone away and go back to the kitchen to plot large-scale revenge with Alex and Cora.
Except he was already typing back.
Reece:WHY do you have MY car at MY apartment?
A minute went by.
Then another picture lit Reece’s screen, this time a selfie of just Grayson, lying on top of what was obviously Reece’s rumpled comforter.
Grayson:Maybe you’re too chicken to text me your location unless you’ve sabotaged my car, but I’m not scared of you.
Grayson:So come on over, sugar. You know where to find me now.
Son of a bitch.
Reece stared at the picture.
Grayson was in his apartment.
Grayson wasin his bed.
In the photo, Grayson’s head was tilted against Reece’s pillow, his normally flawless hair now unwashed and messy. He was wearing some Washington tourist T-shirt that he must have grabbed on the road, too small for his broad shoulders and fitted too tight to his chest and biceps. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, and the stubble on his jaw was too thick to be stylish, bordering on a scraggly beard.
Gone was the perfectly groomed and photo-ready Dead Man. In his place was something much more raw: Evan the Unedited Hot Mess.
And Reece couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was nothing posed or staged about the picture. It obviously hadn’t been sent to turn anyone on. Nothing more than a quick photo captured with the sole intention of trying to piss Reece off.
And it had. Reece was furious.
But it wasn’t fury alone coursing through Reece with the power of a freight train. Nothing could have possibly looked hotter to his empath brain than this unfiltered and starkly honest picture of Grayson sprawled out in Reece’s bed.
And there was no way Reece was going to keep control of his emotional projectionsnow.
“I have to get the fuck out of here.”
Reece was already scrambling to his feet. He shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed the truck keys.
Two minutes later, he was on the road, tearing up the street but still seeing the mirage of Grayson everywhere he looked.
Come on over, sugar.
Reece had to get control. He had to.
Maybe if he fed the corruption, the black lightning would get bright enough that he wouldn’t see memories anymore.
He slammed on the gas, like he could somehow outpace the storm inside him, and headed for the highway, to drive anywhere that Grayson wasn’t.
The building staff at Stone Solutions had their own break room on the ground floor, a windowless space with two round Formica tables, a few plastic chairs and an old refrigerator next to an even older kitchen counter. Nothing like the break rooms on the higher floors, with their sweeping views, comfortable furniture and daily fresh fruit delivery, but they had their own coffee maker on the ground floor, and Wayne Smith wasn’t much of a fruit guy anyway.
He picked a plastic pod of coffee from the basket and fit it into the machine, the scent filling the small space as it brewed into his mug.
Warren poked his head around the door. “Doing a perimeter check with Hank.”
Smith grunted in acknowledgment. New safety protocols: no one alone and frequent check-ins. Management had promised the containment issue in R & D had been handled and the negligent parties fired. None of the security team had been fired over the property damage; in fact, they’d all received an extra two weeks’ pay—conditional upon signing an NDA agreeing not to talk to the press.
