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This time it’s Bambi’s face that stops me reaching for the door handle. When I dragged Viper into this burning building with me, I dragged her in too. I’m fully prepared to meet Santiago’s judgment with a dirty conscience, but I’m not prepared to have her destroyed because of it.
Hurry the fuck up, Grayson. I need to get in there.
8:57 p.m.
Thirty seconds later, there’s a commotion in front of the house, and the iron gates are swinging open. From my vantage point, I watch as five Range Rovers exit after the Russian’s Ferrari and then disappear into the night like a black parade.
Here’s hoping there’s a six-car pile-up on the M4 with no survivors.
Climbing out of my SUV, I jog across the street with my gun in my hand. Keeping low to the perimeter wall of the house and dodging the scope of the cameras, I’m nearly at the front gates when my phone starts vibrating:
Two men on the front door. One at the back. One hour. G.
I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so hungry to reach her.
The gates are still closing. Once inside, I make my way around to the rear of the mansion, blending in with the shadows to keep me out of sight.
I spot the guard right away. I wait for him to patrol the east side of the garden, and then the house is mine for the taking.
Where are you, Ada?
The lights are off in the kitchen. The place is peaceful, but I keep my gun drawn. Moving into the hall, I go to make my way upstairs when I notice a soft glow coming from an open doorway to my right.Pausing on the threshold, I take in the busy floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the old wooden desk and leather armchair that’s worn through at the arms.
This is Ada’s taste. Her sanctuary. The rest of this house is sanitised and dead, but in here it’s alive.
It makes me want to step inside and inhale every part of it, but there’s no movement in the room, and not a minute to waste. I turn to leave, shooting another cursory glance at the books, and then I stop dead.
They’re the ones I sent her.
Every single edition.
Italian. Spanish. Arabic. Even the fucking expensive one that cost me five million at an auction in New York.
I’m about to take a closer look when I hear her.
She’s somewhere in the room. Some place I can’t see, and she’s humming softly to herself. It’s a sad tune, but it surges through my black heart like an electrical current, forcing it to beat red again. My cock feels it, too. I’m already throbbing.
Then, she steps into view, with her back turned away from me, gently running her finger along a line of books as she searches for something—completely oblivious to the man who’s devouring her.Her hair is shorter, barely dusking her shoulders, making her neck seem even more delicate. She’s barefoot and wearing a loose-fitted, navy-blue linen dress that falls to her knees, with a backline that scoops low to reveal two slender white shoulder blades.
Jesus.Fuck.
I want to press my lips to that soft skin and feel her body rise. I want to part her legs and make her remember all the ways that I remember—dark, dirty, and needy—like the whole world was on fire and we were burning up with it. I want her thighs slick with my cum, and then I want to catch every drop and push it back inside her because every part of me belongs to her, just as every part of her is mine.
She starts on a new row, still searching for this elusive book.
It’s too reminiscent of the first time we met, when I’d followed her into that library with revenge on my mind. I’d wanted to reach through the bookshelves that separated us and end her life, until she looked up, stared into my eyes, and ended me instead.
Now she’s ending me all over again.
I need her.
I fucking need her.
To fix, to love, to claim, to own. Then, all the lost years will melt away like sheets of ice that couldn’t withstand our heat.
As I watch, her back stiffens. It’s like she knows I’m there now, but she’s too afraid to turn.
I make it easy on her and reach for the lights.
