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“How long were you at my place?”
“Long enough to almost fall asleep.”
My cock thickens at the idea of finding Lex sleeping in my apartment, Lexstayingin my apartment.
“If you ignore the punching bag in the middle of the living room, it’s actually cozy in there. It shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is.”
I smirk. “I know.”
“Fifteen-foot ceilings?”
“Seventeen.”
“You bought it?”
“Renting.”
Her whole body shudders. “You’re just throwing money away.”
“I don’t want to live there long term.”
“Where do you want to live long term?”
I shake my head. “You get mad when I share things about myself.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Bullsh—”
“I get mad that Iwantyou to share things about yourself.”
My eyes on hers, another heavy moment passes before I tell her, “In the woods. Away from everybody.”
She lets out a long sigh, but doesn’t reply.
“I should’ve made you wait longer.” I drag my gaze down her body. “Could’ve had some fun waking you up.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t touch me while I’m asleep.”
Pulling my balaclava down over my head, I say through the material, “That was before I knew what you felt like.” Then, I get out to go scout the grounds.
At first glance, it’s just an abandoned warehouse with a dozen storage containers sitting forgotten in its barren yard, but in reality, the building itself has a sophisticated security system, and the containers are all locked up tight.
“What the fuck’s in there?” I ask Lex as soon as I make it back to the small SUV.
She’s leaning against the driver’s door, pulling her hood up over her hair and lower half of her face, taking special care to hide all the stark-white strands. She’s also wearing her own gloves now and some kind of bag around her waist that she didn’t have before.
Pushing away from the Mustang, she says, “Let’s go find out.”
A pit in the bottom of my stomach forming, I turn to follow her. She’s not telling me something. Technically, she hasn’t told me anything. Even Cyrus gives me more information to go off of than this when he sends me on a job.
Lex leads me to the side of the warehouse closest to us, directly over to a ventilation shaft. She takes a screwdriver out of her waist bag and uses it to remove every screw, tucking each one safely into her bag, then together, we ease the vent away from its notch in the wall. Thankfully, no alarm sounds.
“After you,” she says, motioning to the black tunnel.
My head’s already shaking. “Afteryou.”
“I have to take care of this,” she says, still holding the vent. “We can’t leave it lying on the ground.”
