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"Stop thinking so hard," Kylo sighed. "Right now, there's just this—us."
"Us," I echoed, allowing the word to fill the space between us, marveling at how heavy and light it felt at the same time.
"Kylo," I started, the sarcasm faltering, leaving something far too sincere in its wake. "I?—"
"Hey," he interrupted, a finger lifting my chin so our eyes met. "No need for words. I know."
And maybe, just maybe, I let myself believe him. In the tangle of limbs and sheets, with the city's symphony of rain and sirens playing in the distance, I found a semblance of peace. Even if it was fleeting, even if it was madness—I clung to it, to him, like he was the anchor I'd never known I needed. His grip tightened around me like he could hold the pieces of my fractured world together. And for the first time ever, I was afraid of what all this softness might do to a girl like me.
Chapter
Eight
The sign outside the motel flickered like a dying firefly and cast a ghastly glow over the cheap patterned carpet. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, picking at the frayed stitching of the comforter. Kylo paced the same way he did when his brain was doing somersaults inside his skull.
"Oswin Yorke," I muttered and rolled the name around my tongue like sour candy. "Sounds like a villain from a shitty romance book."
Kylo stopped mid-pace and turned to me, his expression serious enough to wipe the smirk off my face. "We need to dig deeper into this Yorke guy. Your old man wouldn't have dropped that name if it wasn't our next breadcrumb."
"Or maybe he's just fucking with us from behind bars," I said it, but even I didn't believe that. It was the only lead we had, and damn if it wasn't gnawing at me.
"There's someone who might help us unravel this clusterfuck—Ansel Lake." Kylo's eyes met mine.
"Ansel Lake?" The name sounded like it came straight out of the billionaire's club for eccentric playboys. "The rich asshat on the news that claims to care more about pandas than profits?"
"That's the one. His heart bleeds for every cause under the sun, but it's his dad who's the real character—some modern-day Dr. Frankenstein." Kylo ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle in the dark. "I always thought the old man's yammering about government conspiracies and time machines was bullshit. But now..." He trailed off and locked eyes with me.
"Time travel, huh?" I tapped my fingers against my thigh. "So what, we're gonna crash one of his Gatsby-esque shindigs and hope he spills the secrets of the universe?"
"Close," Kylo said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "There's a benefit ball this weekend. All the high rollers will be there, rubbing elbows and writing checks. If we want answers, we've got to get close to Lake."
"Undercover at a fancy ball? Fuck, Kylo, you're not going to make me wear a tiara, are you?"
"Only if you promise to curtsy," Kylo smiled, the familiar glint of mischief in his eye.
"Fuck off," I said, but I couldn't help the grin that came with it. "Alright, Agent 007, let's do this. But if I end up in a dress that looks like a fucking cupcake, I'm blaming you."
Kylo's laugh was rich and warm in the stale room. "Deal. Just remember to act the part. These people can smell outsiders a mile away."
"Acting, lying, deceiving—I'd say it's right up our alley," I pushed myself off the bed and my reflection in the mirror across the room caught my attention. The woman that stared back seemed almost foreign; her eyes held too many secrets, and the white streak in her black hair was a stark reminder of the life she led—a life that now involved infiltrating a world so far removed from the grimy streets and rain-soaked alleys of the city.
The glint of the chandeliers from the high-end boutique danced mockingly in my eyes as Kylo whisked me through a forest of luxurious gowns, each more extravagant than the last. “Remember, we need to blend in, not stick out like a sore thumb with a middle finger raised,” he reminded me.
"Right, because nothing says 'undercover' like a thousand-dollar price tag," I fingered the delicate embroidery of a dress that probably cost more than my rent.
Kylo’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he plucked a deep emerald gown off the rack—a stark contrast against the brown of my skin. "Try this," he pushed it into my arms. The silk whispered secrets as it brushed past my tattoos, and for a moment, I was caught in the fantasy of luxury.
"Doesn't exactly scream 'private investigator'," I muttered.
"Let's hope it screams 'wealthy socialite' instead," he flashed a grin that did annoying things to my pulse.
In the fitting room, the gown clung to my curves with the promise of sin. I had to admit, I looked damn good. The mirror threw back an image of someone who could almost belong to that elite world—almost. It was the same lovely world my dear Aunt made sure to keep me out of. She kindly raised me in the shadows of my charming and filthy rich cousins, bless her heart.
Emerging from the curtains, I found Kylo waiting, the epitome of suave in a three-piece tux that should have been illegal for how well it complimented him.
"You clean up like a fucking GQ model," the words tumbled out before I could stop myself, laced with more heat than I'd intended. I couldn't help but let my eyes roam. The fabric hugged his physique like it was painted on. Somewhere deep inside me, something primal and hungry stirred.
Kylo's eyes widened with surprise and a flicker of appreciation danced in them. "You make even the gown jealous," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement.
