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But when the elevator opens on the penthouse level, I kiss my victory screen-lick goodbye.
Two guards flank Serafina’s room.
In suits tented with hardware, they don’t have to snap to attention. They’re already glaring from the end of the hall.
My stomach somersaults, expecting the inevitable.
The shout. The chase. The instant realization that I’m nobody’s princess.
But the alphas don’t draw their guns.
Yet.
“Give me the key,” I mutter.
“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Silas answers with too much rumble.
He probably has permission to shoot me in the head, but he’d never put himself in danger. “You think you can pass as the guy you stole that chain from? The one with the face tattoo?”
Silas isn’t stupid enough to argue. He jams the keycard in my hand. “You’re dead if you run.”
“Find my purse,” I command, happy to shove him back into the elevator.
But when the doors slide shut, my heart checks into my throat for an extended stay.
Pushing my shoulders back with a confidence I can only fake, I catwalk to the penthouse.
Turns out I never needed a key.
“Princess. Where the hell were you?” A beefy guard whips out his card and practically shovels me into the room.
“Boss is pissed,” the second guy adds with a toothy alpha grin that insta-corrects my stupid misconception, dropping a star-shaped ice cube down the tube of my throat
These aren’t Serafina’s guards.
They belong to Nikolaj.
“I’m back. Don’t bother me.”
“You sneak out again, we’ll teach you a lesson.” His grin widens, wolfish and off-putting, and I bite down to stop my scent from rising to the challenge. If he touches me with those grease-stained fingers, he’s the one who’ll learn.
“Stop.” The first guard yanks his homie back. “The boss’ll take care of her.”
“Sounds fun.” His scent rises, all sour pomegranate.
I slam the door and take a shuddering breath.
Halfway there.
Just can’t kill any Redfangs and blow my cover.
Even if they really deserve a nervous-system smackdown.
The penthouse suite opens up like a magazine spread. Makes me paranoid I’ll leave fingerprints as I tip-toe inside.
The only time I’ve ever felt at home was with the guys. Riding in the back of Jin’s janky old truck while Bishop complained about fast food. Dutch and Reese took turns passing me nuggets and kicking his seat.
I grew up in loud, dirty, chaos, taking care of three sets of twin boys younger than ten, plus my older foster brothers, who were worse than babies.
