"Careful"

That's all he says as he holds my hand hostage, pulling me closer to his chest and my traitorous nipple harden beneath his shirt as I lean into his touch.

You're sick. This is sick.

"Does he, pretty doll?" He rumbles low into my ear. The sound is a feathering touch to my nerves, I clench my stomach and core together.

"You have my phone. I'm not doing this job, and I don't answer to any man." Despite my words, I close my eyes and breathe him in when he pulls me closer.

"You must not know me if you think you can enter my house, disobey me, then waltz out on your own accord."

The deepness of his voice and the authority take hold of me.

Before I can speak, he lets me go.

The absence of his touch feels like cold water. I should be relieved-I AM relieved, but my skin still burns where his hands were. My scalp tingles from where he pulled my hair. My throat remembers the pressure of his fingers.

I'm standing here in his apartment, surrounded by him, wanting him, and I can't remember the last time I hated myself this much.

My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists before he can see.

I need air. Time away from him. Before I forget why I'm here.

"We're going to the warehouse," he says, tossing car keys at me.

I catch them midair. Warehouse? Great!

Carlos eyes me, and I control the smile that's trying to surface.

"I can't wear your clothes in front of your men!"

But he's already out the door.

Good. Perfect time to establish boundaries.

I head to the kitchen and grab cereal, milk, a bowl. The apartment unsettles me. The layout matches mine too closely to be coincidence.

Same lilac wall paint, structure but I push the thought aside.

I settle on the sofa and eat slowly, deliberately.

The TV won't turn on. Probably controlled by his system.

Everything here is controlled by him. Except me.

The door slams open.

I don't look up. Just take another bite of cereal, letting the crunch fill the silence between us.

Seven steps and he's in front of me.

I raise the spoon to my mouth-

He snatches the bowl and hurls it at the wall. Ceramic shatters. Milk drips down the wallpaper.

Before I can react, I'm upside down over his shoulder, his arm an iron bar across the back of my thighs.

"I'm not your fucking puppy!" I thrash against his grip, but it's like fighting stone.

He doesn't answer. Just carries me outside into cold air and dumps me into the driver's seat of his car.

"Drive."

The rumble of his voice and darkness of his eyes should make me obedient, but as I said, I'm no puppy.

"No can do. If I needed to be controlled, I'd have come with a leash."

The venom in my words bypasses him. He looks amused instead of disrespected.

"Your husband didn't get you a leash?"

I roll my eyes.

"Our sex life is no business of yours."

My words come out as harsh as intended.

Something cold replaces the darkness that marred his eyes earlier. They stay glued on me, searching, calculating.

Whatever he sees takes him out of the car and over to my side.

"You can go home."

Confusion creases my forehead.

"You can go meet your husband." He takes the keys from me, lifts me out, then drives off.

I stand there, confused and cold. Facing "my apartment." Surrounded by empty road and trees.

The more I look at it, the more it resembles my building. Not just the size, but the architecture.

I walk to the back of the house. A large gate separates me from his glass doors. Luxurious, sleek, proof of wealth.

He really lives in a comfortable apartment, and that stings. He should be burning, buried with my family, miserable.

The need to crash through his glass surges up, but I calm myself. He has cameras that will capture me, and the glass is highly likely reinforced, unbreakable.

Instead, I do something else.

I pluck a few flowers from the mini garden and squeeze their juice onto each CCTV lens.

Minutes later, happy with myself, the sun is already a burning glow. I take a few steps outside his premises, and a van arrives.

Two men and a woman step out.

"Good morning, ma'am."

I scan their faces, then the van's name. The clothes.

"Are you Miss Thalia?" one guy asks.

"Yes, I am. You're here with my clothes, right?"

All three beam.

"You'll deliver them somewhere else, but drop me at the bus stop first."

They look wary. As they should be.

"From Carlos for Thalia. His PA?"

They bite their lips, and one of the men takes in my outfit.

"Or should I say his wife?"

The woman's eyes widen. The men gulp.

Wife. I should correct them. Should make it clear I'm just an employee, barely even that. But something stops me. Let the rumor spread. Let Carlos hear it from his own people. Let him deal with the mess of assumptions.

"Let's go." They oblige.

En route, I book a ride home.

Two gifts: free clothes and time off.

I feel great.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THALIA POV

"We're here, ma'am."

The driver's voice wakes me. Vaughn waits outside, and despite everything, seeing him still brings comfort.

"Please pay him." I signal no to whatever lecture he's preparing.

Inside his gym—half his, half his friend's partnership—he takes the seat opposite me at the small café area.

"Tell me you're not wearing Voldemort's shirt."

The displeasure in his tone is exactly why I came. Something to remind me it's wrong to crave Carlos's touch.

But my mind stays glued on the never-ending loop of him yanking my hair, his gaze on me, how he feels pressed against my back.

"What the actual fuck!" Vaughn's voice thunders. "What are you daydreaming about?"

I let go of my thoughts.

"Always the loud speaker. I can hear you quite well, Vaughn."

"I doubt that. Been calling your fucking name for ages."

"Sorry."

"Big Marc said you planted cameras in Carlos's room." His stupid grin—the one I used to love,appears.

" You're nailing it, babe."

He orders my usual: latte and a croissant. He knows what I like.

I lose myself to the pride in his face.

"How?"

"I fainted, and he took me to his house."

"What the fuck!" He stands so fast his chair thuds into the floor, eyes blown wide as he rushes toward me.

"I'm fine"

"Don't fucking lie to me."

He glares. Already checking my body for bruises before I can stop him.

I let him search, looking at his profile—the strong jaw, the golden-brown hair, the knife scar on his collarbone. He got that scar protecting me during our first year of training at Shadow, when I mouthed off to one of Marcus's men and nearly got slashed for it.

He exhales hard before pulling me into an awkward hug over the table.

"For fuck's sake, Wild Cat. Be careful."

I ruffle his hair.

"You're suffocating me."

He pulls back to look at me, his light blue eyes deepening as they drop to my lips.

I don't look away. My heart doesn't race the way it used to.

We broke up over a year ago, but sometimes we still fall into bed together. No strings. No expectations.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asks, returning to his seat.

"Sorry, sir. My schedule didn't say I'd pass out."

He throws his napkin at me with a laugh that matches my smile.

Marcus is with me because we have a mutual enemy. But Vaughn stood by me without expectation—since our last year of high school until now. Even when I broke his heart by demanding space, then crawled back to him because I couldn't be alone, which still didn't work out.

He stayed by me.

Now we're just... mutual. He's focused on his FBI job while I focus on my revenge.

"He was raised by a single mom who was a soldier," Vaughn says out of nowhere.

I raise an eyebrow.

"You want anything else, babe?" I shake my head, and he dismisses the waitress, ignoring her obvious flirtation.

"Carlos," he clarifies.

"From the office, there's a record of his mom. Former military, shameful discharge. That's all I could get before the file locked me out. High-level clearance."

My heart rate picks up, desperate for more.

I feel emotional and grateful to Vaughn, so I do something that surprises us both. I go over to his side of the table and hug him.

"Hey, Wild Cat." The abruptness makes him drop his fork as his arms wrap around me instinctively. "Everything okay?"

"Thank you," I say, and he pats my back. His softness is contrary to his hard body.

"You're doing great, Thal."

I can't control the tears as they drop onto his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry for how we ended."

He adjusts his seat and pulls me onto his lap.

"You're always my favorite woman. Best of them all." why did I stop loving him?

"Take your time, Thal. I'm here."

But my body craves the danger Carlos embodies.

"What if we don't come back?" The words clog my throat, dripping more tears onto him.

"You'll always have a home with me, Thalia."

People don't see his softness beneath the tattoos covering his arms and chest, beneath his cussing and anger.

"Your words just make me tear up more, you idiot."

He laughs, his palm soothing my spine

"Are we disturbing something?" Marcus's voice cuts through the moment.

"The fuck you blind? Isn't it obvious?" Vaughn replies with his usual harsh tone.

I try to sit up, but Vaughn holds me firmer against him.

"You're dating again?" Henry—Marcus's brother, who bears same name as Carlos, questions.

"None of your business, dickface," Vaughn shoots back.

I feel Marcus's gaze burning into my back. He clears his throat twice.

I attempt to return to my seat beside Marcus, but Vaughn holds me still on his lap.

"I think she needs to explain how she got into Carlos's home overnight and why she's wearing what I assume are his clothes," Marcus says in his gravelly voice.

The words still Vaughn, but he holds me tighter, burning his gaze into Marcus.

"Can we just appreciate Thalia's effort and acknowledge she slipped into the lion's den without getting hurt?" Henry, ever the peacemaker.

I turn in Vaughn's lap to face them.

"Um."

Vaughn squeezes my thigh.

Summarizing as briefly as I can. Marcus face remain hard as stone all through

For someone so large with a reputation for violence, he doesn't try to look approachable.

Henry high-fives me. Vaughn pulls me closer until I feel his hardness pressing against me, but it doesn't ignite anything.

It should send currents through me like when Carlos ate my half-finished toast, when his eyes tracked my every movement—

No. Don't go there.

"Pleased with my handiwork, I headed here. And I've decided I'm not working for him."

"Take the job," Marcus declares.

We all turn to stare at him.

"He'll control and monitor her," Henry points out, glaring at his much larger brother.

"It's Friday. We have the weekend to reshape her background, give her monitoring tech Carlos won't detect." Marcus faces me.

"You'll take the job. Change apartments to throw him off. Contact us only through burner phones."

"The first time your PA started doing drugs, you found it out within twenty-four hours," Vaughn points out

"So?" Marcus's brows knit together.

"Carlos isn't stupid. If he catches Thalia snooping or finds out a deal leaked by her, he'll kill her" Henry finishes, looking at his brother, hoping he understands it's suicidal.

"She'll be prepared"

"No otra vez" Henry retorts back to Marcus with a hard glare. I wish I understand spanish.

"Carlos doesn't have PA, there must be something if he suddenly needs one"

Marcus notes, looking away from his brother

"I can't," I break the tension.

"He showed me an apartment covered in cameras. Very close to his penthouse. He's already setting up surveillance."

Vaughn pulls me closer, whispering in my ear, "You didn't tell me that."

"Sorry."

"So you want us to lose this opportunity into his inner circle?" Marcus's voice is demanding, final.

"A chef doesn't get access to his private meetings, his schedule, his vulnerabilities. You take the job. Play smart. Call us when shit hits the fan. Final."

Vaughn shifts me on his lap so he can face Marcus directly.

"It's her fucking life at risk. Don't you dare call 'final' without asking for her opinion!"

His voice echoes through the empty café. Vaughn never backs down, no matter how big or volatile the person is. I confidently retort back at some people because I'm sure he'll fight for me. Like now.

Marcus's jaw clenches. He looks at me.

"I..." My throat tightens.

PA screams danger and loss of freedom. Those cameras might record everything.

"Let's reconvene at Shadow," I suggest. Shadow's headquarters—a two-story building housing operatives and surveillance tech. Where we trained.

"We'll figure out how I can be his PA with a lower suicide rate."

Marcus nods and I know the conversation is over.

"Get her proper clothes."

"And Thalia?" Marcus pauses

"Carlos won't be pleased his PA visited another man, then disobeyed him. Be prepared."

I ignore the warning.

"I'm not another man and what pleases Voldemort isn't her business"

Vaughn retort loudly few of the people at the gym passes strange look at us

"You're one hell of a fearless girl," Henry says, half warning, half admiration.

I just shrug

Marcus's scowl remains fixed on me. I don't know who's taller—him or Carlos.

I bite my lip at the thought. I really just found a way to think about Carlos while surrounded by three men who'd kill him on sight.

"My shirt is in my room upstairs. Go change," Vaughn says, his tone firm with an edge of hostility.

To be honest, I love that I can still smell Carlos on me.

But to prove myself wrong, I head toward the stairs.

It's already evening when I leave Vaughn's room with ruined orgasms because I couldn't stop thinking about Carlos.

I head to my car—they must have retrieved it from the Swallow Now parking garage.

I check the burner and plug in the earbuds connected to Carlos's apartment feed that Marcus dropped.

The first words I hear stop me cold.

"There's a shipment happening tonight. I'm leaving in twenty minutes. Meet me at Swallow Now."

That's all he says. I keep the pod in, listening for more information, but only shuffling.

Twenty minutes.

Time is Past 5pm.

"What do you have for me Carlos?"

I don't know the way to his penthouse, but I know Swallow Now.

My hands grip the steering wheel.

Live to kill Carlos, I remind myself.

But as I start the car and head toward him, the mantra sounds less like a promise and more like a prayer I'm not sure will be answered.

CHAPTER EIGHT:

I don't have an issue with marriage. I have an issue with Thalia claiming she has a husband.

"I've got to give it to her, Don. She's relentless." Damien's smirk appears as he checks his side mirror, prompting me to do the same.

A brown Dodge Durango trails us, one car behind.

My lips curve upward. Her persistence is admirable.

Since age ten to now thirty-one, all I've known is kill or be killed. Each day bloody boring. I find new ways to entertain myself: leaving them crippled for hours, giving them weapons to end me. None ever could.

My latest game: keeping someone alive for revenge after a mass killing. Watch them plan my death. End them when they show their claws. They think they're in power, but all the while, they're just my source of entertainment.

Like Thalia Easton.

"Lose her at the next intersection."

Damien nods and I tune him out with AirPods-Thalia's, actually. After she fainted, keeping her alive was instinctive. Could've called 911 like Damien suggested, but the thought of her shock seeing me when she woke up won. After the in-house doctor confirmed she's fine, just PTSD symptoms.

I searched her bag for medication or anything she uses tp keep herself alive. Can't have her die before killing me now, would we?

She had none.

So I took her AirPods as a souvenir instead. My would-be killer has exquisite taste in overpriced electronics.

"Lost her."

Satisfaction curls through me at the thought of her frustration.

I've been watching her for over four years now, well enough to know she has anger issues, and I've come to admire how her gray eyes glisten when she crinkles her face in rage. The quick retaliation she displays-sometimes hitting the person, other times whatever object is nearby. Most times, she digs her nails into her palms, attempting control and failing beautifully sometimes.

Her lack of control pleases me immensely.

I increase the sound to drown out Damien's incoming lecture.

The one he's been repeating for three weeks

"You're playing a dangerous game."

Speak of the devil.

Now he thinks I'm insane for making Thalia my PA. I humor him, though.

"It's not a nice game if it ends quickly brother." he glares

"And there's nothing dangerous about entertaining a wet kitten."

Damien's response is to jolt the steering wheel hard right without warning.

The abrupt turn sends me sideways. My skull thuds against the passenger window with an aching crack. Stars explode behind my eyelids.

"What the bloody hell!" I press my palm against the throbbing spot. On God, if he didn't mean so much to me, I'd smash his head through this window.

"She threatened Jerol two weeks ago to tell her our shipment plans." Ignoring my outburst, Damien launches into his prepared speech. "Before winning against me on Friday, she slashed four of our tires.

Four! Then played against us like she's innocent."

My lip curve up at the image of Friday's play. After the death of her family, it was just a mindless monitoring during her high school year. Intrigued to see what a bratty violent kid will do.

Then she got interesting by training under her high school badboy- Vaughn.

"She's not afraid of you, Carlos. That's not the kind of person you hire as your PA."

His worry is becoming nauseating. Everything he finds concerning about her is precisely what keeps me entertained.

The mystery of her next move, discovering her plans before she executes them-it ignites something in me I haven't felt in years.

"She's still a pawn, no matter what. Keep your enemy close and all that..."

THUD!

This time he yanks the wheel left with the energy of a man who's decided vehicular assault is valid communication.

My shoulder slams into the door panel. I taste copper where I've bitten my tongue.

Then an abrupt stop that throws me forward against my seatbelt.

"WHAT THE HELL, BROTHER!"

Like the lunatic he is, he ignores me, staring straight ahead with white knuckles gripping the wheel.

"Did you lose your sight or your limbs?!"

One more of this bullshit and I'll forget he helped me break free from Zara.

"Neither, Terrius!" He only uses my surname when he's furious.

"You lost your damn mind! She's destroying you, and you're burying yourself deeper!"

His voice matches my earlier volume, coated with frustration and my favorite weapon: fear. But I don't appreciate it from him. He looks genuinely scared.

"It's just Thalia. A twenty-three-year-old girl with only six years of fighting experience." The calmness I want to project isn't working. His frustration is infuriating me.

"Just Thalia." Damien's laugh is sharp and humorless.

"Right. 'Just' the woman who slashed our tires, threatened Jerol with his own intestines for information, who blurred the cameras in the apartment you built for her"

"It's for surprise. Future evidence" He glares at me

"To proof I've been watching her too"

He shakes his head then continues

"She carved 'Fuck You' into your windowsill with what I can only assume was her lipstick and sheer spite."

"It was a waterproof lipstick. Dark red. Post violence makeup."

We watched it together and it makes her more interesting. That she could plan such on the spot

"A water...-" Damien closes his eyes briefly, and suck in a breath.

"Carlos."

"Have fun Damien. She's just a wet kitten"

"Don." he looks comical. Nose red and flared. Eyes straight forward with hands gripping the wheels like he assumes It's my neck.

"Love of my life in occasionally violent way." he continues

"You're describing someone who won't hesitate to stab you like a feral cat!"

"She's more precise with her cuts."

"What?"

"If she stabs me, it will be precise"

He presses brake so fast I'd have hit my head, but I'm better prepared.

Never letting him drive again

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!"

He thunders, eyes glued on me with hands that flair in the air.

Silence stretches between us.