Idon’t speak on the drive back to the estate.
Eveline doesn’t either, her stained hands trembling slightly where they’re sitting in her lap. I can’t figure out whether it’s from adrenaline or if it’s because she isn’t as cold blooded as she tries to appear. I hate myself for caring either way.
My mind is flying in a thousand different directions. Regret for not stopping her. Unease because I’ve already half convinced myself it’s okay. That it was necessary for me to stand by and do nothing.
If I had stepped in and saved them, it would have blown my cover, and to be completely honest, saving two drug dealers is low on my priority list. The vengeful part of me believes they got what they deserved.
Even worse is that through it all, I don’t feel angry with Eveline. All I really want is to make sure she’s okay. And that’s bullshit, because she’s the one who caused everything in the first place.
I don’t want to face what that means about me, because while not showing emotion is important to the job, I’m still a federal agent. I’m supposed to care. But when it comes to degenerates who willingly put poison in drugs, causing overdoses and death, I’m finding it hard to.
Eveline jumps out of the car the second we hit the circle drive, flying up the steps and into her home. I idle, my fingers tight on the steering wheel, warring with myself over what I know I should do and what I want to do.
What I should do is go to Seth and call it in. Let Cap know about the recent developments, so we can stockpile more evidence for the case. There are dead bodies piled up in Kinland Heights, and blood on Eveline’s hands. There’s a mound of heroin that could lead us closer to figuring out who the hell we’re actually trying to pin.
Instead, I’m stagnant in my car, the rumble of the engine vibrating beneath me and the heat warming my skin as it blasts through the vents. I have no clue why I’m staying, waiting for… who knows what? But regardless, the minutes continue to tick by and here I am. Finally, after what feels like hours, I decide to leave.
To do the right thing.
The only thing.
I take the car out of park, but before I can step on the gas, something catches my attention, creeping along the perimeter of the mansion. I squint my eyes, trying to make it out.
It’s a person—a small person—with a messy bun and a black hoodie hiding their figure.
Eveline.
I’m turning off the car and throwing open the door before I can second-guess myself, jogging quickly so I don’t lose sight of her as she escapes into the woods lining the back of the house.
The sudden chill in the air stings my face as I hurry after her, the full moon casting an eerie glow on the darkened forest. I shiver, my leather jacket barely enough to keep me warm.
I stay far enough behind that she doesn’t see me, and I wonder where the hell she’s going, because it seems as if she’s walking into the middle of nowhere. Maybe she’s more rattled from tonight than she let on. I don’t know how many minutes tick by as I follow her deeper into the woods, but it’s enough to make my legs ache, and my mouth go dry, when suddenly, the ground shifts and I stumble, the grass and branches turning into faded yellow bricks.
My lungs squeeze tight as I stare down at my feet.
The bricks themselves are crumbling and covered in overgrown weeds, but they’re there nonetheless, and my brain buzzes with theories. Is it a coincidence their strip club is named The Yellow Brick, when this is in their backyard?
I make my way forward, following the winding yellow until we reach a small clearing in the trees. Eveline slips inside the front door of a small, run-down cottage.
Holy shit.
I’ve spent hours pouring over architectural blue prints and satellite pictures of this land, but somehow, I had no idea this existed.
Hustling forward, I slip in the door after her. I have no interest in hiding. But I should have known better than to think she wouldn’t realize she was being tailed, because the second I step inside, she’s on me, her gun in my face as I’m shoved harshly.
“Jesus,” I bite out, pain radiating through my skull as it slaps against the wall.
“I should have known it was you following me,” she gripes.
“I just wanted to check on you.” Heat floods through my veins when her body presses against mine, and my hands shoot out to grasp at her waist.
She purses her lips, relaxing her grip. “Consider me checked.”
My cock hardens when I see her bare face without a speck of makeup, and my thumbs caress her skin before I can stop myself. My mind screams at me to get it the fuck together, but my body has different ideas, the way it always does when it comes to her.
I can’t stand it.
“You’re trigger happy as fuck, has anyone ever told you that?” I snap.
“Only before they’re dead.” She grins wide.
I roll my eyes, my stomach churning from her nonchalance. “What is this place?” I look around.
She drops her gun but stays in my hold. “My escape.”
“From?”
She shrugs. “Life.”
“You don’t like your life?” I’m not sure why I ask, but I’m suddenly desperate to know.
Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, and she tilts her head. “You don’t ever want to just… get away?”
“Not particularly.”
She sighs. “Well, I do. I’d leave forever if I could.”
My interest is piqued. “Where would you go?”
“Ireland.” She doesn’t hesitate for a second. “My dad prides himself on our Irish heritage, but I’ve never even been there, can you believe that?”
I don’t respond because I’m not sure what to say. Instead, I soak in how effortlessly beautiful she is. But her beauty is a mirage, a trick of the light. It sucks you in and gives you comfort, only to turn ugly when you peer beneath the surface.
“Why do you lie so much?” she asks.
“I don’t lie.” I grit my teeth.
Technically, I do, but it’s irritating to have her constantly call me on it, when I’ve been more honest with her than anyone else. I expect her to have a smart comeback but she only watches me. Peers at me like she’s trying to sink under my skin and dig up the buried parts. It makes me itch, and I fidget, my fingers pressing in tightly on her waist. “Is this still about the name thing?”
“You tell me.”
Smirking, I swallow around the tightness in my throat and bend down to whisper in her ear, “Sweetheart, you can call me anything you want if it means I get to sink into that sweet pussy again.”
She jerks back, ripping herself out of my grasp. “Ugh, you’re a disgrace to men everywhere.”
I laugh. “Says the girl who just killed two people.”
She opens her mouth like she has something else to say, but she turns to walk into the small kitchen instead. I follow her, crowding where she’s facing the counter with her head bowed, her fingers pressing tightly against the edge. Caging her in, I move down until my nose skims against her neck.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask. “What you did?”
“Brayden, please. Go fuck yourself,” she murmurs.
I couldn’t tell you why I do it. Maybe it’s because I’m trying like hell to find the girl inside the monster; the one she’s trying so desperately to hide. Or maybe it’s because I’m desperate to hear a reason, just a single fucking reason why I shouldn’t report her, even though I know it’s what I’ll have to do.
My stomach churns and I clench my jaw. I slide my palms down the length of her arms, my cock filling as goose bumps prickle along her skin and her ass presses into my groin. Our fingers intertwine on the Formica counter, and my heart slams against my ribs when her body trembles.
“You can tell me,” I rumble against her neck, my tongue slipping out to taste her, just a little bit.
In this moment, I mean it. She can tell me. I’m not trying to garner information, or see what she’ll say. I’m not interested in her bratty mouth or all the ways I can make her squirm. I just want to talk to the girl beneath the mask. The one who smiles so big it softens her eyes, and lets me whisper sonnets against her skin.
Her breathing is heavy. “I’m not upset that I killed them.”
Disappointment settles in my chest like a boulder, but it feels muted and dull, overshadowed by the fire that lights up my insides whenever I’m so much as within a foot of this woman.
“I’m mad that I lost control,” she continues.
My grip on her hands tighten, and I know—I know—that I should pull away. That after this is over, I’ll spend hours hating myself for falling for someone I’m supposed to stand against.
But when it comes to Eveline Westerly, I’m a fucking fool.
So, instead of leaving and reporting in to Seth, I move our interlaced arms and wrap them around her middle, before removing my fingers, dragging them down the front of her body as I sink to my knees.
“Then take it back.”
