I swallowed hard. "Yeah. I understand."
He kissed me on the forehead. "Good, now let me take you home." And just like that, I fell right over the edge of that precipice I’d been clinging to. Because he knew what I needed and was willing to give it to me, no strings attached. When was the last time someone had done that for me?
19 East
That was not how I’d planned the evening to end. Denning Sinclair was a problem. One I could deal with easily. A couple of quick taps on the computer and he’d no longer be a problem for Nyla.
But she won’t thank you for it.
No. She wouldn’t. She’d want a legitimate way to be rid of him. One that was completely aboveboard. But the urge was almost too strong to resist. I could burn him. In the Elite you were allowed one burn. One complete annihilation of someone’s life where no member could step in to rescue them.
Ben would let me. I could use my burn on him. Hell, if I was inventive, I could do my own version of a burn. But he might have powerful friends to bail him out. And once I buried him in a deep dark hole, I didn’t want him able to crawl out again.
And, Nyla won’t like it.
Fuck. Things were a hell of a lot easier when they didn’t require caring about someone.
I took the left bank of elevators that led to the door nearest to the bedroom suite in the penthouse. As I rode up to the top floor, I pulled my phone from my pocket and frowned down at the thing. It was unlike me to let my battery run so low. But I’d been distracted by Nyla’s taste and scent and the press of her body against mine. That constant hum of electricity that ran over my skin and reached my dick. She was all the way under my skin, and I knew there would be no excavating her now.
Not that you want to.
I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep her. But the question was, would she stay?
When the elevator doors opened, the hairs at the back of my neck stood at attention, and I frowned. There was a whiff of something—was that cologne?—in the air. And it wasn't familiar. It didn't smell like Ben, or Bridge, or Drew. It was something that smelled cheap. Heavy. Thick. I wrinkled my nose and instead of letting myself into my bedroom space, I walked the length of the wing over to the main door. Following the scent. It was thicker by the door. I frowned. I had no fucking weapons on me. How was I supposed to know I was going to need weapons?
Using the keypad, I typed in my code. And to my chagrin, I didn't hear the deadbolt disengaging. It was unlocked. Motherfucker. My brain did a quick mental calculation of whether my housekeeper had come today. It was Thursday. She didn't come on Thursdays. She came Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Was it possible I'd gotten the schedule wrong this week?
No, dumbass. Someone has been here. Someone other than you.
Sometimes Ben or Bridge would stop by when they were just downstairs. But either of them would have texted me.
Your phone is dead.
Okay then. So it might not be cause for alarm. Still though, I eased the door open, and treading lightly, I stepped into the darkened kitchen, grateful that the evening shades hadn't been pulled down and the streetlights of Soho gave me some light and created shadows where I might hide at the same time.
A quick glance through kitchen told me nothing was amiss. But there was that scent again.
I could see most of the living space from the kitchen because of the expansive open floor plan. I could see the full living room and dining area, and both appeared wide and open and untouched.
But still, every instinct I had said something was not right here. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
I inched forward farther into the hallway and checked the guest room, double bath, and the closets quickly and efficiently. At the guest room, on the carpet, I removed my shoes and my socks. It would make me quieter. And also gave me more grip. With my shoes on, I'd slide all over the place and that wasn't going to work if I had to fight.
I felt ridiculous. This was insane. There was probably no one here. And if I could have just checked my goddamn phone, I would know that. When I stepped into my bedroom, it was just as dark as the living room. I flicked the lights on and sighed with relief before I felt it.
There was just the briefest shift of movement behind me, and I whirled. Before I could fully turn my body, I had a hand up protecting my face somewhat, but that left my side exposed and I took a hit to the rib.
"Son of a bitch."
I quickly did a mental catalog of the intruder. Close to my height. Decently muscled. Maybe beefier than I was, which meant I was likely quicker.
I blocked the next blow with both my arms and threw an elbow. Then I wrapped my left arm up and around, trapping his arm as he swung and tugging him closer to me. With my right arm, I gripped between his shoulder and his neck, digging my fingers in deep as I was pulling him close and delivered two knee strikes, making him grunt and double over. On the third one, I shifted my stance back just a little, and gripped his hair instead before delivering my knee to his face.
