Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Dean’s gaze flicks between us again, something still burning in his expression. “I don’t like this,” he warns. “If anything happens to Isabel—”
I nod firmly, stepping closer to the couch. “I understand. It won’t.” My own voice carries a weight of conviction I’ve rarely felt before. Protecting her isn’t just a job, not anymore.
Dean grunts, then pushes to his feet. He looks at Isabel, and for a beat, all his anger dissolves into plain worry. “Call me,” he says quietly, “if you need anything at all.” He hesitates like he wants to say more—maybe about her staying here, or about the bigger secrets we’re obviously not discussing—but in the end, he just exhales and heads for the door.
I follow him to the threshold, arms at my sides. “Dean,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so Isabel doesn’t hear, “I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”
He nods once, a tight dip of his head, then slips out without another word.
When I lock the door, relief mingles with fresh anxiety. We dodged a bullet, but we’re far from safe. My chest feels like a battleground of guilt and relief, and I can’t stop thinking about how close we came to a complete disaster if Dean had walked in just a half hour earlier, or if he’d pressed for more details about the personal relationship I’ve formed with his sister.
As I return to the living room, Isabel stands near the couch, arms wrapped around herself, that overlong T-shirt skimming the tops of her thighs. She looks at me, eyes wide, uncertain. “So,” she says softly, “that happened.”
I rub the back of my neck, wishing I could wipe away all the tension in one go. “Yeah.”
She gives a shaky laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “You think he bought it? That we’re just… infiltration partners?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Dean’s sharp. If Devereaux fed him details—” My mind strays to the kisses, the dancing, the way we touched each other. I swallow hard. “He might suspect more.”
Isabel nods, pressing her lips together. For a moment, she looks on the verge of saying something—maybe an apology, maybe a challenge—then she just sighs. “Thanks for backing me up,” she says quietly.
“Always.”
The coffee machine beeps, signaling it’s done. We exchange a wary look that almost makes me laugh—like, out of all the chaos, the coffee pot’s polite beep is the only normal thing in the room.
“Well,” I say, forcing a semblance of calm, “shall we get some coffee? We’ve got a lot to figure out.”
She nods, drifting toward the kitchen, the tension in her posture telling me she’s as rattled as I am.
One thing’s certain: after last night, after the closeness we shared, there’s no going back to how things were before. And if Dean’s sudden arrival taught me anything, it’s that we can’t hide this forever.
Chapter 22
Isabel
Dean’s been uncharacteristically quiet since yesterday’s showdown. No calls. No texts. However, I can feel his influence in everything that’s happened since. In typical Maddox style, once he set his mind to it, he pulled the right strings at Club Greed. Now, here I am, smoothing my dress for the tenth time in the front seat of the SUV, listening to Lincoln’s slow exhale as he drives us through the city. The invitation to tonight’s VIP event practically fell into our laps this morning. There was no signature, but it was obviously my brother’s doing. Devereaux’s doing.
Lincoln shoots me a sideways glance, dark eyes full of concern. “You okay?”
I nod, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “Yeah, just… thinking.”
Thinking about Dean—who, despite his anger, immediately worked his magic to get us on Rolfe’s elusive guest list. Thinking about how this might be our only chance to corner Morris and figure out who’s threatening me. And, of course, thinking about Lincoln, who sits so close yet feels a million miles away since our little slip with Dean.
We haven’t had much time to process. Between yesterday’s confrontation and this sudden party invitation, we’ve been operating at full throttle. But I can’t ignore the slow tumble of my heart every time I glance at Lincoln. Maybe it’s the way he helped me zip up my dress tonight, or the memory of his arms around me the night before Dean barged in. Whatever it is, I’m in free fall, and I’m not sure if I’m excited or terrified.
The SUV glides to a stop in front of Club Greed. This time, it’s an entirely different vibe from our previous visits. The exterior is decked out with velvet ropes, ornate lighting, and luxury cars lined up along the sidewalk. A valet wearing a sleek black suit opens my door, offering a polite bow, and I step onto the curb, acutely aware of how my heels click against the pavement.
Lincoln loops an arm around my waist—both protective and possessive—and a spark of warmth flutters in my chest. I try to ignore the way his touch makes me momentarily forget we’re here for dangerous business.