“Come here,” he orders.
Damn his authoritative tone that makes my knees weak. Not wanting to give in, and needing the assurance that this isn’t a trap, I stay where I am.
He stalks toward me, not stopping until our toes touch. He dives his fingers into my hair and clenches it in his fist. “I said, come here.”
Shivers free-fall down my back, each tumbling harder, faster the longer we stare. Dizzy, I press my hands against his strong chest, needing his body to keep me upright. “Tell me what we’re doing. I won’t go into this blind.”
“When you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Not good enough. I need more than that.” I go to step backward. Only, I can’t because he won’t let go.
He pushes me into the elevator. “Deal with it. It’s all you’re getting.”
“You’re such an asshole.” The doors slide closed, and I glare at his reflection.
He smirks.
When the doors open, he steps forward, peering around the corner. “Clear.”
Saint tails him down the hall. Even though I want to make a point of not following his orders, getting stuck in an elevator isn’t the way to do it.
I’ll figure out another way.
The hallway lights are dim, and the paintings intermittently lining each wall seem expensive. We pass name-plated offices and not-so-subtly-placed security cameras.
Saint sees me staring at one. “Angel’s found a back entry to the mainframe network and is reconfiguring security.” He checks his phone, then looks at Sin, his expression tight. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes.”
Sin curses.
I glance from one to the other, uneasy.
Saint puts his phone away. “We need to get our asses into gear if we want to get out of here in time.”
“In time for what?”
They don’t meet my eyes.
“In time for fucking what?”
Saint waves my question away. “Keep your voice down.” But there’s no masking his apprehension.
We arrive at the end of the corridor and stop in front of an unidentified door.
“Whose office is this?” I ask, wondering why, in a sea of nameplates, this has none.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Saint murmurs.
“Trust you?” I scoff. “Yeah, let me get right on that.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Jerk.
Sin eyes the door handle. “Gloves.” Both he and Saint retrieve black leather gloves from their jeans pockets and slide them on. Then Sin hands me a spare pair.
“I’m good.”
“Put them on.”
If it were anyone else barking directives at me, I’d throat punch them. Only, when Sin demands, for some reason my body wants to comply. “You know what? I’m sick of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Tell me what’s happening here.”
“No time, put the gloves on.”
I glare.
The pulse at the base of his neck throbs. “Put. Them. The. Fuck. On.”
When I don’t move, he grabs my hands and forcefully slides the gloves on. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You burned down my garage.”
He holds my stare for a long moment, his steel-gray irises promising half-truths and cruel lies. The look is akin to him reaching into my chest, taking my heart out, and squeezing it. “Had to.”
“Bullshit,” I sneer. “You’re a Brandt. Your family runs this town. You could have done anything else tonight, but instead you chose to destroy my place of business. I’ll never forgive you for that.”
He backs me into the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head. “Yes, you will.”
“Screw you, Sin.”
He thrusts his hips forward, his hardening length heavy against my stomach. “Any time, babe.”
“Jesus, I need a jet hose with you two,” Saint mumbles. “Come on, people, let’s go. Chop, chop. We’re on a deadline here, emphasis on the word ‘dead.’”
“This isn’t over,” Sin warns before turning his back and entering the office.
“It already is,” I lie.
Saint and I step over the threshold and pause.
“Arrogant fuck,” he mutters. “Doesn’t bother locking the door because he knows no one has the balls to enter without permission.”
“Until now.” Sin smirks.
Both brothers start scouring the office. They open filing cabinets, search the glass desk, and check inside the adjoining bathroom. Their movements are silent, precise, and purposeful. It’s like they’ve been planning this for years.
From my position just left of the door, I take stock of the room. It’s straightforward enough. There’s a flat-screen on one wall, a series of wooden panels opposite, and a desk in the center with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows behind. I sense no immediate threat so tread quietly to the windows, taking little notice of Sin working his way through the drawers nearby.
My hands itch to touch the glass window, but I don’t reach out. Even with gloves on, I know the consequences of leaving evidence at a crime scene. Innocent or guilty, the result is the same.
A world of pain.
Needing to take my mind off the dark thoughts that threaten to overtake me, I look down at the thousands of people filling the stadium. An announcer stands in the center of the ring, speaking into a microphone, his arms waving as he gestures to the crowd. They respond with screams and applause, those holding signs waving them in the air. The lights flicker, then dim, and smoke emits from the far corner as hip-hop music blares through the speakers. Through the fog, a robed fighter and his team appear.
They all look so happy.
“Fuck.”
I tear my gaze away.
Saint presses his ear against the door. “Someone’s coming.” He straightens. “Dude, I thought you said he wouldn’t be at his office on fight night.”
Sin points to whoever is in the hallway. “That’s not him.”
“Then who—”
“Listen,” Sin cuts in.
Both crane their heads.
I do too.
The stride of the person heading toward us is measured yet slightly unsteady.
“They’ve got a limp,” I murmur. “Are you guys expecting company?”
Sin and Saint share a quick look. Sin nods, and Saint quickly combs the room. His eyes light up. “Found it.”
“Right. Let’s see if Temple can too.” In four strides, Sin is before me. “It’s showtime, babe.”
“What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t answer, instead posing a question. “If you were stuck in this room and couldn’t leave the way you came, what would you do?”
“Simple.” I point to one of the wooden side panels. “I’d use the private door.”
Saint, the idiot, grins. “She fucking knew. That’s part two of the initiation she’s aced.” He pushes the left side of the panel, and it swings open. Without a backward glance, he leaves.
“Part two?” I furrow my brow. “What’s he talking about? What was part one?”
Sin doesn’t respond.
It pisses me off. “Every time I ask you a question, you ignore it. Are you ever going to answer me?”