She clutches at my back, scratching her nails over the welts, and the pain is sweet like candy in my mind. She’s hot and tight around my dick, soft and warm underneath me, and it feels…

Good. So damn good. I can’t describe it, but it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before, and that’s for sure.

I kiss her as I thrust into her. Kissing never interested me much before. Sure, I’ve kissed girls sometimes, before we got down and dirty, but now it’s like I can’t stop. I fucking love kissing her, love her taste, the breathless moans she can’t help as I pleasure her, as I fuck her with all I have.

She scratches my shoulders, tugs on my hair, pulls hard, and dammit, this is my sort of girl.

This is my girl.

Period.

I pound into her, pouring my pain, my anger, my joy, my need into her, and she arches up to meet every thrust. She breaks the kiss to whisper my name, and the catch in her voice does me in, in every way.

I come so hard my vision goes black, and I hang on to her for dear life as the pleasure wracks me and tears me apart. Dimly I feel her coming, too, wrapping herself around me until I can’t breathe.

It’s perfect.

Makes me forget for a moment the whole other mess waiting for me, the name I was given and how I’m planning on using it to get the proof I need.

She’s right. It’s dangerous.

And FBI or not, I don’t want her involved. My family is part of the fuck-up. My parents are among the top bastards I’m trying to bring down. She shouldn’t have to suffer because of them, because of my family, anymore.

Nobody should.

* * *

I’m buttoning up my shirt, and she pads up to me and takes over the task. She’s only wearing her panties and bra, and I enjoy the view as she works on the buttons.

“What now?” she whispers, lashes lowered, seemingly focused on the task, but nervousness makes her fumble.

“You tell me. You’re the FBI.”

I say it lightly, but fuck, it feels weird, as if she’s about to arrest me. Put me in handcuffs. And I wasn’t joking when I asked about them. The thought of her cuffing me is damn hot.

On cue, she says, “I need to report in with my boss, and my assigned partner for this case.”

“A guy?” I ask, and it comes out as a growl.

What the fuck, right?

But she snickers. “Not remotely. Her name is Lucy, and she’s a badass.”

“Your ass is better,” I inform her, strangely relieved.

“You haven’t seen her ass.”

“And that’s fine with me.”

She grins up at me, pats my chest over the shirt. “What about you?”

“I plan to throw you on the bed and remove those panties so that I can make you come again.”

“Be serious, Rook.”

“I am. Well, that’s what I want to do. But I probably should take a break.” I pull her to me, into my arms, and Christ, holding her feels so good. “Remember that Robert gave me a name? Well, I need to investigate this Travis guy.”

“Grant Travis?” She twists to look up at me. “The hotel’s executive director?”

“That’s the one.” I frown. “Why? You know anything about him you want to share with me?”

“He’s on my list of people to check, that’s all. He’s very close to Ian Cronin.”

“How didn’t I know this? I thought he was a small fry.”

She shrugs. “You work alone. I work in a team.”

Yeah.

Well, I need to get moving before the O’Connors tell their bosses they came across me. Before Alfred finds out I let Robert whip me in exchange for this name.

Assuming Robert didn’t just fuck me over, that he really did help me, that this Travis really has something I could use against Cronin.

“Anything specific I should know before I break into his office? Robert said I should check the desk. Must be a document in there he wants me to find.”

“You are crazy,” she says solemnly, and I grin at her. “How can you trust that O’Connor guy? Plus, there are cameras. Security locks. Guards.”

“Leave that to me.”

She nods, seems to be thinking, her gaze going distant. “You know, we also thought Travis was a small fry, until we saw him on a security feed with Cronin and Sandivar, acting like he was their equal. Big red flag, that one.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t want…” She blows a strand of shiny dark hair from her forehead. “Rook…”

“What is it?”

She tightens her hold on me, burying her face in my shoulder. “Promise to let me know if you need help. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Crap, why can’t you listen to me and stay out of this?”

It’s a hot kiss inside my mind, a caress, unlocking some twisted part of me. “Because this is on me, too. My family did this, and I’m going to set it straight.”

She says nothing, just holds me.

And that’s all I want in this life. Her, in my arms.

Right after I bring the Organization to its fucking knees and lock up all its members in prison until the end of time.

Enough beating around the bush. Time to see what skeletons I can unearth. One last solo mission, before I call in the favors owed to me and sit back to enjoy the show.

* * *

Travis’s office is behind a set of mahogany doors not far from Ian Cronin’s office. I called my team before venturing here, and they’ve disabled the cameras. I have a limited time-frame for this, and I intend to use it well.

I still feel ill-at-ease as I try the door handle.

Just then, the door opens, and an older woman in a two-piece suit gives me a critical look. “Yes?”

Fuck, his secretary is in.

“Here to see Mr. Travis.”

Her stern look doesn’t shift, though she gives me a once-over. “I am Mr. Travis’s secretary. You have an appointment?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

“And you are? Wait, I know… Mr. Carter, isn’t it?”

Fuck, fuck. “Yes.”

Her whole face scrunches up. “I’m afraid I don’t have you penciled in. Please step inside and have a seat.”

Sure. What other choice do I have? What I need is for her to get out so I can take a quick look around. How?

As I settle in my leather armchair, I remember that Mia did say I should let her know if I needed help. So I take out my phone and type a quick message to her, telling her what is going on.

Then I also let my team know.

They need to get this woman off my back, now. I need to break in and then get out of this hotel like a bat out of hell—taking Mia with me.

“Tell me, Ms.…?” I give her my best winning smile.

She looks up from her glowing computer screen and glares at me. “April. What do you need, Mr. Carter?”

Ow. My charm not working tonight? “Your name.”

Her steady glare doesn’t falter. “Ms. April. I can’t find your appointment, Mr. Carter. I also don’t remember booking it, and I have an excellent memory.”

“Nobody can remember everything. I’m sure you’re a very busy wo—”

“I never forget an appointment.”

“Always a first time for everything, Ms. April. But I’m sure Mr. Travis will make time for me. I have something important to discuss with him.”

She’s staring at me, and I resist the urge to cover my face. Of course she’d recognize me from magazines and newspaper articles. Journalists seem even more obsessed with me these days, not only because of my name anymore, but also because of everything that went down with Storm and Hawk lately.

Silence falls, heavy, as she goes back to filing, or whatever it is she’s doing.

I cross one foot over my knee. “Do you enjoy working here, Ms. April?”

She puts down the document she’d been reading and sighs. “Yes, Mr. Carter. Very much. Would you like me to call up a girl for you? To entertain you.”

Disapproving.

God, she’s so prissy and prim. She must have been pretty once, but now her face is etched with the lines of a permanent scowl.

Still, her eyes give me a quick once-over.

Heh. Okay, Ms. April. I caught that look. “Just one last question, and I will leave you in peace. You into the Scene?”

One corner of that flat mouth turns up. “That is a personal question.”

It sure is. I’d bet my balls that she’s a dom. A sadist, even.

Not that I’d want her lashing me, or God forbid, doing anything more than that to me. There are limits to one’s tolerance, and this witch had better stay away from me.

Unlike Mia.

The phone rings on her desk. Yeah baby. At last.

I smirk as she answers, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Hello? You need me to come down? Whatever for?”

My team at work.

“I don’t have time for this. You don’t call the secretary of Mr. Travis to receive a package, you idiot. You have the guards check it and send it up.” She hangs up. “Moron.”

Hm… This one was a bust.

And more time passes. I almost hear the seconds and minutes tick by. Come on, come on.

Just as I’m about to get up and make up an excuse about another appointment I just remembered, the phone rings again.

Thank fuck.

Scowling, she picks up the receiver, and then… slams it back down.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Prank calls?” I can’t resist asking.

She gives me a withering look.

All right then. I’ll just call the Senator who owes me this one favor, tell him to arrest Travis, and risk the wrath of the gods falling on my head if nothing is found.

Dammit.

A knock comes on the door, and Ms. April the Bitch gets up to open it with a long-suffering sigh. I resist the urge to get up and follow her to slip out of here.

What a fucking bust.

“You do know you need an appointment to see Mr. Travis…” The Bitch stiffens, and I wonder who is outside. I’m half-rising from my seat, when she melts.

She fucking melts, there’s no other word for it.

Her eyes flick to me, then she turns her back to me completely. “Hi.” Breathy voice. “No, you can’t see him without an appointment. Yes…”

What’s going on?

Another flick of her gaze toward me, over her shoulder, and I pretend to be checking my nails. I’m too bored, and too boring. Just ignore me. And please go away.

With whoever is standing outside.

“Oh yeah? I can’t. I’m working. You could… Crap, okay.” She pats her hair. “Wait there.”

She half-closes the door and straightens her jacket. “I will have to step out for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Carter, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, of course. I will be right here.” I attempt an innocent smile, then give up. It probably looks like a shark’s. I fish my phone out of my pocket and wave it about. “I have emails to catch up on.”

“Very well.” She nods and goes, opening the heavy door, and I catch a glimpse of a familiar, pretty face.

Mia?

I grin, and look back down at my phone, to hide my expression. Fuck my team. Mia is all I need.

And I pause, the grin frozen on my face, as the implications sink in. I rub a hand over my face the moment the door clicks shut.

What does Mia have planned to keep the Bitch occupied? I really hope it’s not what the gleam in her eye implied. If the Bitch gets her hands on my Mia…

Damn. Move, Rook. Use the time she’s bought you, and then go make sure she’s okay.

* * *

Getting up, I hurry across the room to the door leading to Travis’s office, pulling on my mask just in case there are hidden security cameras inside the office.

The door’s locked, which I had sort of anticipated, and I extract my lock pick from my pant seam and insert it into the lock. I jiggle the long sliver of metal until something gives, and push the door open.

All right. Here we go.

The office smells of leather and pine wood polish. It’s similar to a thousand CEO offices I’ve entered in my life—pretentious, badly decorated, with a penchant for dark wood and gilt ornate details.

I head straight for the desk, ignoring the computer, going straight for the drawers. Two are locked, and I kneel down to pick their locks. The lack of security isn’t a good sign. Was Robert fucking with me? It looks like nothing really important is kept here, but I won’t give up hope so easily.

Sometimes people have documents in their possession whose value they can’t guess.

Sometimes luck is on your side, and sometimes you fuck up. Just the way of things. Now if I can only pry this damn drawer open…

I pull out my lock pick and try it again. The drawer opens with an unnervingly loud thud, revealing a stack of papers. I grab them, slam them on the desk and rifle through them, looking for anything with Cronin’s name on it, anything involving any other big name.

Nothing jumps out, so I shove the papers back inside and try the other locked drawer. Dammit, I’m running out of time. But my lock pick does its magic, and I open that one, too, to find more papers, and envelopes.

No external drives, but I didn’t expect any. Don’t know really what I expected—a signed confession left in the keeping of Travis? Selfies of Cronin holding up incriminating evidence?

I take out the papers and envelopes, give them a quick look, and I’m about to close the drawer when the seal on one of the envelopes caches my eye.

A circle, and inside a bird in flames.

The hell. I grab it, lift it to the light. A phoenix, and the circle is a snake biting its tale, the ouroboros.

The symbol of the fucking Organization. I bet Travis has the circle of the ouroboros tattooed on his body, like every other high-ranking member.

My hand is shaking as I stuff the envelope into my pocket, and close both drawers. No time to check the envelope now, see if there’s a document inside or if it’s fucking empty.

Well awesome, I think as I rush outside with my booty, checking the hallway before I all but sprint to the elevator. All this, and probably for nothing. Plus, Travis will know I was here.

But I’ve found a letter with the symbol of the Organization. This could prove a major find, and I can’t regret my little stunt even if it lands me in trouble.

As they say, game on, motherfuckers.