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Chapter 15

Seanna

Iwakewithastart, heart pounding and adrenaline surging, the memory of last night's twisted encounter still vivid in my mind. Soft early morning sunlight streams through the windows, a jarring contrast to the darkness that had enveloped me just hours before. I sit up slowly, half expecting to find some trace of Rule's presence—a lingering scent, a disturbed object, anything to confirm he wasn't just a fucked-up figment of my imagination.

But there's nothing. The room is undisturbed, exactly as I left it. If it weren't for the phantom sensations still ghosting across my skin—the bruising grip on my wrists, the press of leather-clad fingers against my most intimate places—I might be tempted to write it off as a bizarre, unsettling dream.

Except I know better. Rule was here, in my room, on top of me, his fingers inside me. And despite the violation, the fury at his audacity, some traitorous part of my body hums with remembered pleasure, craving his touch even as my mind screams in defiance.

Fuck. I'm so screwed up.

I drag myself out of bed, every muscle protesting the movement. Whatever he drugged me with has left me groggy and sluggish, like I'm moving through water. But as I stumble to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, a steely resolve settles in my chest.

Rule and Ruin may think they can control me, dictate my actions through creepy mind games and twisted seduction. But they've got another thing coming. I'm Seanna fucking Darling—I don't bend to anyone's will, no matter how darkly tempting their tactics may be.

And that meeting with Cruz? It's sure as hell still happening, mysterious stalkers be damned.

I shower quickly, washing away the lingering traces of last night, the phantom sensation of leather on skin. The hot water pounds against my shoulders, grounding me in the present, sharpening my focus to a lethal point. By the time I step out, I feel more like myself—razor-edged and ready for war.

I dress with deliberate care, each piece of clothing another layer of armor. Black jeans, tight enough to showcase every dangerous curve. A dark red top that dips low, hinting at the tantalizing swell of my breasts. Knee-high boots with a wicked heel, perfect for stomping on anyone who gets in my way. And of course, my leather jacket, the buttery-soft material like a second skin.

I look at myself in the mirror, taking in the woman staring back at me. She looks like sin and vengeance wrapped in one deadly package, eyes glittering with dark promise. Good. That's exactly what I need to be today.

I almost forget the dress for the meet, but detour to grab it from where I threw it over the back of my couch and find that's where they left their mark—the dress is ruined, torn and slashed in several places, intentionally destroyed. There's no way I can use this dress now. I curse under my breath, frustrated but not entirely surprised at just how devious they chose to play this.

Moving to the bedroom, I fling open my closet, searching for something else suitable to wear. That's when I notice the empty spaces on the racks, where all the dresses I keep specifically for nights when I want to prowl the clubs, looking for leads or a good time, are gone. I rifle through the hangers frantically, but no matter how thoroughly I look, those dresses do not reappear. That bastard Rule must have taken or destroyed them when he broke in last night, after knocking me out with that drug.

My phone rings, the shrill tone making me jump. I snatch it up, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering brusquely. "Yeah?"

It's Jensen on the other end. "Everything okay? You’re on your way for the pre-meet briefing, right?"

Shit. In my anger over the ruined dress situation, I had lost track of time. "Sorry, I'm running a few minutes late. There's been a...complication. I'll be there in twenty."

"Everything secure on your end?" There's an edge of concern in his voice that I don't have time to address right now.

"It's fine. Just...have to make a stop first." I don't elaborate further, ending the call abruptly.

Fuming, I grab my keys and head for the door. If Rule and Ruin think destroying my clothes will be enough to derail me, they're gravely mistaken.

I'm fuming as I climb into my car and peel out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel. The drive to the Organization's headquarters is thankfully short, but my knuckles are still white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

I pull up to the nondescript office building and barely acknowledge the security as I make my way inside, brushing past the other operatives who quickly move out of my way. My boots strike the polished floors with sharp clicks, echoing my fury. How dare those bastards sabotage me like this? Breaking into my home, drugging me, destroying my clothes - it's a blatant challenge, one I have no choice but to meet head-on.

When I reach the wardrobe room door, I try shoving it open with unnecessary force, only to be met with unyielding resistance. Locked. I let out a frustrated growl between clenched teeth. This room is never locked - we're meant to have unrestricted access to gear and equipment at all times.

Stepping back, I glare at the keypad next to the door like it has personally offended me. We so rarely need to use these codes that I have to pause and actually think about the sequence of numbers. My fingers hover over the buttons as I mentally rifle through the memorized passcodes, finally punching one in with perhaps more vehemence than necessary.

The light blinks red. Denied.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snarl, resisting the urge to slam my palm against the unyielding metal. This is getting ridiculous. First my home is violated, now I'm being locked out of Organization resources? Just how far are Rule and Ruin willing to take this twisted game?

"You okay?" comes a voice from behind me and I turn to see Jaxon there with a frown on his face.

"Does it look like I'm fucking okay?" I snap, gesturing angrily at the locked door. "I can't get into the goddamn wardrobe room."

Jaxon arches an eyebrow at my outburst but doesn't look surprised. He's been on the receiving end of my temper more times than I can count. "Did you try your code?"

I shoot him a withering glare. "Obviously. It's not working."