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Killian parks the car at the curb, and we get out without a word, each checking our weapons as we stroll toward the front door.

We could be stealthy about this, but that would mean dragging this out, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

“Mask,” Killian reminds me, and I tug it from my pocket and slip it over my face. As it is, I’m exposing myself by coming after him after his attacks on Ember, but I don’t need to confirm any suspicions he might have by walking in without my alter ego firmly in place.

The front door is still unlocked, telling me that we got here in time, and he hasn’t gone home for the night.

Killian goes in first, his back pressing to the wall as he slips down the hallway that leads into the main floor of the club.

I follow him, my own gun trained in front of me, frequently glancing over my shoulder as I move. Of course, this could be a trap. Hell, it probably is. But I’m past caring.

All I care about now is wiping any threat to my woman off the face of the earth.

We reach the hallway that leads to the asshole’s office, and I take the lead, allowing Killian to have my six. We move as one, like we have for years, until we reach the office we’re looking for.

I only hesitate for a moment before shoving the door open, my gun trained perfectly to where I know Lucas usually sits.

Except when the door swings open, the room is empty.

“Fuck,” I growl, taking a step forward to check his desk for any clues as to where he may be.

Instead, I find an envelope with the words “The Phantom” scrawled across the front in messy handwriting.

I flick a look to Killian as he checks the hallway to make sure no one is planning on sneaking up on us.

I empty the contents into the middle of the desk, and my stomach rolls as a single piece of paper falls to the solid wood.

You shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you. Your little flame will burn for your mistakes.

The paper crumbles in my hands as they turn to fists.

I’m going to fucking kill him, even if that means exposing my identity to the world.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

EMBER

Iwas absolutely certain dick drunk was a myth.

Like, who would have thought sex, albeit good sex, could put someone into what amounts to a coma? But that’s exactly what happened to me.

The sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows drags me from my deep slumber, and although I try to sink back into the soft sheets and go back to sleep, my bladder screams at me to be relieved.

I stretch my arms above my head as a yawn overwhelms me. Jesus. How can I feel completely refreshed as well as exhausted all at once?

Something clanks nearby, and I slowly open my eyes, giving them a moment to adjust before looking for the offending sound, only to find a cuff around my wrist and a set of handcuffs attached to the headboard.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“Orion,” I yell. “Please do not tell me you handcuffed me to the fucking bed!”

Anger seethes through my body as I shove myself to the edge of the bed to assess the situation. There’s a chain resting on the ground that I think will give me enough leeway to get to thebathroom. At least he was considerate enough not to make me pee all over his pillows, however tempting it may be.

Deciding I need to take care of business before I can deal with the predicament I’ve found myself in, I rush for the bathroom, ignoring the sound of the chain trailing after me.

This is going too far.

Way too fucking far.