Page 29 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

The thought lingers, heavy with consequences.

If The Collector uncovers the truth behind Charles Blackwood, Vesper becomes a target again.

Worse, they could move Luca before we have a chance to find him.

Sixteen million dollars lost—and the one person we’re desperate to save slipping through our fingers.

“I need to monitor this.”

“You need to sleep,” Talon counters. “Even for a few hours.”

“Not happening.”

“Alex—”

"I said no." My voice is flat, final.

“Two hours. Then I’m taking over.”

"Always the mother hen," I mutter. “Does it get exhausting being the good guy all the time?”

“No,” he admits. “Maybe you should try it sometime. You might actually allow yourself to be happy.”

“Fuck off,” I growl. Talon just quirks his lips, immune to my prickly bullshit after all these years.

“Two hours,” he repeats, rising from the chair. “Then I'm back, whether you like it or not.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm alone again. I dive back into the code, setting up more sophisticated monitoring systems, creating digital tripwires that will alert me to any unusual activity.

Time blurs as I work, the minutes bleeding into each other. My eyes burn. Sleep is a luxury I can't afford.

The soft ping of an incoming message pulls me from my coding trance. A web forum I've been monitoring—someone else asking about Charles Blackwood. I deploy another false trail, seeding information about the reclusive billionaire with exotic tastes.

My phone buzzes with a timer alert. Talon's two hours are up. I ignore it, continuing to fortify our digital defenses. Let him come and try to drag me away from this desk. I'll chain myself to it if I have to.

Minutes tick by, but Talon doesn't return. Maybe he's finally learned to take a hint.

There's a soft rap at my door. I grunt, pushing back from my desk with a wince. My muscles scream in protest as I stand, stiff from hours hunched over my keyboard. Every joint pops as I stretch, the physical reminder of how long I've been sitting in the same position.

“Coming,” I mutter, assuming it's Talon back to nag me about sleep. He's nothing if not persistent.

I drag myself to the door, already preparing my ’fuck off, I'm working’ speech. But when I swing it open, the words die in my throat.

Vesper stands in the hallway, her blonde hair catching the first rays of sunlight streaming through the apartment windows. She's wearing a loose tank top and yoga pants, like she's just come from a workout. Her knuckles are freshly bandaged, white gauze stark against her skin.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “Can I come in?”

I blink stupidly, my sleep-deprived brain struggling to process her presence. Vesper. At my door. Voluntarily. After I failed to find her brother.

“Alex?” she prompts when I don't immediately respond.

“Yeah, sorry.” I step aside, suddenly self-conscious about my disheveled appearance.

“Did Talon send you?” I ask, already knowing the answer. My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.

She hesitates for just a moment before nodding. “He did, but I would have come anyway. I'm worried about you, too."

Of course she is. Even after I fucked everything up, she's still here, checking on me like I deserve her compassion.

"Vesper, I'm so sorry about the auction," I start, the words rushing out. "I should have anticipated their security protocols, should have had better contingencies in place. Sixteen million dollars and all we got was?—"

Her fingers press against my lips, silencing me mid-sentence. The unexpected touch sends a jolt through my system, my body suddenly hyper aware of her proximity. Her skin is warm against mine, the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean—cutting through the stale air of my room.

“Don't,” she says firmly. “This isn't your fault.”

I gently remove her hand, though every cell in my body protests. "It is, though. Security systems are my specialty. I should have seen this coming."

“Even you can't predict everything,” she counters, stepping further into my room and closing the door behind her.

“I should have seen it coming,” I insist, pacing now. "Anyone with half a brain would have anticipated a data wipe protocol. It's standard procedure for high-level criminal enterprises. I got cocky and?—”

“Alex, stop." Vesper moves directly into my path, forcing me to halt or collide with her. “Look at yourself. When's the last time you slept?”

I wave dismissively. "Sleep is irrelevant. We have forty-eight hours until pickup, and I need to monitor these forums. Someone's asking questions about Charles Blackwood. If they connect him to us…"

“You're dead on your feet,” she interrupts, reaching up to touch my face. “You can't help anyone like this.”

“I'm fine,” I mutter, though my body betrays me with a massive yawn. “Just need more coffee.”

“What you need is sleep.” Vesper's tone leaves no room for argument as she steers me toward my bed. “Six hours, minimum.”

I resist, planting my feet. “I can't. Not with everything that's happening. Those forums?—”

“Will still be there after you've rested.” She pushes against my chest, surprisingly strong as she forces me to sit on the edge of my bed. “Your algorithms will alert you if anything critical happens.”

“Vesper, I appreciate the concern, but I don't have time for this.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” I insist, trying to stand back up. “There's too much at stake.”

Vesper shoves me back down. "You do have time because I'm making time for you. I'm not leaving until you get some rest, even if that means that I stay right here with you."

“That's ridiculous,” I scoff, though my traitorous body sways slightly under her touch. “You don't need to babysit me.”

“Clearly I do,” she counters. “Since you refuse to take care of yourself.”

I open my mouth to argue further, but she presses one finger against my lips.

“Enough, Alex. Bed. Now.”

Something about her tone makes my protest die in my throat. Her voice carries an authority I've never heard from her before. And to my complete confusion, I find myself responding to it, my resistance crumbling.

“I need to check?—”

“The only thing you need to check is the inside of your eyelids,” she interrupts, stepping closer until her knees brush against mine. “Don't make me force you.”

“You're going to force me? How exactly?”

A mischievous smile crosses her face. “Try me and find out.”

She places her palms on my chest and gives a gentle but firm push. Caught off guard, I topple backward onto the mattress. Before I can react, Vesper swings her leg over me, sitting on my hips, one hand pressing against my sternum to keep me in place.

Fuck, she feels good. Her cunt so close to my cock. All that separates us is the thin material of her leggings. Material that would take no effort at all to rip away. To take what I want. What she has freely offered me twice already.

Not the time, asshole.

“See? Not so hard,” she says, her voice softening as she looks down at me.

I should protest. Should push her away and get back to my monitors, but my body isn’t as willing as my mind.

“Six hours,” I negotiate, already feeling my body surrendering to the pull of exhaustion.

“Eight,” she counters.

“Seven,” I offer, “and I get to set an alarm.”

Vesper considers this, then nods. “Deal. But I'm staying to make sure you actually sleep.”

“That's not necessary,” I mumble, though the thought of her keeping watch over me sends an unexpected warmth through my chest.

“It absolutely is,” she insists, shifting off me to sit more comfortably beside me. “I don't trust you not to sneak back to your computer.”

She's not wrong. I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of me. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, my limbs leaden.

"Fine," I concede, "but this is completely ridiculous."

“So you've said. Now close your eyes.”

The irony isn't lost on me. She is comforting me when I'm the one who failed her. But I'm too exhausted to fight it, too selfish to push her away.

With one quick motion, I tug her beside me, wrapping my arm around her waist before she can protest. Her body tenses in surprise, but I hold firm, pulling her closer until her back is flush against my chest.

“Alex,” she gasps. “What are you doing?”

“Compromising,” I mumble against her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “If I'm sleeping, so are you.”

"This wasn't part of the deal.”

“I'm renegotiating,” I reply, my words already slurring as exhaustion pulls me under. “Fair's fair.”

We fall silent, our breathing gradually synchronizing in the quiet room. Her presence in my arms feels right in a way I can't articulate, like a missing piece slotting into place. My thumb traces idle circles on her hip, a soothing gesture as much for me as for her.

The steady rise and fall of her chest slows, becoming more rhythmic. I fight against my own exhaustion just to savor this moment a little longer.

“Sleep, Alex,” she orders. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

Those words settle something within me. My eyes grow impossibly heavy, and I finally surrender to the exhaustion that's been clawing at me for days.

As consciousness begins to slip away, I feel her fingers intertwine with mine against her stomach.

The last thing I register is the soft, even cadence of her breathing, a lullaby drawing me into oblivion.