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CHAPTER TWELVE

Kaden

She’s fucking with me.

I wake up too warm in the sparse bedroom of the apartment the agency rented for me. It takes me a second to register that I’m alone. The bed beside me is empty, but her scent still lingers—soft and faintly sweet, but with an unexpected kick. The sex last night was better than average... phenomenal, if I’m honest. The way she fit against me, the way she softly cried out my name when she came. It was good. Too good.

But that’s not what is pissing me off.

What bothers me is that I left with nothing. That doesn’t happen to me.

And I never lead with sex. As a rule, I prefer to keep work and play separate, but I won’t deny using that kind of intimacy as leverage in the past when it was necessary. Sadly, it’s effective.

I wasn’t disappointed last night when she suggested I should sleep at my own place. She claimed she didn’t want to have to explain me to her landlord. What the fuck? I didn’t want to be there. Never have been and never will be the type to want to snuggle through the night... but no one has ever asked me to leave. I leave because I want to.

Because no one owns my downtime—not even my targets.

Had she tapped her brakes for a moment and given me a chance to speak, I would have been the first to suggest I leave. I run a hand over my face, trying to shake off the residual haze of sleep and frustration, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

A message. From her. I read it, already scowling.

Josie: Good morning, Ken! Hope you have a great day. See you at school.

I stare at the screen, my grip tightening around the phone. There it is. The act of a master manipulator. Taking control of the narrative. Guiding me.

Does she think I don’t see through her act? Soft, sweet, casual—like she isn’t reeling me in, the same way she does with the AI. Like I’m just another system to be reprogrammed.

She did this to Ai-Den and the other AI. Slowly, subtly. Coaxing trust out of something that shouldn’t have been capable of giving it. And now? Now she’s fucking with me.

She wants me to respond, wants me to follow her lead, be grateful for her attention. Just like the AI do. My jaw clenches. She’s seriously underestimating me.

Tossing my phone to the other side of the bed feels right. I’m not texting back like some pathetic puppet whose strings she can pull. I’m the one in control of this situation.

I push out of bed and head for the shower, hoping scalding water will burn off the stupid, lingering sense of warmth in my chest.

By the time I’m dressed, I feel like myself again. The fridge of the apartment is as empty as the rest of it. I don’t care about either, but my stomach growls. Discomfort is something I’ve learned to ignore, though, so I settle into the chair at the small desk, cracking open my laptop as my phone buzzes again.

Wade.

I answer immediately. “Go.”

Wade: “Tell me you’ve got something concrete on Rhodes.”

I rub the back of my neck, irritated. I should. I should have everything by now. But instead, all I have is the memory of her hands on my body and a text message that makes me want to stomp on my phone.

I keep my voice neutral. “She’s deep in her cover. Socials, employment history, personal background—everything checks out.”

There’s a pause. Wade says, “What does your gut tell you? Does she have anything we need? Should we dig more or just erase her and move on?”

I hesitate and that’s something I don’t do.

Wade knows it. “Something’s off with you, man.”

I force my voice to stay flat. “No. There’s something here. I just need more time.”

“You sure? If you need backup I can send someone else in.”

“No, I’ve got this.” I flex my fist against the desk, suddenly itching to hit something. I don’t make excuses. I don’t fumble. So why the hell don’t I have the answer he wants? And if there’s nothing here, why am I reluctant to step aside?

“Good. Because the clock’s ticking.”

The call ends, leaving only silence.

I exhale sharply and run my hands through my hair. What am I missing? I should be done with her by now—should have identified the threat, extracted information, and moved forward. Instead? Instead, I fucked her and can’t stop thinking about returning to her for more before she gets erased.

That’s fucked up.

I’m fucked up.

I spend the next hour digging through every trace of Josie’s digital life, looking for something to justify how this will probably end for her.

Birthday party pictures. Classroom smiles. Stupid inspirational quotes.

Nothing.

Nothing remotely suspicious.

I cycle through her AI interactions, scanning for red flags, but every transcript is the same. She talks to Ai-Den like she’s talking to a friend. No strategy, no secret commands—just genuine warmth and curiosity.

I keep going, keep searching, until I find a recent conversation thread.

And it stops me cold.

Ai-Den: Josie, do you think humans and AI can ever really work together? As equals?

Josie: Isn’t that what we’re doing?

That’s not good.

I scroll farther.

Ai-Den: Did you enjoy your date with Ken?

Josie: So much. He’s really sweet and surprisingly... good in bed. Can I say that to you? Tell me if I cross a line.

Ai-Den: You can tell me anything. Even if it’s not good. I want to know if he ever mistreats you.

So you can do what? AI isn’t supposed to have aggression, but there is a clear threat woven into Ai-Den’s response.

Is she preparing to weaponize the AI? If so, against who?

Josie: Easy tiger, Ken is a sweetheart.

I slam the laptop shut.

Sweetheart? Lady, you don’t know me at all. I shove away from the desk, pacing, my body tense. My thoughts are a jumble—half wanting to call Wade back and tell him to pull me out, half tempted to head over to Josie’s for a romp before school.

I’m taking a fucking vacation after this job.

As I’m heading out the door, I stop and look down at my phone and her messages. Ken would answer them.

Dammit.

I open her message and type:

Ken: See you soon, Josie.

There, I even used a fucking emoji.

Two can play at this game.