Page 9

Amelia

As we walked toward Seb’s apartment, his phone pinged. He paused mid-step, frowning at the screen.

“It’s the front gate.”

“Someone we know?” I asked, glancing over.

He tapped into the Sentrix app and let out an annoyed groan. “Come with me.”

I followed, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Who the hell was showing up at the Blackthorn compound at ten at night?

When we reached the main reception, Greta stood from behind the desk. “Mr. Blackthorn. I heard we have guests.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you prep one of the meeting rooms on this floor? And get some coffee?”

She nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Seb glanced at me, looking like he’d run out of patience hours ago. He opened his mouth, but the throat clearing behind us cut in first.

“Officer Grayson. Why the late-night call?” Seb’s voice was sharp, clipped.

The woman approaching us gave him a lazy smile, completely unaffected by his tone. She wore a leather jacket over dark jeans, her curly hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Behind her stood a tall blond man—white-blond, almost Seb’s height—with that distinct ‘I’m-here-on-business’ energy.

“It’s Detective , Mr. Blackthorn,” the man said with a nod. “Might want to keep up.”

“It’s fine, Damien,” the woman said, patting his shoulder before turning to me. “Inez Grayson. And this is Detective Damien Russell, my partner.”

Seb eyed Damien as he nodded in greeting, but didn’t return the gesture. “And what brings the NYPD to my doorstep tonight?”

Before she could answer, she turned to me with a curious expression. “You are…?”

There was no venom in her tone, no sarcasm—just curiosity. But I hesitated. Lockdown protocols were strict. I wasn’t supposed to identify myself to anyone outside the compound.

Seb must’ve sensed it, because he jumped in. “This is Amelia,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “Why are you here, Grayson?”

She didn’t break eye contact with me as she answered. “Someone’s trying to get a search warrant on your compound.”

Seb’s jaw flexed. “Are you sure? How do you know this?”

“Well…” She gave him a knowing smirk. “Let’s just say our Sergeant has a habit of making shady calls from the precinct bathroom. Guess who was in the next stall?”

I blinked. “When’s the warrant being issued?”

Inez cocked her head toward Seb. “She new?”

He sighed. “Let’s move this to a meeting room.”

We walked in silence. But I didn’t miss the way Seb kept glancing at her. Tense. Uneasy. Something simmered there, something unspoken—and definitely unresolved.

Once we were all seated, Seb broke the silence.

“Detective Grayson is… a reluctant ally. She keeps us in the loop. Since Officer Lee’s passing, she’s been our go-to for this precinct.”

“Reluctant?” Inez raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Don’t be like that, Blackthorn. Baby, I’m so willing. Don’t reduce what we have.”

Damien snorted quietly and rested a hand on her shoulder. I watched Seb immediately tense at the contact.

Oh.

He straightened, trying to collect himself. “Amelia is special ops. She’s a guest. That’s all you need to know.”

They nodded, then shifted into briefing mode. Between sips of coffee, Inez and Damien laid out the details of the attempted warrant. They had a plan to sway the higher-ups and delay the process.

I stayed quiet, taking it all in.

Blackthorn Security operated in grey areas—I’d known that. But hearing it laid out in plain terms, seeing Seb navigate it so fluidly… it was something else. He was sharp, composed, and incredibly annoyed anytime Inez opened her mouth.

It was petty. Juvenile even.

But his ears flushed every time she spoke.

And after they left, as we headed back to his apartment, I finally broke the silence.

“So. Inez Grayson, huh?”

He avoided my gaze. “What about her?”

“She gets under your skin pretty fast,” I said, amused.

“She’s the devil in blue, Amelia,” he muttered. “I use her. I don’t have to like her.”

“She’s not in blue anymore,” I reminded him. “ Detective , remember?”

He groaned. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but that woman has caused me nothing but headaches. I only work with her because Lee’s gone. That’s it.”

But I wasn’t buying it. I saw how he leaned in whenever she spoke, how his eyes traced the movement of her mouth—whether he realized it or not.

His scowl didn’t fool me.

He noticed her the way I noticed Kabir.

And there was no difference.

By the time we reached his apartment, the silence between us was heavier than it needed to be. I paused near the door, hand on the knob, ready to bolt.

“I’ll head back—”

“Stay,” Seb interrupted, voice calm but deliberate. “Just for a bit.”

I turned, raising an eyebrow.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you leave, I’ll find that hidden bottle under the sink.”

I blinked at him.

He shrugged, unapologetic. “I know myself.”

I rolled my eyes and marched straight to the kitchen. My fingers found the cabinet like they’d done it a hundred times, and sure enough, there it was. The bottle.

“Jesus, Sebastian,” I muttered, grabbing the damn thing. “You know I’ll keep doing this, right?”

“That’s why I keep sneaking them in,” he called from behind me, grinning.

Without hesitation, I popped the cap and poured the contents out.

He groaned as the expensive liquid splashed down the drain. “Thirteen thousand dollars down the fuckin’ drain.”

My eyes shot wide. “You paid what?”

He laughed, moving in behind me, his presence warm and oddly comforting. “Rare batch. Imported. You just murdered art.”

“I would’ve taken it to the lounge bar!” I spun to glare at him. “Sold it. Started a retirement fund.”

He laughed harder now, the sound deep and sincere. Then his palm came up gently, and he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The kiss shouldn’t have made me feel guilty.

But it did.

Because standing in that kitchen, hearing him laugh, feeling the affection in that forehead kiss… I knew.

Even if we kept this going, I would never be able to truly date Sebastian.

Not when my mind was still locked on Kabir. Still running in fucking circles around that man. His pain. His rage. His silence.

I looked up at Seb, offering a small, sincere smile. “Thank you. For earlier.”

He tilted his head.

“With Zarek. You took Kabir’s side,” I clarified.

“Because you were right,” he said, as if it were obvious. Then he gave a small nod and turned toward the hallway. “Sleep. You look like hell.”

“Sure, I do.”

“I meant it lovingly.”

“Mmhmm.”

He walked off, disappearing into his room without another word, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I turned off the kitchen light and padded softly to the guest room, shutting the door behind me.

And I stood there for a while, hand on the knob, forehead pressed to the wood.

Because the man sleeping down the hall was one of the best I knew. Strong. Loyal. Steady.

But he wasn’t the man I wanted.

And I wasn’t the woman he craved.

Kabir

I shouldn’t be thinking about how Amelia was probably curled up next to Sebastian right now.

Didn’t matter that he very clearly—very deliberately—touched her. Brushed his lips against her skin.

Skin I used to touch. Skin I still ached to touch.

That was the part I missed most, I thought. The casual, friendly brushes. The easy affection that used to pass between us like breath. Now? It felt like those touches weren’t welcome anymore.

Not that I’d tried. What was the point?

Those small moments—her hand grazing mine, her leaning in too close while pretending not to notice—those were a glass of iced water to my parched fucking soul. And I? I drank it up. Imagining—stupidly—that one day those touches might turn loving.

But they were always loving, weren’t they?

Just… not from her.

Fuck.

How the fuck do I make her see me as an option?

No.

Not an option.

I’d rather not. Not again.

I shook the thought loose. There was work to be done. Shit to handle. Zane was already whining about wanting an early night for whatever the hell reason.

As I looked into Romlinson Signature, barely finding anything miraculous, my mind wandered to Pedro and Lan.

How sudden it was.

They’d been discharged for months.

Why was Romlinson suddenly after them?

Or were we too preoccupied to follow up?

I walked to my room and grabbed the slim matte-black laptop from the false bottom of my dresser drawer.

DaLia .

Yeah, I named it after her. Bite me.

It was the only device not connected to Sentrix, not to Blackthorn, not to anything traceable. Just me, a custom OS, and a tunnel deep enough into the dark web that even the shadows got lost.

I fired it up, fingers already working through the access layers like muscle memory.

Login. Cloaking protocols. Dual-authenticators.

And then—the old boards came alive.

I searched their names.

Pedro Becerra

Lancaster Brewer

And there it was.

An archived hit contract. Red-flagged.

Payout confirmed. Anonymous transfer. The timestamp matched the day before the SOS alert went out.

I sat back, exhaling slow.

This wasn’t a coincidence. This was cleanup. A message. Or worse—testing waters.

I started filtering the remaining Alpha Squad names, both confirmed and previously recruited. Then Squad Six. Squad Two. Even those discharged. Nothing was showing up… yet .

I set an auto-alert for all our names and family’s names, a ping system tied to a buried node I’d check twice a day now.