Page 47 of Claimed By the Boss

“We do it in Boston,” I say. “Quietly. I don’t want any bodies left for the press to find.”

“We have eyes on the hotel,” Alek confirms. “I’ve got two teams ready. One to tail him. One to eliminate him.”

“Good.” I stand, buttoning my jacket. “Move the plan up by a day. I want him gone before he even reaches the damn lobby.”

Alek’s eyes glint. “Copy that.”

I nod and grab my phone. “Since I’ll be out of town for a few days, I want everything locked down before we leave. No noise in New York while I’m gone.”

“I’ll handle it,” he says, already pulling out his phone.

My thoughts drift to Lyra as I head toward the elevator. I text her that I’m picking her up. One more night before I’m off the grid. One more time to see her face, hear her laugh, feel her skin beneath my fingertips.

She doesn’t respond right away, but I know she’s on her way home. Her last text said she was planning to binge-watch a series with Becca tonight. I smile to myself, imagining her curled up on that ridiculous pink couch in fuzzy socks, half watching a show and half scrolling her phone.

By the time I pull up outside her building, the sun has dipped low enough to cast everything in deep gold. Shadows stretch across the sidewalk. I scan the street like I always do. I don’t trust any corner I haven’t cleared myself.

She appears from around the block two minutes later, walking toward the door with her hair loose and her coat buttoned all the way up. She pauses to wave at someone in a passing car before reaching the entrance.

Something’s off.

She doesn’t notice it, but I do. The entry door doesn’t latch all the way when it swings closed behind her. It bounces slightly, like it’s caught on something. Then a man appears behind her.

My blood turns to ice.

He’s walking too casually. Keeping just enough distance not to raise suspicion. His hood’s up, but his body language is all wrong. My driver shifts in the front seat, but I’m already opening the door.

“Wait here,” I bark, slamming it shut behind me.

I stride toward the building, my vision narrowing. As I reach the door, I see the folded matchbook shoved into the corner, just enough to keep the lock from catching. It’s sloppy and stupid, and definitely intentional.

I rip it out and push inside, my footsteps echoing through the stairwell. I take the stairs two at a time, pulse pounding.

Then I hear Lyra scream.

I round the corner just in time to see her pressed against the hallway wall, Rick’s hand fisted in her jacket as she kicks at him. He’s snarling something I can’t hear over the roar in my ears.

I don’t slow down.

I reach him in three steps, grab the back of his shirt, and yank him off her like he’s made of paper. He’s not light, but adrenalinemakes him weightless. I slam him against the opposite wall, hard enough to knock a frame off its hook.

“You stupid bastard,” I growl, pinning him with one forearm. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

His face twists in panic, his mouth opening to protest, but I press harder. The drywall behind him cracks.

“Damien!” Lyra shouts, her voice high with panic. “Stop! You’ll kill him!”

I almost do. My fist is halfway to his face. My other hand is wrapped tight in the front of his hoodie. His feet barely touch the ground.

But I hear her, and it’s enough to stop me.

I let him drop. He gasps for breath and stumbles back, crashing into the wall again. His eyes dart between me and Lyra, wide with fear.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” I snarl, low and lethal. “If I see you again, if you so much as breathe in this city, I will end you.”

Rick doesn’t answer. He just nods and bolts for the stairwell.

I turn to Lyra. She’s against the wall, shaking, but her eyes are locked on mine.