Page 13 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

EMILIA

That fucking bastard.

My body shakes furiously as I whirl towards my bed and snatch up a pillow. I bury my face in it and let the scream rip from my throat. It doesn’t help. Not enough. I scream again. And again. I keep going until my voice is rasp and my throat feels like sandpaper.

Still not enough.

I hurl the pillow to the floor and march to my desk, my vision blurring with unshed tears of pure rage. One swipe sends everything crashing to the floor—laptop, files, lamp, coffee mug, all of it. The clatter is loud, but the destruction still doesn’t match the inferno burning in my chest.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

That poor waiter, Ryan Barlowe—a name I’ll never forget. A life sacrificed in my bid for information on Jason Moore. I knelt by his body and promised him his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. That I’d make it count. That I’d take Jason down with the evidence I had.

Only now I don’t fucking have it .

Why? Because Rafael fucking Moretti touched me, and I forgot how to use my damn brain.

“Amateur,” I hiss to myself, the taste of self-loathing bitter on my tongue.

My heart splinters at the realization that our kiss, that raw intimacy we shared, wasn’t real—just a calculated ploy to get my flash drive. And that infuriates me twice over. At this point in our twisted history, he should have absolutely no power to hurt me. None at all.

But the brutal truth hammers against my ribs: beneath all this volcanic anger, I’m wounded. Deep.

“Ugh!” I growl, driving my fist into the hard mahogany desk, welcoming the sharp pain that shoots up my arm and bursts across my knuckles. It’s enough to clear my head for a moment.

I need to get back my flash drive from that smug, manipulative asshole.

A soft knock interrupts my plotting. “Hey, Em, are you okay? What happened at the event?” Katie’s concerned voice filters through the door.

When I got home a few minutes ago, I was high off adrenaline, guilt, victory… and yeah, stupid, lingering lust. So I barely registered Katie as I power-walked past her in the living room, laser-focused on transferring the damning evidence from my flash drive to my computer and cloud storage.

But when I reached into my bra where I’d tucked it… nothing . Fucking nothing .

I tore my bra off in a panic, hoping the drive would just tumble out—maybe it was stuck in a fold or clinging somewhere I couldn’t reach.

But no, still nothing. Which left me just standing there in the middle of my bedroom like an idiot, frozen.

Shocked. Wondering for one delusional moment if I’d somehow lost the damn thing on the auction floor.

But that didn’t make sense—I would have felt it.

That’s when the memory hit me. Rafael’s hand cupping my bare tits. Even as phantom goosebumps prickled across my skin at the remembered pleasure, a light bulb went off in my head.

The bastard saw everything. Saw me transferring files from Jason’s computer onto that drive. Saw me tuck it into my bra for safekeeping. He must have wanted it badly, hence why he initiated sexual contact with me.

My hands form fists by my side, and my teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. I swear on everything I’ve lost, I will make him regret the day he ever touched me.

Another knock interrupts my rage. “Em?”

“I’m fine,” I bite out. “Nothing happened at the event.”

Nothing except getting played like a fucking fiddle.

I strip off my party dress and squeeze into a pair of dark jeans and a hoodie. My hair goes up in a bun, jammed under a black cap, and my gun gets tucked into the small of my back. I’m ready to go.

When I wrench open my door, Katie’s right there waiting, arms crossed tight over her chest, blue eyes flashing dangerous warning signals. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck happened tonight—and what Rafael Moretti has to do with it.”

I scowl at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” She lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “I know Rafael showed up tonight. I saw him enter the box seat next to Jason Moore’s. So fucking spill, girl.”

Right. Of course she saw him. Katie sees everything when she’s running surveillance. She’s the reason I usually know about threats before they become problems. But tonight I turned off my earpiece because I thought I was smarter than the situation.

I set my jaw. I don’t have time for this. “I was shocked to see him, but I’m a professional. I kept my cool.” Until I melted under his goddamn touch.

“You should have kept your earpiece on! I would have warned you the second I spotted him.” Her voice cracks with frustration. “Now tell me everything that happened in that office.”

The office. Where Rafael’s mouth was on mine and his hands were mapping my body and I forgot everything—Ryan’s sacrifice, the mission, my own fucking name.

I almost tell her everything. Katie’s the only person who knows about my history with Rafael, the only one who understands why he’s both my greatest weakness and my most dangerous enemy.

But I can’t. Not right now when rage is the only thing keeping me upright.

“I will, Katie. I promise. Just… not now. I have something really urgent to take care of.”

She studies me for another moment, then sighs and steps aside. I don’t give her time to change her mind—I bolt past her like the hounds of hell are at my heels.

The elevator ride to the lobby feels endless. My foot taps against the floor in a frantic rhythm that matches my pulse. Get the drive. Kill Rafael. Figure out the order later.

In the lobby, I nod at the night shift security guard, pausing when a flash of light catches my eye. A Christmas tree stands in the corner, glammed up with pretty lights and charms.

“Cheery, isn’t it?” says the security guard—I glance at his name tag—Ted. “We just put it up a few minutes ago.”

But… but it’s only a few days after Thanksgiving. Far too early. I stand transfixed as I watch the twinkling lights dance on the tree.

Weirdly, my chest tightens.

What is it about Rafael that we mostly have encounters during the holidays? When we met fifteen years ago, then again ten years ago, and now… always when the world is celebrating and I’m drowning.

I shake the stupid thought off and turn my back to the tree. It doesn’t matter .

Outside, the cold air slaps the last of my nostalgia away—and that’s when I realize I forgot my coat. Damn it. I march to my bike and unlock the back saddle where I always stash a spare leather jacket for situations like this.

Getting it over my hoodie takes some wrestling, but after a bit of tugging, it finally fits—tight, but whatever. I put on my helmet, straddle my bike, and fire her up.

No need to consult a map for directions. I know exactly where Rafael’s penthouse is.

It’s not the same place he lived ten years ago, and I’ve never had reason to go there before, but the address is burned into my brain. I grip the handlebars tighter as I weave through traffic, the engine’s growl between my thighs mirroring the feral snarl building in my chest.

Tonight, we settle this, Rafael. One way or another.

Twenty minutes later, I’m rolling into the block that houses Rafael’s fortress.

Because that’s what it is—an impenetrable thirty-story monument to paranoia and power.

Famed as one of the most secure places in the entire city.

Mostly because he owns the whole building and doesn’t lease out a single floor.

No companies, no random tenants—just him and his men.

That kind of control makes it easy to monitor who comes in and who doesn’t, and who so much as breathes too close to the front door.

I pull my bike up into a random parking spot across the street and cut the engine. No clue how often bikes pass by this place, but I’m guessing not often enough for mine to go unnoticed. I leave my helmet on a little longer, pretending to check my phone, while my gaze flicks towards the building.

Only one guard stands out front. That’s all I can see. But I’m not stupid. There are at least a dozen more lurking inside and around the underground parking lot—which is the most used entrance. Probably snipers on the roof too, for all I know.

Great. So how the fuck am I supposed to get inside ?

I pop the saddle, tuck my helmet away, and start walking.

Nothing urgent, nothing suspicious—just a woman out for a cold evening stroll.

I keep to the opposite sidewalk, breathing slowly as I pass, each exhale curling in frosty clouds.

My eyes stay casual, brushing over the building like I barely notice it.

Don’t stare. Don’t slow down. Just act like another pedestrian. Nothing to see here.

But I feel it. That tight pricking along the back of my neck. I hate that feeling—like I’ve already been seen.

Shit.

I keep walking until I hit the end of the block, then pivot and start back.

Still no plan. No backup. No warrant. I could try to bluff my way in—say I’m Rafael’s fiancée or some bullshit.

But then what? He’d laugh and tell them to kick me out on my ass.

After all, he stole my flash and knows I’ll be coming for it. He’ll be ready.

And seriously? I’d rather set myself on fire than let anyone think I’m his anything ever again.

I pace the block once. Then again. By the third time, I know I’m pushing it. Someone has probably already noticed me circling.

I veer off onto a side street to buy myself a minute. Think. Think. I need a way in, not a one-way ticket to security lockdown.

Then, just as I turn the corner, a delivery bike zips past me, and I freeze mid-step as inspiration strikes.

I glance around, and sure enough, there’s a small takeout and dine-in restaurant across the street. The kind of spot that might send food deliveries to high-rise fortresses with paranoid billionaires inside.

Will it work? Who knows. But I’m trying it anyway.