Page 28 of Doxed

Miles’ tongue runs across his teeth and his eyelids slip into a bored expression. “I’m not lying about the guys that are watching your apartment,” he lets out a deep breath, taking his sweet fucking time. “But I was watching you before we met.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice surprisingly strong for how frazzled I feel.

“I was watching La Lujuria for a client, and Carlos took my interest, so I put cameras in your apartment in case he came here. Technically, I was trying to watch him, not you,” he states.

Like breaking into someone’s home and putting cameras in is normal!

Or I guess for some stuck up, criminal hacker that is normal.

“But we need to leave before—” he breaks off, his expression hardening.

Miles grabs me by the back of the neck and shoves me behind him and back into the clothes.

And I whack them out of my way and turn around.

My eyes widen when I see him pull a wicked-looking knife from a holster at his hip.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my heart racing, the blood thumping loudly in my ears.

“Shut up,” he hisses.

Then I hear it, soft footsteps outside of my bedroom. Miles moves to the wall next to the closet door, plastering his back to it and keeping his eyes on me. He silently warns me to stay put. This seems like a horrible idea. As soon as the person walks in, he'll see me!

One.

Two.

Three.

I hear a rustle at the door of my room and then a tall figure in black stands in the doorway to my closet. He’s wearing a black ski mask and I press myself even further into the wall, wishing I could dissolve into it. He takes a step inside of the closet and Miles attacks him.

There’s a gasp as they fall to the floor with a loud thunk, and I scurry forward, watching Miles fight to pin the man underneath him. They seem evenly matched, with Miles being just a bit smaller.

The man grasps at Miles’ wrist as Miles slowly presses the blade toward his throat. I take light, slow steps backward, hoping to go unnoticed as they wrestle each other. Miles jerks his arm away and then plunges in into the guy's face and he yelps in a soul altering way.

I planned on grabbing my bag and running while they were fighting, but instead, I fall to my ass in shock as Miles takes the opening he gave himself and slashes his knife across the man’s throat.

Blood spills from the long, jagged wound like water, and the man gurgles and coughs, causing blood to splatter across Miles’ arms and chest. His hands fall to the carpet beside him as life quickly drains from his body.

Miles rises from the floor and walks to me, but my eyes stay focused on the dead man on the floor of my bedroom.

He roughly yanks me to my feet and steps so close to me, my chest brushes against his stomach. “Believe me now?” he snaps before dragging me out of my closet and through my apartment.

I stumble behind Miles as he cautiously peeks out of my door and then tows me to the elevator.

His hand feels strong as it envelops me. “Why do you keep saving me?” I ask, staring down at where we’re joined. “I need answers, Miles. Why were you looking into La Lujuria?”

He doesn’t look away from the small screen above the door as the floor numbers tick down. “I don’t ask my clients their reasons, but I know he was looking into the owner of La Lujuria.”

“Hector?” My head snaps up to look at Miles.

Miles glances at me out of the side of his eye before rolling them and going back to the door. “The real owners. You do know that Hector worked for Los Lobos, right? The gang that dominates the docks.”

“I had heard rumors, but I figured the less I knew, the better,” I answer, now wishing I had paid more attention.

“Smart choice. They killed my client.” My eyes widen, but he continues. “I thought maybe with Carlos coming in, I could find something to give his club, but it was null.”

“Club? Was he associated with Mason?” I interrupt him.

Miles doesn’t care though, keeping his eyes firmly on the door as we approach the parking garage. “Ronan was his president.” The elevator slows, and Miles finally looks down at me. “As for saving you, I feel connected to you.”

His head snaps toward the door at the ding of the bell and the swish of the doors opening.

He pulls me through and hurries through the garage toward his car.

It’s eerily quiet here. The only sound is the thumps of our shoes against the concrete, but as we reach the hood of Miles’ car, I hear the scuff of a shoe against the ground behind me.

My head swings around, my loose hair flying through the air, and let out a startled shriek as another masked man reaches out for me.

Someone shoves me to the ground roughly and my knees scrape against the rough concrete, the broken skin burning.

“Briar, run to the stairs,” Miles grunts, and I do exactly as he says.

My palms push off of the ground and I launch myself toward the stairs, going back the way we came, and I don't look back.

I yelp and duck my head as a pained scream echoes through the underground floor, my feet picking up speed.

Then suddenly, the pounding of boots is behind me and I whip my head around as a hard, black body crashes into me.

Strong arms wrap like steel bands around my body, keeping me from falling over with the force of the collision, and I scream before looking up into Miles’ pistachio eyes.

I relax a margin as his slippery hands take hold of my arm and steer me to a black motorcycle that's near the stairwell door. It’s not like the motorcycles that Mason and his club had, but like the racing ones.

His long leg swings over the bike and he takes his helmet, looking at it before offering it to me.

“Why didn’t we take this from the beginning?” I ask, eyes wide and panting from the sprint I just did.

Miles roughly grabs my arm, yanking me toward him, and I do everything in my power to not think about why his hand is wet and warm.

He pulls the helmet down over my head and face and then shoves my head back, so I’m looking straight up at the ceiling as he tightens some straps under my chin.

“Because the car costs more than the bike, so I was hoping to leave here with it.”

His sticky fingers leave my skin, so I drop my head back to look at him. “Then why aren’t we?” I quickly glance back at the car, checking to see if anyone is coming after us again, but my head is so heavy with the helmet on.

“Motherfucker slashed my tires, that's what distracted me when he came up behind us,” Miles snaps, turning the key on the bike.

“Oh,” I say, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the motorcycle.

Miles wipes his hands off of his black pants and then offers one to me.

Taking it, I step on the small peg behind him and ungracefully clamber on.

He turns around, tapping on his phone that's secured to the body of the bike before “High Speeds” by Darci plays through the helmet. I didn’t even know that was possible, but I guess there are speakers in here somehow.

Miles tears through the garage, the scream of the bike echoing through the space, though it’s quiet to me, buried under the bass of the song. His body is warm and hard against mine, and I hold on tighter as we skid out of the garage and onto the empty Seattle street.

He’s saved me. Again. And he said he felt connected to me. What does that even mean? I blurred the lines tonight by seducing him, but wasn’t he hinting at it when he said he watched me? I wasn't imagining the lust in his voice. And I know he wanted me when I came into his office.

But there’s still so much I don't know about him, so much that he hides from me. And even though I got some answers tonight, it’s not enough. I need to know everything, and I'm going to make him tell me.