Page 30 of Into the Blue (Shades of Vengeance #1)

There’s no worse feeling than coming back empty-handed.

I spent almost a week trying to figure this shit out, breathing thin Colorado air and checking on every damn checkpoint in the grow circuit.

The runners were clean. The shipments logged.

No one seemed off, and yet—I’m still missing product and it’s even more clear that there is someone out to get Dupont. But why?

The time to be concerned is right now.

If no one fears me, and the consequences of fucking with my shit , all of this will fall apart.

But if I start hurting people who haven’t done anything wrong, then people will jump ship, I’ll lose good people because they have sense. I wouldn’t support myself if I were them and there is no blame in that.

Is this the point that I accept trying to cut out the Fayes without a proper replacement was bad business?

Fuck.

For shit to look different now is not helping anything. It’s not skimming, not like before. This is tighter, subtle and strategic. A hole punched clean through my business like someone knew where the weak spot was. Not big enough to sink me, but big enough to make me sweat.

Don’t know who the fuck that could be making me sweat like this though.

I don’t have answers. And I fucking hate not having answers as much as I hate gambling .

Still… as my car crunches into the gravel of the drive and the familiar front porch light kicks on like a beacon, a calm I didn’t know I’d been missing crawls up my chest.

I’m not used to this feeling—this home feeling. It’s been years since this place felt like something was beating inside it.

And the reason for it is inside.

Racquelle.

The woman with a body like a weapon. The woman who showed up bleeding and still too damn beautiful to be real. I keep delivering her my favorite foods to eat even when I’m not there and more recently a fucking hundred thousand dollar watch she didn’t even ask for.

If she’s mine, she’s gotta look like it.

Even when I don’t want other men looking at her. I need to know that she’s being spoiled like a queen.

Fuck.

A queen.

My fucking queen.

I keep thinking about her resilience and her strength.

Then my thoughts stray to her lips and the way she said my name like it didn’t belong to a monster.

What she doesn’t know is that I would be a monster to keep her safe. I would do anything so that she doesn’t experience the pain she already has because of my name.

Yeah.

I’m in deep .

And fuck it. It was about time that I found somebody who could handle me.

Anything I give, she takes.

My knife, my fingers, my dick. She’ll take it all and look fucking good with something smart on her lips.

So here I am. Taking the steps two at a time, nodding to my men at the front door, and stepping inside.

I’ve been chasing this moment for miles.

I got my ass back to Clayton Terrace as fast as I could just so I could see her.

It’s almost one in the morning, but what do I care? Being here is the objective.

The TV’s off.

No music.

The house is quiet, save for the ticking clock I pass by in the hall.

I head toward the back, expecting to find her curled on the couch on her phone still or maybe sleeping. She’s gotten very comfortable with the sitting room in the back. I know Indica and Sativa scare her a little still, but it’s easy to forget they’re there at night.

As I pass the hallway, I hear something.

A faint rustle.

It’s coming from my office.

I freeze.

That door was shut when I left—and locked.

I move slowly, silently.

Hand on the doorknob and it opens with no resistance.

There she is.

My voice comes out low and steady despite the myriad of emotions I’m feeling right now. “The fuck you doing?”

Racquelle, in my chair with my laptop open. One of my black books in her hand, the one that doesn’t get shared or stored digitally. Her eyes snap up when I enter, wide with a guilt I haven’t seen on her before.

The kind that’s not from being caught in a mess—but from creating one.

She bolts up so fast, the chair wheels squeal behind her. “Milo—wait—”

Something stirs in me. A feral feeling that rises in intensity along with the quickening breaths in her chest. “No.” I hold a hand up. “Don’t start lyin’. Not yet. Want to enjoy the truth of this moment for another ten seconds.”

Her lips part, ready to spit something out, but she closes them again. Her hand releases the book like it’s burned her. The sound echoing in the office that’s thick with tension .

I step inside, close the door behind me. It clicks with something final I don’t want to name. “Want to tell me why you’re going through my shit in the middle of the night, in a room you’re not supposed to be in?”

Her voice is soft. Much too calculated to not know what she’s doing in here. This was no accident. “I wasn’t snooping.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Why else would you be in here?”

“I was—looking for something.”

“Ya find it?” I snap, snatching the book from the table. How would she even know to look for this? “Want to tell me what the hell you were expectin’ to find in here?”

I could pretend that it was happenstance.

That her finding my ledger of all the weight we’re moving and through who was an accident.

That maybe, and by the looks of it, her getting the door unlocked and looking through my files on the laptop is also a fluke.

She could just be nosy.

However, all of those excuses I’m making, for my sanity’s sake, go out the window when she swallows hard, adjusting her stance to something firm and unmovable.

She raises her chin and it only goads the monster that she tried to coax out of me before.

She’s indignant?

She’s standing on business?

She forgot who I was.

I’m gonna show her.

In a flash, the energy changes in the room as my anger rises. Racquelle is smart enough to ease her way from behind my desk, but I’m faster and larger.

Her back is against the wall before either of us can process what just happened.

Like a predator to prey, my instincts guided my actions.

My hand is around her throat and her eyes are wide in disbelief or fear.

I can’t tell .

I blink. “You think I deserve this?” Her mouth opens, but I squeeze a little tighter. “You think I deserve the knife you put in my back?”

“I think you don’t know what you have in your hands,” she throws back. “I know what kind of man does the business that you do. I know what kind of man makes men disappear when he lifts his hand.”

That silences me.

Not because she’s wrong, but because she knows.

Not everything, but enough to make me question what any of what she’s saying has to do with her presence in my office.

I move closer, my hips pressing into her and eliminating any semblance of space between us. Her pulse thrums under my hand, but now there’s anger blazing in her eyes. “You got a lot of nerve goin’ through my books for someone who needs me to protect them.”

“I didn’t ask to need you,” she bites back. “It just ended up that way.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say, and I’m close enough now that I can smell her hair products and whatever infuriating scent that is all her. “But you let me take care of you anyway.”

Her breath catches when she feels me hard against her stomach.

Even when she’s betrayed my trust—I want her. And if that isn’t fucked up, I don’t know what is.

“Why?” I ask, voice quieter. “Why come here?”

In a tone that matches my own, she simply says. “I didn’t.”

Waving the book between us, I hold her gaze. “You don’t expect me to believe that you found this kind of information by accident. Things that could fuck all my shit up if it got out.”

“I didn’t come here to look for secrets.” That wasn’t an answer.

There are too many things that aren’t adding up. “Why do you know how to look for them then?” I counter.

That shuts her up. Her eyes dart around, looking for what I don’t know, but she won’t meet my gaze.

Fuck.

There it is. That flicker of something I didn’t want to believe.

She’s not just some girl caught in the crossfire between me and the Fayes .

Negative energy pulses around us. I don't know if it's me or her causing it.

I fucking hate gambling. I had no idea that I was gambling when I had a heart for two fucking seconds. My teeth grind over an outburst I can’t afford to make if I plan to get any answers at all.

Racquelle feels the shift. She squirms in my grip still firm on her neck. “I don’t know what you think you saw,” she murmurs, trying to make space between us. “But I swear—I wasn’t trying to take anything. I just—needed to know.”

“You want to know somethin’?” I say, voice like thunder in the small space. “You should’ve asked.”

She shakes her head as best she can with my hand still around her throat. “Would you have told me?”

I grin, but there’s no warmth in it. “Not a fuckin’ chance,” I sneer, but I’m unsure if that’s true.

I’ve told her a lot. More than I’ve told anybody who wasn’t there to see the truth themself.

I’ll lose myself too quickly if I start recalling all the information I’ve given her in pillow talk and otherwise. “But I’m gonna show you.”

The silence between us grows until it’s loud enough to scream. Racquelle stiffens, her eyes pleading for space or for any reprieve.

Even in her fear, she’s beautiful.

Maybe more so.