Page 23 of Kill for a Kiss

No, there’s no time to waste. I grit my teeth, pressing the gas pedal, letting the growl of the engine rip through the roads, away from this place full of money-hungry, hollow snobs. I don’t belong in their world. Neither does Elle.

The car surges forward, but it still isn’t fast enough to outrun the fire in my chest or the truth clawing its way through me. I don’t know what to call what’s happening inside me. I’ve never had to name this kind of ache. But it’s not going away.

Fuck. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart. I’ve got to make a move. And I have to make itnow, before I lose her for good.

I don’t drive toward my safe house. Not yet. Not when there are answers to find and a whole estate without my two-faced family in it.

Stanley, for all his theatrics, can handle himself. And if he’s keeping Elle distracted, dragging her through one over-the-top location afteranother, I can live with that for now, and let him play babysitter.

Clo’s the real problem. And Elle being caught in her web like this… It doesn’t add up.

Stylist. That’s the title Clo gave her. A lie sold to everyone else, except me. Kayla, Damon, Stanley—they don’t see the way Elle hesitates at the simplest questions, the way she looks at things like she’s grasping for something that isn’t there.

But I see it. Something’s off with her memory. Things don’t add up in her conversations, in every flicker of her hesitation, and every threadbare smile. I replay them all, again and again, until the pattern shows itself. I’ve seen this before in the field, in the underworld, and in men who’ve had their pasts scrambled, who walk through familiar places like strangers.

But Elle’s not like them. She’s just someone who got pulled too deep into my family’s bullshit. Now she’s buried so far inside Clo’s lies. I don’t know how to get her out without tearing her apart in the process.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I pull into the shadows of the estate, far away from the driveway up front. I kill the engine and step out, the ocean air biting at my skin. My thoughts are razor-sharp focused. If Clo’s done something to Elle—if she’s tangled her up in a way I can’t imagine—I need to know.

Once I park somewhere undetectable, I walk toward the ivory mansion. I know this place like the back of my hand. I know all the passageways. They’re the ones my father built, and the ones only he and I know. So through the secret passages, I head toward Clo’s study. She’ll have files there, listing connections and resources.

I have ways of finding things out, ways of peeling back the layers of deception that Clo loves to weave. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.

I move through the estate like a shadow, sticking to the darkercorridors where no one lingers. The servants don’t notice me. They never have. I learned how to be invisible in this house long before I ever learned how to kill with stealth.

Survival demanded it. Clo always had eyes on me, waiting for a moment of weakness, a misstep she could twist to her advantage. She was always watching, always scheming. I learned to slip through the cracks before she could completely trap me.

I’m better at it now. Stealth is second nature. Years as a mercenary sharpened what was already there, honing my instincts into a lethal level.

A sound echoes from the main hall. I know based on timing that it’s Damon’s butler making his rounds. I press against the wall, waiting. His footsteps fade, and I move again, silent and quick, deeper into the heart of the estate.

Clo’s study is ahead. I slow as I approach, scanning for any changes.

If I know her, she hasn’t bothered to change much. She underestimates people too easily. Especially me.

I test the door. Locked just like years before. If I’m lucky, it might mean she’s still using the same mechanism. The same one I used to pick as a teenager, sneaking into her office, looking for any scrap of information to keep me one step ahead.

I pull out my lockpicking tools. Some things never change. But this one goddamn time,they do. The pick barely slides in before something clicks. It’s not the same mechanism I expected. The weight in my gut drops.

I twist it again. Nothing.

Again. Nothing.

A silent hiss of frustration escapes through my teeth as I step back, scowling at the door like it personally insulted me. Clo fucking changed it. My fingers clench into fists, harsh heat rising under my skin. I hate being wrong. I hate being caught off guard. The musclesin my arms tense, and for a reckless second, I think about kicking the damn door in, tearing it from its hinges just to prove I can, even if it costs me my leg.

But that’s not how this works. Not with Clo. Not with this game. Not with the way I’ve used stealth to my advantage. So I inhale sharply, forcing the fury down, pushing it into the pit of my stomach where it belongs. I need control. I need focus. But it feels like there’s a thread buried in my chest. Tight and pulling me toward Elle. And every second I don’t follow it, I bleed.

I let my mind drift to the things that usually calm me—the sharp rhythm of a gun being reloaded, the precision of a knife sliding into its sheath, the roar of an engine when I’m driving too fast to think about anything else. And the way my string wraps around a neck, nearly slicing skin but only suffocating my kill into a slumping form, breathing out their last sigh.

But none of that works. So instead, I think of Elle. The way her breath hitched. The way her eyes looked at me—calm at first, then they changed, as if something inside her cracked open. The way she felt in my arms, like she was supposed to be there. The way she ran…

My brows crease as I curse under my breath, shaking my head as if that’ll knock the thought loose. Not now. Not fucking now. But it’s too late. The frustration is there, twisting deeper.

I step back from the door, exhaling in growing aggravation.Fine. Clo wins this round. But it’s not over. I take a deep breath. In and out. I need a new plan. If I can’t get through the door to her study, I’ll find another way. If she changed the lock, she’s got someone who knows the system. And someone always talks.

I push away my frustration, forcing myself into motion. Time to pivot and investigate. I’ll start with the staff. See who’s new, who’s suddenly got clearance to Clo’s study. If that doesn’t turn up anything, I’ll dig deeper. Find out what discreet company she’s usingfor security these days.

So for the next while, I busy myself with logistics, letting the strategy override my temper. It’s better than thinking about the fact that I failed again. Better than thinking about Elle. About how I failed her. How I’m still failing her. How every second that slips away is another silk thread around her neck.