Page 5 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Stretch

The second I stepped into the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and sausage hit me like a freight train made of butter and syrup.

I wasn’t even halfway across the tile before Adam dropped a plate on the island in front of me, with steam rising in gentle swirls off the golden stacks.

I didn’t even sit down before I was smiling.

“I’ve been looking forward to breakfast since I finished dinner,” I said and dropped into the same chair I’d used last night.

Adam gave a satisfied grunt and went back to the stove. “Pancakes are best before ten. After that, they’re just a warm apology for not being waffles.”

I grabbed my fork and cut a piece. The syrup oozed down the sides, soaked into the edges, and the sausage on the side looked like it had been cooked to perfection, with edges crisp and their centers juicy. I took a bite of the pancake and let out a low, involuntary groan.

Hot. Buttery. Just the right amount of chew. The edges had the tiniest crisp to them that gave way to a soft, warm center that tasted like vanilla, cinnamon, and everything good in the world.

“Holy shit,” I muttered and nodded at the plate. “You didn’t say you were making gourmet pancakes.”

Adam smirked. “I did two years at Le Cordon Bleu.”

Billy and Jeff were already sitting at the island, with coffee mugs in front of them. I’d passed both of them on my rounds every hour or so through the night.

They were good guys. Easy to talk to. The kind of men who kept their heads down and did their jobs without asking questions.

“Last night go okay for you?” Billy asked and leaned back in his chair.

I nodded and reached for the glass of orange juice Adam had placed in front of me like he was psychic. “Not much going on at all.”

“Yeah, not much does go on,” Jeff said and scratched at the back of his neck. “Especially with Boone gone. I think I heard Jim say he won’t be back until after the weekend.”

I paused with the glass halfway to my mouth, then took a long sip before setting it down. “Then what’s with all the patrolling and whatnot?”

I wasn’t trying to sound like I was complaining. But come on, if Boone wasn’t here, why the hell was I spending eight hours walking laps around a silent mansion?

Jeff and Billy looked at each other.

“There are things in the house that need protecting,” Jeff said finally. His voice was vague as hell.

I nodded slowly and tried not to push. “Well, then I guess it’s good nothing happened last night, huh?”

Billy shrugged. “Good nights are quiet nights.”

I wanted to ask more. Wanted to press them. What things? Why the mystery? What the hell was so important in this house that needed three men patrolling it through the night when the guy they were supposed to be protecting wasn’t even home?

But I held back. It was only my second day. Asking twenty questions would only raise red flags, and I needed to be smarter than that.

If I played this right, they’d hand me the answers without even realizing it.

The phone on the wall rang, an old-school landline with a shrill tone that felt out of place in a mansion this polished. Adam wiped his hands and moved to answer it.

“Kitchen,” he called into the receiver.

He paused, one hand on his hip, and listened. Then he chuckled. “I was wondering where you were.” Another pause. His tone shifted to something gentler. “Just coffee?” He nodded. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up and turned back to us.

“Tilly’s on a bender again,” he said.

Billy and Jeff nodded like he’d said it might rain later.

“She must have started her new painting after dinner,” Adam continued. “She said she only wants coffee, but if I know her, she won’t surface from her studio for at least four days.”

Jeff leaned forward, grinning. “Four? I’d say six days.”

Billy shook his head. “Nah, I’m going for eight. The last one took her ten.”

Adam nodded. “You’re probably right.”

I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

Okay, yeah, I’d picked up that Tilly painted. Something about “artistic jaunts,” Adam had called them. But this? Locking herself in a studio for up to ten days straight?

Sounded excessive. Obsessive even.

Not that I could talk. I’d disappeared into the desert for two months once with nothing but a gun, a target, and a bottle of water. But still… there was something strange about how normal they all made it sound. Like Tilly vanishing into the second floor was just another Tuesday.

I cut another piece of pancake and chewed slowly.

Tilly.

I’d barely spent ten minutes around her, but she stuck in my head like a lyric I couldn’t shake.

Those green eyes. That mouth that seemed to curve up just a little before she smiled, like she was always on the edge of saying something sarcastic. Her laugh. Her presence.

And the fact that she clearly didn’t belong in a place like this.

She was too bright. Too soft.

Too real.

It didn’t make sense that someone like her was with a guy like Boone. Unless…

Maybe she wasn’t his girlfriend. Maybe she was his mistress. Or his little secret. Something to keep hidden in the guest wing while he went off and played politician.

Whatever she was, she was off-limits.

That much I knew.

I finished the last of the sausage and leaned back in my chair, savoring the feeling of a full stomach and hot food.

“You ever work private security before?” Jeff asked as he broke the silence.

I nodded. “A few gigs. In and out. Mostly regional stuff.”

Billy pointed his fork at me. “You ex-military?”

I shrugged. “Something like that.”

They didn’t press. Didn’t seem like the type. Which was good. The less they knew about my past, the better.

Adam finished plating Tilly’s food and loaded a tray with her coffee, a fruit bowl, and a side of toast slathered in almond butter.

“I’ll be back in ten,” he said and pushed open the swinging door at the far end of the kitchen.

I watched him go with the tray perfectly balanced in one hand like he’d been born doing it.

Jeff stood, stretched his back, and muttered something about checking the gate camera logs. Billy followed, saying he needed more coffee.

And then I was alone.

I finished the last of the juice, rinsed my plate, and placed it in the sink.

Tilly was still on my mind.

The way she looked at me last night when I was doing my rounds and caught her watching from the window.

She hadn’t flinched. Not really. She’d looked surprised. Curious. Not scared.

I didn’t know what the hell to make of her.

But I couldn’t let her distract me.

I was here for Boone. For Gibbs. To finish what should’ve been finished months ago.

Everyone else in this mansion—Tilly, Adam, Jeff, Billy—they were collateral I didn’t want to hurt. But if they got in the way?

That would be on them.

I left the kitchen and headed back to the lower level. The halls were quiet, and sunlight poured through the tall windows as the world outside came alive.

Downstairs, my room was still cool and dim.

I peeled off my black T-shirt, tossed it on the chair, and fell back onto the bed with a groan.

Two days down.

How many to go?

I grabbed my phone off the side table, set an alarm for early evening, and dropped it beside me.

Then I closed my eyes.

And tried not to see Tilly’s face.

Tried not to wonder what she was painting.

Tried not to think about what it meant that Boone kept her hidden up there like a secret no one could touch.

Because I was already in deeper than I wanted to be.

And this was just the beginning.