Page 17

Holden

T he room feels suffocating, not because of the space but because of the reality of what’s about to happen. I don’t like a single fucking bit of it.

Harris sits at the head of the table, speaking with his usual clipped efficiency, while Williams keeps her attention fixed on the file in front of her.

The light catches on her hair as she leans forward slightly, flipping through the pages with an almost practiced calm. It’s all calculated, I realize. Every glance, every shift of her posture, is a performance meant to convince everyone in this room that she’s ready.

But I’m not buying it. Though, I’ll admit she's good at hiding it.

My focus should be on the details he’s explaining—logistics, objectives, contingencies—but instead, my eyes linger on her.

“Grant.” Harris’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and expectant.

I push off the wall, stepping into the room. “Sir?”

“You’re running point on this,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine. “You got anything to add?”

I glance at the file in front of Williams, then back at Harris. “You’re sending her undercover?”

“She’s ready.”

I scoff, the sound loud enough to turn a few heads. But it’s only the three of us. Williams doesn’t look at me, but I can see the subtle tightening of her jaw and the way her fingers curl against the edge of the file.

“She’s been here all of five minutes,” I warn. “This isn’t a training exercise. You put someone in the field too soon, and they get killed.”

“And if I waited until you thought she was ready, she’d never leave this building.” Harris’s tone is clipped, his patience thinning. “She’ll have backup.”

“She’ll have me,” I correct, my gaze flicking to her for a fraction of a second before returning to Harris.

“Exactly.” Harris’s smirk is faint but pointed. He knows exactly what he’s doing, which only fuels the tension in my chest. “You’re one of the best agents we have. If anyone can ensure she comes out of this alive, it’s you.”

The responsibility of his words sits heavy on my shoulders, and I grind my teeth, swallowing the retort burning the back of my throat.

“Fine,” I say, the word like gravel in my mouth. “But the second it goes south, I’m pulling her.”

Harris doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. The decision’s already been made, and we both know it.

“Agent Williams.” His tone shifts, drawing her attention. She sits up straighter, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. “You’ll be embedded as the assistant to the target’s primary contact. Your role is to observe, gather intel, and ensure the target’s plans don’t go beyond negotiation.”

“And if they do?” she asks, her voice steady but low.

“You’ll signal Grant,” Harris says, nodding toward me. “And he’ll handle the rest.”

She glances at me then, her expression neutral. But there’s something in her eyes: uncertainty, excitement, or maybe both.

“Understood,” she says firmly.

Harris nods, satisfied. “You leave in forty-eight hours. Agent Grant, a word?”

Williams stands, tucking the file under her arm as she walks toward the door. She doesn’t look back, but the tension lingers in the room long after she’s gone.

“She’s good, Grant,” Harris says once we’re alone. “You don’t have to like her, but don’t doubt her. She might surprise you.”

“She’s reckless,” I say flatly. “And we’ve all seen what happens when people of that bloodline are too reckless.”

Harris sighs, his gaze softening for just a moment. “She’s not Leo.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Later that evening, I find her in the training room, running through drills with a ferocity that’s hard to ignore. She doesn’t see me at first, too busy punching the bag in front of her.

Her movements are methodical, but she’s clearly trying to shake off some frustration. It radiates from her in waves, nagging at something I don’t want to acknowledge.

“Getting it out of your system?” I say, my voice cutting through the silence.

She spins, startled for half a second before masking it. “Do you want something, Agent Grant?”

“To make sure you’re not walking into this blind.” I step closer, watching as she straightens, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Harris might think you’re ready, but I’m not convinced.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think she’s going to snap back. But instead, she lifts her chin, her voice calm. “Then maybe you should watch more closely.”

I have been, and that’s the problem.

I take another step forward, closing the distance between us. “Don’t mistake confidence for capability, Williams. This isn’t a game.”

“I know it’s not,” she says, her tone sharp. “But I also know I’ve worked my ass off to get here. I’m tired of you, of everyone, saying—thinking, otherwise. I’m not going to let whatever this personal vendetta you have get in the way. You don’t know me.”

Her defiance is a challenge I shouldn’t rise to, but as it normally does, it pulls at the frayed edges of my control.

“Maybe I don’t know you,” I say, “but I know enough.” And I knew your father, and you’re just like him.

Which makes you a liability.

She doesn’t back down, her eyes locking onto mine. The air between us is heavy and charged as the memory of the almost kiss in the gym flashes unbidden in my mind. Her chest falls and rises as my thoughts go to a place much darker. Images of her sprawled out on this floor and taking me deep as she screams my name.

I force myself to take a step back, to regain the control that seems hell-bent on unraveling whenever she’s in radius. “Forty-eight hours, Williams. Don’t make me regret taking this assignment.”

Her lips twitch, almost like a smile, but there’s nothing light in her gaze. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I leave before she can say anything else, her presence still clinging to me long after the door closes behind me.