Page 8

8: Blaze

A night with Tori will always be a highlight of my life, but trying to sleep in a bed crammed with Ryder and Thorne doesn’t exactly lend itself to restful sleep. As usual, I’m the first one up, sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee while Tori still sleeps, sprawled out in a position that defies physics.

If I could, I would watch her sleep every morning, peaceful and beautiful. Thoroughly fucked.

It took everything in me not to punch Gabe right in the face. But Tori was right…he did save her. Which is more than I can say.

I let her get taken by Nico right in front of me.

Maybe that's what pisses me off the most—that he did something I couldn't do.

Either way, I may not have punched him, but I definitely threatened him. If she so much as gets another scratch on her, he's dead. I added on the bonus of never speaking a word of what he saw to her. He doesn't need to bring it up.

I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe when Diablo calls. It’s more of the same—assignments laced with vague threats and veiled insults. I’m no stranger to pressure, but this feels different. It's obvious he's up to something, but I can't tell what. All I know for sure is that he's playing a game, and I'm tired of being a pawn in it.

I'm going to make myself a player, figure out what he's up to, and then beat him .

While I’d rather disappear back into bed with Tori in my arms, I've been ordered to get to the docks right away. I leave a note on the counter for her, not wanting to wake her and knowing her phone is broken now. She swore she would get a new one today and text me the moment she did.

I then send a text to Thorne and one to Ryder with their own assignments for the day.

To my annoyance, I’m paired with Eve again. She’s already waiting by the dock, tablet in hand and hair tied back in a pristine ponytail, not a hair out of place. She’s the picture of professionalism, like she’s ready to conquer the world—or at least micromanage it.

“Blaze,” she greets, her tone clipped, straight to business. “We’re scheduled to review inventory discrepancies and confirm shipment timelines.”

“Good morning to you too,” I reply, drier than the desert sand. My tone earns me a sharp glance, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she strides ahead, leading the way to the warehouse.

The docks are alive with activity. Crates are being unloaded, forklifts hum as they weave through narrow aisles, and workers shout over the constant grind of heavy equipment. It’s a well-oiled machine on the surface, but the cracks are there if you know where to look.

And I always know where to look.

“We need to follow up on the flagged shipments,” Eve starts as we enter the main storage area. “The discrepancies obviously suggest someone is tampering with the cargo, and we need to follow the trail before it gets cold.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter, already scanning the rows of towering containers. The scent of saltwater and oil mixes heavily in the air, carrying a faint metallic tang of rust. “Let’s get this over with.”

Eve leads me to a section marked “Priority,” where the flagged crates are stored. She’s efficient, directing the workers to bring down specific containers and logging the details on her tablet. I grab a crowbar from a nearby rack, prying open the first crate with practiced ease. Inside, neatly packed electronics sit in rows, their labels flawless.

“Looks clean,” I say, though experience tells me otherwise. I tap one of the devices, checking for signs of tampering or hidden compartments. “You see anything off?”

Eve steps closer, her sharp eyes scanning the contents. “The serial numbers match the manifest, but the weights don’t. There’s something underneath.”

I nod, lifting the top layer of electronics to reveal...cash. Bundles of it, neatly stacked and bound. My stomach tightens as I glance back at Eve.

“This shipment wasn’t supposed to include currency,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “Someone’s using Diablo’s operation to move their own product.”

“Or Diablo knows and wants to see if we’re paying attention,” I counter, my tone low. “Either way, it’s bad news.”

Eve’s brow furrows as she types furiously into her tablet. “We’ll need to flag this for review. But first, let’s finish inspecting the rest.”

The next few crates tell the same story—electronics hiding stacks of cash. By the time we’re done, it’s clear someone’s running a side hustle through Diablo’s channels. The question is whether Diablo’s testing us or if we’ve stumbled onto something bigger.

Eve’s efficiency borders on unsettling. She barely pauses between tasks, her focus razor-sharp. But there’s a tension in her movements, subtle but telling. Something’s eating at her.

“You’ve done this before,” I remark as we secure the last crate. “You’re too good at it to be new.”

She straightens, her expression guarded. “I’m thorough. It’s what Diablo expects. ”

“That’s not an answer,” I point out, leaning against the edge of a crate. “You’ve got a lot of experience for someone who’s supposed to be a new hire.”

Eve hesitates, her grip on the tablet tightening. For a moment, it looks like she’s going to brush me off, but then she sighs. “Diablo doesn’t hire amateurs. Let’s leave it at that.”

I don’t press further, though her response only raises more questions. Instead, I focus on the task at hand, my mind already spinning with possibilities. If Diablo’s testing us, we’ve passed. But if this is something else...it’s a complication we don’t need.

By the time we finish logging the discrepancies, it's late afternoon. Eve’s demeanor shifts a touch, giving way to something almost hesitant.

“Blaze,” she starts as we walk back to the dock office. “Thank you for...not pushing.”

I glance at her, surprised by the sincerity in her tone. “You’re welcome. But don’t think I’m letting it go. I’ll get my answers eventually.”

She smiles faintly, a rare crack in her professional armor. “We’ll see.”

We’re quiet as we make our way to a nearby café for a late lunch. It’s not much—just a small, nondescript place by the water—but it’ll do. We order our food and sit at one of the outside tables to enjoy the oceanside view.

“Do you think Ortega’s behind this?” Eve asks, sipping her coffee.

“He’s definitely hiding something,” I reply, biting into my sandwich. “But whether he’s the mastermind or just another pawn, I don’t know yet.”

Eve nods thoughtfully, her gaze drifting out to the water. “It could be someone under him. A new hire exploiting the system, maybe. ”

“Or someone higher up,” I counter. “Someone who knows how to cover their tracks. Someone who has enough power to threaten Ortega."

She doesn’t respond immediately, her expression pensive. “If that’s the case, it’ll be harder to trace. People at that level don’t leave trails.”

“Everyone leaves a trail,” I say, my tone firm. “You just have to know where to look.”

The conversation shifts as we eat, the tension easing somewhat. It’s the first time Eve seems more human, less like a perfectly programmed machine. She even laughs at one point, a soft, genuine sound that catches me off guard.

“What’s your story, Eve?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. “You’re not exactly an open book.”

She hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee cup. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Bullshit,” I say with a smirk. “Come on, everyone’s got a story.”

She sighs, giving me a look that’s equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Fine. I grew up in Chicago. My dad was a cop, my mom was a teacher. Normal enough until my dad got killed on duty. After that, things got...complicated.”

“Complicated how?” I ask, my tone gentler now.

“My mom couldn’t handle it,” she admits, her voice quieter. “She spiraled, and I had to grow up fast. Got a job when I was sixteen, dropped out to support us. Eventually, I started working in logistics. That’s how I ended up here.”

There’s a weight to her words, a vulnerability she’s trying to mask. “That’s a hell of a journey,” I say, meaning it.

She shrugs, her gaze meeting mine. “You do what you have to do. No point dwelling on it.”

For a moment, the silence between us feels comfortable, like we’ve reached some unspoken understanding. But it doesn’ t last long. Eve straightens, her professional mask slipping back into place. “We should get back. There’s still work to do.”

“Right,” I say, draining the last of my coffee. As we head back to the SUV, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve only scratched the surface with Eve. There’s more to her story, more to why she’s here. And I’m going to find out what it is—one way or another.

The drive to the office is silent—giving me too much time to think. My mind reels with thoughts of the crates, of what Eve is up to at the behest of Diablo, and what intricate web he's weaving. If I spiral too much into it, I'll lose focus, so I push the thought aside, focusing on the road ahead.

We pull into the lot of the office Diablo assigned us. The building is as unremarkable as it gets—gray concrete walls, narrow windows, and a door that creaks when you open it, like the building itself is sighing. Eve steps out of the car, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The sound grates, like nails on a chalkboard. She’s too put together for this place, her tailored suit and flawless hair looking out of place against the building’s bland, utilitarian backdrop.

I grab the folders from the backseat and slam the door harder than necessary. My mood is already sour, and her presence isn’t helping. She’s quiet, as always, but there’s something about the way she walks ahead of me that feels like she’s trying to insinuate she’s the one in control here.

I’ll let her believe it. For now.

As we step inside the office, Eve bends to pick up a piece of paper that’s fallen near the doorway. The motion is deliberate—it has to be—because when she leans forward, her skirt rides up just enough to reveal the edge of her thigh, her ass cheeks peeking just beneath the hem of her skirt. My jaw tightens, and I look away, forcing my gaze to the desk instead.

“Did you get what you needed?” I ask, my tone sharp .

She straightens, holding up the paper with a neutral expression. “I did.”

Of course, she’s going to pretend that wasn’t intentional. I grit my teeth and push past her, dropping the folders onto the desk with a thud. “Alright,” I say, pulling out a chair. “Let’s figure this out.”

Eve moves to her seat, pulling out her tablet and setting it on the glass with the precision of someone who’s done this a million times before. She’s methodical, detached, like she’s running through a script.

“We’ve flagged three shipments so far,” she begins, her tone clinical. “All through the north docks, all under Ortega’s oversight.”

“We already know that,” I snap, flipping open one of the folders. “What we don’t know is who’s behind it. Ortega seems too obvious of a choice.”

She raises an eyebrow, but her composure doesn’t falter. “You really think it’s someone higher up.”

“I think it’s someone smart enough to make Ortega look like the scapegoat,” I say. “And I think they’re counting on us wasting time chasing him down while they keep skimming off the top.”

“Interesting theory,” she murmurs, leaning forward. The movement pulls her shirt taut across her chest, and for a split second, I’m certain it’s intentional. My grip on the folder tightens as I force my eyes back to the papers in front of me.

“Stop that,” I mutter.

“Stop what?” Her voice is all innocence, but when I glance up, there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You know what,” I snap. “If you think I’m stupid enough to fall for whatever game you’re playing, you’re dead wrong.”

“Game?” she echoes, tilting her head. “Blaze, I’m just doing my job. If you’re distracted, that’s on you. ”

I let out a sharp laugh, leaning back in my chair. “Distracted? Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve dealt with your type before. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

Her expression hardens, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she leans across the desk to grab a pen, the movement pressing her chest against my arm. “Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re paying so much attention in the first place,” she says, her voice low and cutting.

I shove my chair back, standing abruptly. “Are you kidding me right now? You’ve been flirting since the moment we walked in here, and now you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking it’s my fault?”

She stands as well, crossing her arms and meeting my glare head-on. “Flirting? Blaze, if that’s what you think, then maybe you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror. I’ve been professional this entire time. You’re the one making things weird.”

“Professional?” I scoff, gesturing to the desk. “Yeah, because pressing up against me and bending over like that is so professional.”

Her eyes narrow, but her tone remains icy. “I bent over to pick up a paper. If your mind went somewhere else, that’s on you. Maybe you should focus on the current task instead of projecting your issues onto me.”

My fists clench at my sides, the urge to throw something rising with every word out of her mouth. But I force myself to take a deep breath, stepping back and shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re paranoid,” she shoots back, her voice like steel. “If you can’t handle working with me, maybe you should ask Diablo to assign someone else.”

“Oh, trust me,” I mutter, grabbing the folders off the desk. “If I had that option, you’d be out of here in a heartbeat.”

She doesn’t respond, but the tension between us is so thick, it’s suffocating. I move to the other side of the room, flipping through the files with more force than necessary. The numbers blur together, my frustration making it impossible to focus.

“Blaze,” she says after a moment, her voice softer. “I know we don’t trust each other, but we’re on the same side here. Let’s figure this out before things get worse.”

I glance at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. For a moment, she looks almost sincere. Almost. But I’ve learned better than to trust appearances.

“Fine,” I say, my voice curt. “But if you pull another stunt like that, Diablo will be the least of your worries. Got it?”

She nods, her expression unreadable. “Got it.”

Before I can say anything else, my phone buzzes on the desk. I grab it, glancing at the screen. It’s a message from an unknown number.

Unknown : I got a phone again!

I smile for the first time today, knowing it’s Tori. I save her new number and send her a quick reply.

Blaze : Thank you for texting me, Doll. I’ll give you a reward when we get home.

Blaze : Count on it being delicious.

The tension in my muscles seems to disappear at the thought of being home with Tori. My eyes flick up to Eve, who’s just watching me.

“Anything of use?” she asks, preening her neck as if to get a better look.

“Not to you,” I respond, ready for my time with her to be over.

Just as I tuck my phone back into my pocket, another buzz follows .

Ryder : I don't like what's happening today. Is there anything weird with your "assistant"? Mine is being more crazy than usual.

I look up at Eve and start to wonder what part of her behavior is her and what part is Diablo. Ryder's text definitely proves something, though...these girls aren't here to 'assist.'

I stare at Ryder’s text, the words pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. My fingers hover over the screen for a second before I type back.

Blaze : Define "crazy."

Ryder : Flirting. Boldly. Like she thinks I’m some clueless idiot who doesn’t notice. You?

I glance at Eve, who’s now scrolling through her tablet with that same unnervingly calm expression she always wears. Her shoulders are relaxed, her posture perfect, but there’s something about her that’s just a little too pristine—like she’s trying too hard.

Blaze : Same.

Ryder : What do you think Diablo’s up to?

Blaze : Testing us. Pushing buttons. Trying to break us apart.

Ryder : Think he’ll succeed?

Blaze : Not a damn chance .

Ryder’s reply is a thumbs-up emoji, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. If anything, it tightens. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and fix my gaze on Eve, who’s now typing something on her tablet.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I say, my tone casual but laced with meaning. “Not like you to pass up an opportunity to share your insights.”

Eve glances up, her expression neutral. “I’ve found that silence can be more productive than chatter.”

“Productive for who?” I take a seat again, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Because it seems to me like you’ve been working on more than just these shipments.”

Her brow arches, but she doesn’t falter. “And what exactly are you accusing me of, Blaze?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I reply smoothly. “I’m just curious about your...motivations. You’ve been awfully hands-on for someone who’s supposed to be assisting. Makes me wonder what your endgame is.”

Eve’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “My endgame is the same as yours: getting to the bottom of these discrepancies.”

“And if it isn’t?” I press, my voice dropping a notch. “What happens if this all leads back to you?”

Her composure cracks just enough, a flicker of something unspoken passing through her eyes. “If you have evidence to back that up, feel free to share it. Otherwise, I suggest we focus on the task at hand.”

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second that I’m buying the act. Whatever game you’re playing, it ends here,” I say, my tone sharp.

Eve’s expression hardens, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she picks up her tablet and starts typing again, her focus shifting back to the files. I slip my phone back out of my pocket and send Ryder one last text .

Blaze : Keep an eye on her. I’ll do the same with mine.

Ryder : Always.

I glance back at Eve, her profile illuminated by the harsh glow of the tablet. She’s still as composed as ever, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. For the first time, I feel like I’ve managed to unsettle her, even if it’s just a little.

Good. Let her squirm.