Taking Avery to see Scarlett was as much for Scarlett’s benefit as it was for Avery’s. I don’t warm to many people, but my new sister-in-law is an absolute doll. I’d do anything for her, the same way I’d do anything for all of my family.
As I watch the two women hug like they haven’t seen each other for years instead of hours, James enquires on my progress.
‘Nothing.’ I admit. Which is worrying on so many levels.
I assumed we’d have found this weirdo by now. My agency is the most successful in Europe because we’re the best at what we do. My men are all lethally trained with unique skills in hacking, digital forensics, and cyber infiltration. I’ve got experts who can crack military-grade encryption in hours, trace untraceable IPs, and retrieve data from devices that have been wiped clean. Some can hack and manipulate CCTV networks, while others specialise in breaking through the most sophisticated firewalls ever created. Everyone is trained in social engineering and digital footprint analysis. When someone tries to hide in the dark corners of the internet, we find them. We’re the ones who see everything but can’t be seen. Which is why the fact that this stalker has managed to stay hidden makes my blood run cold.
James’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
‘No trace. There’s no camera directly facing Avery’s suite. We’ve run thorough background checks on all the guests.’
‘What about the hotel staff?’ James glances at his wife.
‘We checked every single past and present employee of the hotel, even though the likelihood of their involvement is slim to none, as this isn’t the first “gift” of this nature.’ I scrub a hand over my jawline. ‘I grilled Avery this morning about ex-boyfriends, ex-lovers’—I swallow hard—‘rivals, and regulars from the Luxor Lounge that she used to dance for. I can’t find anything.’
A darkness clouds James’s face. ‘What about Cole?’
Christopher Cole is one of several of our family’s sworn enemies. He used to own the gentlemen’s club where Scarlett and Avery previously pole danced, The Luxor Lounge. The term gentlemen is a stretch though. The place was crawling with wealthy dirtbags, the biggest of all being Cole. He wanted Scarlett for himself, and when he lost her to James, he ordered a hit on her. The hitman couldn’t get near Scarlett, or James, and my late sister-in-law, Isabella—Caelon’s wife and the mother of his children—was caught in the crossfire.
I’m monitoring Cole’s accounts, his family, his known associates, and every digital footprint he’s made since disappearing into the wind. Money leaves trails, and Cole has plenty of it hidden away in offshore accounts. My team is watching his known properties, tracking his passport aliases, and monitoring anyone who’s ever owed him a favour. We’ve got eyes in every major port and airport, facial recognition scanning CCTV feeds across Europe. A man like Christopher Cole can’t resist flaunting his wealth forever—he’ll surface eventually. But something about these black lilies doesn’t feel like his style. Cole is flashy, arrogant—he’d want us to know it was him. These threats feel more… intimate. More personal. And that worries me even more. Plus, why would he target Avery? It was Scarlett he wanted.
‘It’s not him.’ I shake my head. ‘I doubled your security anyway, and the rest of the family’s.’
‘Zara won’t like it,’ James tuts.
Zara is our youngest sibling, and our only sister. At nineteen years old, she’s desperately champing at the bit for freedom, and this increase in security will have her whining worse than Avery.
‘At least she’ll be alive to form an opinion.’ I accept the beer James hands to me. I don’t normally drink while I’m working, but after this afternoon, I need it. Besides, my men are everywhere. I don’t trust easily, but I trust them more than I trust even myself sometimes.
‘Anyway, enough about that. How does it feel to be a married man?’
A huge grin reveals James’s perfect teeth. ‘It feels fucking phenomenal. You should try it sometime.’
I scoff. ‘Yeah, in another life maybe.’
I don’t do relationships—the last one I had resulted in multiple deaths. Including hers.
An hour later, Avery’s slim arm is linked with mine again as we stroll over the sand towards the only table set on the beach. I’m not used to being touched. I don’t do PDAs. But at least if she’s hanging on to me, I know where she is. I can protect her. I had hoped to wrap this stalker business up within a matter of hours, if not days, but it’s not looking likely—which is concerning on multiple fronts, but mostly because it means being within two feet of the one woman who crawls under my skin like a severe case of pompholyx eczema.
‘This is beautiful,’ Avery’s hand clamps over her mouth, though even that doesn’t stop her talking. ‘Did you arrange all of this?’
I cast my eyes over the table that sits on a raised wooden deck over the sand, sheltered by a white linen canopy that drifts lazily in the Caribbean breeze. Crystal glasses catch the dying sunlight, throwing prisms across the crisp tablecloth. Hurricane lamps filled with flickering candles create pools of golden light that will grow stronger as dusk deepens into night. The champagne—Dom Pérignon, 2008 vintage—chills in a silver bucket, beads of condensation rolling down its neck. White orchids and Birds of Paradise spill from a cut crystal vase, their colours intensified by the setting sun that paints the sky in shades of amber and rose. And the ocean provides a perfect date-like soundtrack, waves lapping gently at the shore.
Oh fuck.
This really is romantic.
I asked Thomson to arrange dinner. I should have known better. The man is one of my few employees who is married, and happily married at that. His wife thinks he does private security for celebrities. She’s not wrong, but he does a whole host of other questionable duties for my family too. We have a lot of enemies. Dangerous, powerful enemies. My team and I do what we have to do to ensure those enemies don’t take us out. Even if that sometimes means taking them out.
I touch my earpiece and hiss, ‘Thomson, I’m going to fucking kill you with my bare hands.’
His answering chortle rumbles back.
Avery slides into the high-backed chair as I clear my throat. ‘Thomson arranged everything. You can thank him for this flowery bullshit.’
Her smile falters for a second before she fixes it firmly back in position. ‘Maybe I will.’ There’s a defiance in her tone that I’m dying to fuck out of her. ‘Where is he?’ She scans the surrounding foliage through the twilight.
‘He’s probably on the phone to his wife, asking how their children are.’ I take the seat opposite Avery.
She sighs dramatically, reaching for the white linen napkin in front of her. ‘Why are all the good men taken?’
I don’t deign to answer. I wouldn’t know. I’m not a good man. She’s Beauty, and I am unequivocally the beast—not necessarily in the way I look, but in the things I’ve done.
A waitress arrives with menus before my brain can torture me with my worst memories. Her name tag says Amelia, but I knew that already. I have a photographic memory, which is handy for work, but not so handy now I’ve seen the face of every man Avery has fucked.
While Amelia pours the champagne and talks Avery through the specials, I scan the perimeter. At least eight of my men are on guard within a two hundred metre radius. Close enough to protect her, not close enough to pry. It killed me that every single one of them had a front-row seat to her sunbathing topless today.
If she were mine, those tits would be for my eyes only. Which is why it’s imperative I stop thinking about fucking her, because the woman’s entire career revolves around people ogling her almost naked.
Besides, I don’t do ‘mine’. I do mine for the night. Mine for the weekend. Mine for a week if the sex is supreme.
What would sex with Avery be like?
An image of her handcuffed and spread legged on my bed forms at the forefront of my mind.
For fuck’s sake.
‘Killian?’ Avery clicks her fingers in front of my face and I flinch. ‘What do you fancy?’
You. I fancy the fucking pants off you, even if you irritate the shit out of me.
I turn my attention to Amelia. ‘I’ll have the king prawns to start, then the lobster surf and turf with the fillet rare.’
‘I’ll have the same.’ Avery hands back her menu and reaches for the champagne flute in front of her. ‘Cheers,’ she raises her glass as Amelia strides away.
I huff out a breath, then reach for my own glass. I don’t like champagne, but tonight, I’ll drink anything to take the edge off. ‘There’s a stalker on the loose and you want to raise a fucking toast.’
She leans over the table, clinks her glass against mine, giving me a spectacular view of her cleavage again. My dick thickens in my pants.
There’s a stalker on the loose and my dick wants to raise a fucking table.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
‘Do you have to be so negative all the time?’ She licks her lips and an image of her licking precum from the tip of my cock forms in my fucked-up brain.
‘Just keeping things real. One of us has to.’ I stare at her pointedly.
‘You know, if we’re going to be stuck together for a few days, we could at least try to be nice to each other.’ Her blue eyes blaze.
‘This is me being nice.’ I’m not even joking.
‘You know what I mean.’ There’s a hint of a plea in her tone. ‘You radiate animosity. I don’t know what I ever did to offend you, but if you’re hellbent on being by my side for however long it takes to find this psycho, can you please not be so cold?’
If only she knew the truth. I’m cold towards her because she stokes a fire in me that could burn down my world. The woman could ruin me, and despite her fancy fucking doctorate in psychology, she has no fucking clue.
‘Fine.’ I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
‘You said that with as much conviction as a politician.’ She runs a finger over the stem of her glass.
‘What do you want from me, Avery? I’m here to protect you, not to be your fucking BFF.’
‘I know, but do we have to be at each other’s throats all the time?’
‘I’m not good at small talk.’ I take another sip of champagne, watching her over the rim of my glass. What I wouldn’t do for a whiskey.
‘Really?’ She fakes surprise. ‘I’d never have guessed.’ Laughter bursts from her lips, rich and uninhibited, just like her. The sound does something strange to my chest. ‘Tell me, Killian, what are you good at?’
‘Plenty of things.’ The words come out more suggestive than I intended.
‘Like what?’ She leans forward, and it takes all my willpower not to look at her chest again. ‘You know every single thing about me—I had to tell you things today that I’ve never even admitted to Scarlett! Yet, I know nothing about you except that you’re James’s brother, and the only emotion you ever display is disapproval, or irritation. Tell me something real.’
I sigh. ‘Like what?’
‘How many women have you fucked?’ Devilment dances in her eyes.
‘I’m not telling you that.’ I down my champagne, then top up her glass before filling my own.
‘Oh, come on. Indulge me.’ A strand of hair falls across her face, and my fingers itch to brush it back.
‘I didn’t keep track.’ I lie. I couldn’t forget if I wanted to; it’s just the way my brain works.
‘Liar.’ She points a glossy painted fingernail at me.
‘Okay, let me ask you a different question. Is your dick as big as Rian claimed?’
‘It’s bigger.’ I deadpan.
‘More lies!’ she squeals, slapping the table. If only she knew how hard I am beneath it. ‘You know, this weird tension between us could all be worked off with a good hard hate fuck and we could move on with our lives.’
What a thought.
But no, Avery is the epitome of everything I avoid in one picture perfect package. Spending time with her like this is even more dangerous than my day job. The way she torments me is worse than any form of torture I’ve endured. Well—almost.
‘Okay, how about this one… Have you ever been in love?’
Her question hits me like a bullet to the chest.
Seconds pass. Avery waits, silent for the first time tonight.
‘Once. Her name was Sarah.’ I stare into my glass. ‘It didn’t end well.’
Avery sits back in her chair, all traces of mischief gone from those blue eyes as she studies me with her usual Freudian focus.
‘What happened?’
‘She died.’
