Chapter 18 - Zane

The night is heavy, thick with the kind of humidity that clings to your skin and slows every breath to the consistency of drying tar. Even the breeze, weak as it is, feels like it’s moving through wet heat. My pulse thrums in sync with the crickets, every muscle tense, ready.

The alley I’m stationed in reeks of garbage and damp stone, but I hardly notice. My focus is on the building ahead, the cold, sleek lines of it shimmering under the orange streetlights; a fortress disguised as just another corporate office.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on the surface, but I know exactly what kind of operation runs behind those tinted windows.

The party wound down hours ago, and I was extracted. But Maisie stayed behind. The plan was that she stay as late as possible at the open bar, refuse to leave, and then, upon being removed, cause a loud distraction outside the entrance so as to distract security forces at the front of the building while the rest of the team infiltrate around the back, making copies of vital security hard drives.

The party’s closure was initially two in the morning. It’s almost three now. She stalled them for an impressive amount of time.

Now, she’s just outside the front entrance. I can see her through the scope of my binoculars, her red dress standing out against the gray concrete, an intentional beacon meant to draw eyes. She’s playing her part to perfection—swaying slightly, laughing too loudly, a cocktail glass in hand that I know is filled with nothing but water. Her light eyes are sharp with unbroken focus.

To me, though, something’s off.

She’s good at this, and has only gotten better with each job. I can see it—the way her movements aren’t as fluid as usual, a little too stiff. The smile she wears doesn’t reach her eyes, and even from this distance, I can sense the tension radiating off her. Her scent is faint on the night air, but it carries an edge of something… different. Something I can’t quite place.

A few mornings ago, I caught her returning to her room from the kitchen with a glass of water and red-rimmed eyes, as if she’d been crying. She looked at me strangely. Perhaps she was waiting for me to ask if she was alright. But the moment passed me by, and then she was gone.

I wonder now what I should have said.

I’ve been stationed nearby to keep watch. I’m still in my suit and tie, so if I need to, I can interlope and back up her cover, play the part of her concerned but amused boyfriend ready to take her home. The pack’s inside, waiting for the signal that they’re safe to make their escape with the data. Ado, Aris, Bigby, Rafael—they’re all counting on her to pull this off. Maisie’s diversion was their only shot at slipping through the building’s security grid undetected, and so far, it’s worked like a charm.

She knows what’s riding on this, and she’s acting her ass off. Nonetheless, my instincts are screaming that something’s wrong.

I don’t know what it is. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to know. After all, for the past month, she’s shut me out completely. Outside of missions, she still doesn’t look me in the eye nor acknowledge I exist unless we’re working. And when we’re on a mission, she’s all business. Every attempt I’ve made to bridge the gap between us has been met with cold indifference.

And I get it. I’m not blind. I think now, having had time to think it over, that if I were here, I’d be ignoring me too.

But goddamn, it’s hard. Every time I see her like this—out in the open, vulnerable, putting herself on the line—this strange, protective instinct rises in me, hot and fierce. I can’t shut it down, can’t compartmentalize like I’m supposed to.

I have never been this way before. I’m not certain I ever will be again after her.

It’s a terrifying thought.

She staggers a little, over-exaggerating her drunken stumble, and nearly trips into the security guard on patrol that she’s working to distract.

He catches her, steadying her with a grin, his eyes sweeping her up and down.

I tense, my grip tightening on the binoculars. I hate this part. I knew I’d have to watch it happen, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hey, Big Guy,” she giggles, her voice carrying on the night air, slurred and giggly. “Seems like a boring job.”

The guard laughs, clearly eating it up. “Anyone coming to pick you up, Sweetheart?”

Her smile widens, but it’s brittle.

“Oh, I’m jus’ fine on my own,” she says, leaning closer, fingers brushing his arm. “Maybe I’m lookin’ for a little adventure.”

He glances around, clearly distracted, eyes on Maisie instead of his post.

Through my earpiece, I hear Olivia’s voice, low and urgent. “Hold position, Zane. The silent alarm on the back entrance has gone back to standby. We need to deactivate it again remotely before they can get out.”

“Got it,” I mutter under my breath, scanning the perimeter again. No movement. No backup on the guard’s end. Yet. Soon, the next shift will rotate. Our window of time to escape is narrowing fast.

Maisie lets out another loud, exaggerated giggle, stumbling into the guard’s chest. He catches her easily, his hands lingering a little too long on her waist.

My vision tunnels for a second, the beast inside me growling. I want to rip his arms off. But I can’t move. I’m her last line of defense if something goes wrong.

I’m their last line of defense, too. The only thing between the team and being certainly outnumbered by deadly combatants is if this creep hits his panic button. Rafael’s face flashes through my mind. I can’t be the reason he gets hurt a second time. It’s not like we’re friends—I don’t do friends—but if I did, he might be the closest thing.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Maisie coos, her voice saccharine as she fumbles with the strap of her purse. I know she’s making a show of it, buying time. “Maybe you could help a girl out? I can’t find my phone…”

The guard’s distracted now, completely absorbed in her, eyes fixated on the way her fingers brush the top of her thigh. It’s all I can do to keep from launching out of my hiding spot and tearing his throat out.

But this is her plan, and she’s pulling it off.

Still, something gnaws at me, something beyond the usual protectiveness. The way her hand trembles ever so slightly when she reaches for her purse and the way her breath catches almost imperceptibly tell me that she’s nervous.

I can’t stop the questions from swirling in my mind. What’s going on with her? Has something changed? If it did, she clearly isn’t willing to tell me.

She brushes against the guard again, pressing herself into his space. “I must have left it somewhere… maybe it’s at the open bar…”

He smirks, clearly interested, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else is watching. "Maybe I could take you inside,” he chuckles darkly. “Show you around.”

She giggles again, but this time, there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—a brief, telling flash that she’s about to make her move.

“I don’t think—” she starts.

But he’s moving closer.

My grip tightens on the binoculars as I watch him. His hand drifts lower, too close, resting on the curve of her hip like he owns her. Maisie's smile falters for a split second, and her breath hitches. Her eyes flash, betraying that flicker of panic.

My pulse spikes, sharp and cold.

She’s supposed to be in control, but this… this isn’t part of the plan.

The guard leans in, his voice low and rough. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s enough to make her tense. I catch the way her shoulders tighten, how her hand, the one not holding the fake cocktail, curls into a fist.

This isn’t a game anymore.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m moving.

I don’t care about the plan. I don’t care about the mission.

If he touches her again, I’ll rip him apart.