23. Layla

23

LAYLA

If there's one thing about Ethan, it's that he could never understand the glorious thrill of doing something bad.

There's a rush, a wave of adrenaline that blooms out of my chest when I merge with a cluster of caterers dressed in a monochrome of black to line up at a service door at the back of Pulse's building.

I first experienced it when I met the Scythe. The feeling escalated when the Scythe kidnapped me, tied me to a chair, and let me believe a man was about to kill me before interceding and slaughtering that same man in front of me. It didn't go away when the Scythe gave me his real name, theoretically softening the threat against my life to a more palatable, heartbreaking revenge scheme of a devoted father, even after his daughter's death. The need for more of a kick, more adrenaline, stayed with me, and now I've left the safety of Kaden's fortress to experience more of it.

Ethan is grounded, intelligent, and uses rational thought to make his way through life. He wanted to work for the CIA but a poorly timed prank involving hacking his university's grading system branded Ethan as a security risk, dashing his dreams. So he pivoted in a reasonable fashion, working in the private tech industry instead.

Me? I've led an independent, lonely life whose excitement consisted of punching my mother's boyfriends in the nuts if they came too close. I enjoyed the rush then, too, but stayed the course, graduated with honors, and nurtured my talent with computers.

Kaden changed all that when he didn't just redirect my moral compass, he annihilated it. Thinking of him stops my breath. Picturing Kaden's punishment when he ultimately catches me tonight, which he will, sparks that glorious thrill. I just hope it's after I tank Morelli's AI and render it permanently useless.

When I slip in with a group of catering staff, my black dress allows me to blend seamlessly into their ranks. We approach the service entrance, and I discreetly reach out and press my thumb against the electronic lock's sensor, my touch delicate and fleeting. A faint blue light flickers beneath my fingertip, and the lock's LED shifts from red to green for the briefest of moments before reverting back. To anyone watching, it would appear as though I had swiped my access card along with the others, when really, I piggy-backed off the guy in front of me.

The servers and I walk into a portable kitchen built for Pulse's event, with chefs barking orders and dishes clattering, the air thick with savory aromas that make my empty stomach grumble. I duck and weave through towering hors d'oeuvres balanced precariously on silver trays, ignoring my stomach's demands and heading for the next corridor. I'll steal some food later as a nod to my rogue teenager days, because fuck Dawson and this event.

As I slip out of the bustling kitchen and into the hallway, my heart pounds with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The high of infiltrating Pulse's event undetected lifts my chest like a balloon, urging me forward.

The deserted hallway stretches long, its walls adorned with prints where art, technology, and the brightest colors possible collide. Standard office carpeting muffles my heels while I half run, half power walk through it.

I'm so focused on my destination, mentally rehearsing the steps to access the server room, that I nearly collide with a figure when I round the corner.

The stench of expensive whiskey and cigar smoke assaults my nostrils as I instinctively recoil and wrinkle my nose. He sways on his feet, his suit jacket unbuttoned and his tie hanging loosely around his neck as he steadies himself against the wall and struggles to focus.

"Yum," he slurs, a lecherous grin spreading across his flushed cheeks when he spots me. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing back here?"

My stomach churns as his eyes rake over my body, lingering on the curves accentuated by the fitted black dress. I take a step back, trying to maintain a professional demeanor despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this area is off-limits to guests. If you'll please allow me to escort you back to the main event space..."

He lurches forward, trapping me against the wall with his bulk in a heartbeat, his breath hot and sour on my cheek. "Nah, I think I'd rather stay right here with you, sweetheart. How about you show me a good time, huh?"

One meaty hand comes up to stroke my cheek, and I barely suppress a shudder.

"You shouldn't be wanderin' around all alone. Never know what kinda trouble you might run into."

My insides revolt, churning with caustic disgust. I force a smile, my mind whirring as I try to find a way out of this situation without blowing my cover.

"That's very generous of you, sir, but I really must insist that you return to the party. Mr. Dawson wouldn't want one of his esteemed guests to miss out on the festivities."

The man's grip on my arm loosens slightly at the mention of Dawson's name, and he leans in closer, his whiskey-soaked breath making my eyes water and my contact shift. I rapidly blink it back into place.

"Dawson, huh? You one of his special girls he promised to bring into the VIP room?"

I nod, playing along. "That's right. And he wouldn't be happy if he knew you were back here, keeping me from my duties."

A conspiratorial grin spreads across his ruddy face. "Well, we wouldn't want to upset the big boss man, now would we? 'Specially not tonight, with all the big deals he's got goin' on."

My curiosity piques despite the precarious situation. I feign wide-eyed innocence.

"Big deals? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir. What could be so important?"

He grins, his teeth stained with tobacco.

"Oh, you know," he drawls, his words slurring together. "All the hush-hush stuff happening in that fancy VIP room. Dawson's got some real important people in there if you catch my drift."

He taps the side of his nose with a clumsy finger, a gesture that might have let me in on his secret if he weren't so drunk. "People you don't wanna mess with if you know what I mean. And I should know, I'm what they call a ‘made man,' you see. Part of the family."

My knees buckle at his revelation. A made man—a fully initiated member of the Mafia. What are the chances this man is from Morelli's?

High. Very high.

At the stunned look on my face, he follows up with, "Wanna see my gun?" then cups his crotch and gives it a wiggle.

I force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as brittle as it feels. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises!"

All while my brain ignites, synapses firing like a lightning storm that this man is connected to Morelli. I can't risk asking more questions and blowing my cover or arousing his suspicion, but the temptation to dig deeper, to uncover any scrap of intel that could help Kaden, is nearly overwhelming.

I flutter my lashes and aim for a breathy, adoring tone, channeling every bad noir film I've ever seen. "You must be so busy, what with all your important responsibilities. I'd hate to keep you from your obligations."

His chest puffs up at the praise, and he releases his grip on my arm to straighten his crooked tie. "Damn right, I am."

I nod eagerly, subtly shifting my weight to one side in an attempt to edge away.

My watch vibrates with an incoming text from Ethan. I discreetly read it by placing my hand on the man's chest. His heart races beneath my palm, the heat of his body seeping through his sweat-dampened shirt.

You ok? You've been in 1 place for a long time.

I take a deep breath, schooling my features into a mask of demure subservience. "I really must be going now. Mr. Dawson is expecting me, and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting. Us girls are meant to give you men a big, sexy surprise later."

The man's bleary eyes narrow, and for a heart-stopping moment, I fear he'll refuse to let me go. But then his face lights up like a toddler on his birthday. "Like dirty and sexy? "

I wink with my good eye. "Absolutely."

"Off you go, then." He flaps his hands. "I gotta leave, anyway, because, uh, I was sent here to, hmm … I can't quite remember. Grab another bottle of whiskey from the kitchen?"

Leaving him to his problem-solving, I slink past and stride as fast and as calmly as my legs can carry me before I'm out of his sight. Hopefully forever.

My steps slow when I hear a loud crunch, then gagging sounds coming from his direction, but I don't dare backtrack to inspect it or see how badly he's fallen or passed out. As soon as I spot the emergency exit door, I push through and enter into the stairwell.

Lifting the watch close to my mouth, I dictate a response to Ethan in a whisper. "I'm fine. Sidelined by a drunk prick, but on my way to the basement now."

But Morelli's name won't stop circling my mind. I pause on the landing, my hand gripping the metal railing as I wrestle with two decisions that pull me in opposite directions. On the one hand, I came here tonight with a singular purpose—to destroy the illegal AI that Dawson, Morelli, and his cronies have been developing in secret. It's a noble cause, one that could prevent untold harm and suffering if this technology were to be leveraged by the Mafia.

Except Frank Morelli, the monster who murdered Kaden's daughter, the man he's devoted his life to destroying, is here in this very building. Conducting his business in a private VIP room, no less.

A sitting duck.

Kaden, Morelli's here.

The mere thought of bringing Kaden the news sends a shiver trickling down my neck and a delicious ache blooming deep in my chest. If I could just get eyes on Morelli and confirm he's here … it would mean everything to Kaden. To us .

The temptation is too much, luring me away from my original mission with whispers of Kaden's praise, his approval, his touch...

I close my eyes and imagine the look on Kaden's face if I were to present him with a lead, something concrete he could use to get one step closer to Morelli. The way his icy-blue eyes would warm, just a fraction, as he regards me with a mix of surprise and grudging respect. The ghost of a smile that might play at the corners of his sensual mouth, a rare display of pleasure in a man so tightly controlled. And later, when we're alone, the way he might show his gratitude with those skillful hands and wicked tongue...

God, what I wouldn't give to please him, to be the one who delivers Morelli to him on a silver platter. To see the look of fierce pride and possessive hunger in Kaden's eyes when he realizes what I've done for him.

No.

I'm becoming as obsessed with Kaden as he is with me. Unhealthy and toxic.

The world matters, not just one person. I have to stick to my plan.

I descend the final steps into the basement where a blast of frigid air greets me, chilling the sweat that had begun to gather at the nape of my neck.

The hum of countless servers fills the cavernous space, a constant drone that vibrates in my chest. Rows upon rows of tall, black server racks are lined up in front of me, their blinking lights creating an eerie, artificial field of stars.

I pause, orienting myself. At the far end of the room, I spot my target, a glass-walled control center, its interior lit with a soft, bluish glow.

But before I step toward it …

" Dammit ," I hiss, unabashedly annoyed with what I'm about to do, but unable to stop myself.

I lift my wrist to my mouth again. "Hey, is this line secure for, uh, classified intel?"

Ethan responds immediately. Damn right babe. I mean, respectfully, yes. It is.

After blowing out an exhale that puffs my cheeks, I make my confession. "I need you to drive to my house and get Kaden. Morelli's here."

WUT. DO U WANT ME TO DIE.

"Well, I'm 90 percent sure Morelli's here. Kaden will want to check it out."

No way. Not leaving you.

"I'm fine. I made it to the basement. I'll be done in fifteen minutes."

You only have 10 left.

"Soon to be nine if you keep making me reply to you."

A few seconds, then: Fine. I'll go. If I don't hear from u in 10 mins, I'm calling the police.

I'm forced to accept his deal. Like Ethan said, I don't have a lot of time and can't waste any more seconds, especially considering what I've just added to the mix.

I lower my arm, fully aware of the hell I just unleashed upon myself once Kaden arrives.

My heels click across the concrete floor as I approach the glass-encased control room. As I reach the clear door, I pause, my hand hovering over the handle.

This is it. The moment I've been preparing for, the reason I risked everything to infiltrate Pulse tonight. With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I grasp the handle and pull, surprised when the door opens with ease.

A cocky grin tugs at my lips. They never expect a woman in a pretty dress to be a threat .

The door clicks shut behind me with a soft hiss of hydraulics. A quick glance confirms the room is empty, the sole occupant being the massive computer terminal that dominates the far wall. Its array of screens flicker with lines of code and complex diagrams, a silent concerto of data waiting for the right conductor.

An ethereal blue sheen reflects off the skin of my arms as I approach the main terminal and reach into my purse to pull out a small, foldable keyboard.

The device is sleek and lightweight, its matte black finish absorbing the ambient light rather than reflecting it. I unfold it with a practiced flick of my wrist, the keys clicking into place with a satisfying snap.

Connecting the keyboard to the main computer is a simple matter, the USB cable snaking out from the device and plugging into an open port.

The arrogance of it all, the sheer hubris of thinking themselves untouchable, sends a surge of righteous anger that boils.

Until the numbers on the screen shift and morph before I touch a key.

For the second time tonight, I curse out loud. My contact is dry to the point that it's nothing but a knife to my cornea, so I pull it out and flick it into my purse, never to be used again.

Now that I can see properly, my fingers fly across the keyboard. I'm not just deleting the AI; I'm obliterating it. My custom-made virus will spread like wildfire through the Pulse Dynamics' servers, corrupting the AI's core and poisoning its data beyond repair.

But I'm not stopping there.

With each line of code, I'm weaving a digital trap, ensuring that any attempt to recreate this monstrosity will trigger a devastating system-wide meltdown. I think of how Dawson manipulated me and my colleagues, using our innovations for his twisted agenda, and the contract they put on my head because of it. This isn't just about destroying a dangerous creation—it's personal.

With three minutes to spare, I'm about to seal the fate of Morelli's illicit empire. Let Dawson try to do a test run tonight. Let him try to rebuild from this, I think, a fierce smile playing on my lips. I've just turned this technological nightmare into digital dust.

But in the space between one heartbeat and the next, everything changes.

The lights cut out with a sickening electronic whine, plunging the room into a darkness so absolute, I let out a squeak of surprise. The servers fall silent, their constant hum snuffed out.

And then, before I can even process the sudden shift, a strong hand clamps over my mouth from behind, stifling the scream on my tongue.