Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Harper

"You are far too serious," Kent says with a thick voice from sleep. As he rolls onto his back, his grey sheets wrap and pull tight over his hips, making him look like a Greek sculpture being unveiled at the Louvre museum. Trust me, the crowds would come for him.

"It's called work, Kent. I know it's shocking; some people actually work and don't just fuck around," I bite back, angrily stabbing at the keyboard.

Did I sleep in his bed? Yes, but for argument's sake, it was just that, to prevent an argument, which seems to be our new form of foreplay. So yes, I crawled into bed after having a second glass of wine. I slept like a baby, cradled and swaddled tight. I woke up with Kent's arms hugging me, his left leg swung over me, and yes, his hard cock pressed against my back. In other words, I woke in utter bliss.

Fucking hell, I'm weak! Hell, where are you, because I'd like to throw Kent behind your fire gates.

"You're angry?" He says as he draws his muscular arm up to prop his head higher, "I know a good way to make your morning better." He shifts his hip.

He's hard…and now I'm starting to get wet.

Stop it! Focus!

The better question is: why did I grab Poppy's new laptop after waking up, only to come back to bed with it instead of working at the kitchen table? If Kent asks, I'd tell him it was because I was cold. Lies. I missed his heat. That, and I kept looking at his almost naked body to calm me down. I need to calm down because I'm about to blow a gasket.

"Yes. I'm fuming, actually. Wise assumption, Kent. You can read facial gestures. Bravo, you're functioning at toddler level. Now be a good boy, and let me work."

"Come on, Siren," he mumbles, "tell me what's got your panties in a bunch. Actually," he leans on his side, his hand sliding under the covers to my thigh, "let me help un-bunch them."

"Not now!" I hiss.Oh lord, his fingers feel so good on my skin.

He chuckles, "That's an opening for later. I'll take the raincheck."

"You're impossible."

"I know," he grins as he pushes to sit up. I continue to work, feeling his eyes burning into me. "Okay, seriously, what's going on to have you so determined? I'm turned on, yet also jealous," Kent admits.

"You won't understand," I grumble.

"Try me."

I sigh, feeling a deep worry in my gut spread like wildfire. "I'm currently monitoring network traffic."

"For what?"

I brace myself, pressing against his plush headboard. "For the spyware I found on Poppy's old laptop."

Kent tilts his head, "That doesn't sound good."

"It isn't. I was transferring her data overnight, and I thought to myself before I dump all her old shit into this beautiful new baby, let me make sure everything is clean. Surprise, it wasn't, and that's not the most disturbing part," I admit; my throat thickens because I have no idea how I am going to admit this to Poppy. What I found isn't good.

"You think the maintenance man installed it on her computer?" Kent asks. I can hear the worry in his voice. He scoots closer to me as if it's some form of comfort.

"That's what I assumed."

"That sounds like you're thinking something else now?"

I lick my lips. He's right. I assumed the creep had put the spyware on her laptop, but after a short dig, I started to worry that something else was going on.

Until I have concrete evidence, I won't know.

"I'm monitoring where the data is being sent to, Kent," I begin to tell him. Actually, venting to him is kind of refreshing. "While that is running in the background, I'm reverse-engineering the spyware to understand its code structure and functionality. I want to find a hole or backdoor so I can get inside and gather more information about its origin or even take control of it."

"Fuck, that sounds sexy," he mutters. "Keep dirty tech-talking to me, Siren."

He's forcing me to taste my own medicine. Turning serious moments into sexualized jokes. Swallowing your own medicine is hard but doable. Open up and swallow. See…that could be sexual, too. Kent and I are two peas in a condom-sized pod.

Ignoring him, I continue as my eyes keep looking up and down his body. "I'm going to trace the IP addresses the spyware communicates with. Once I find it, I will set up honeypots—decoy systems to trick them into revealing themselves," I turn to face him, "and then I'm going to launch a counterattack."

Kent flashes that signature grin, lazily lacing his fingers behind his head as he lounges back against a headboard that screams, "Playboy with a taste for luxury." The early light sneaks in through those pretentiously large windows, draping us in a glow that feels a bit too warm, a bit too intimate. His bedroom is a shrine to minimalist chic—sharp lines, a palette that sticks religiously to blacks, grays, and the occasional rebellious splash of deep red. It's all so... Kent. The air carries a hint of sandalwood mixed with a tang of citrus, subtle yet undeniably present, much like the man himself, lounging in nothing but his boxers, making it hard not to notice... well, everything.

"Siren," he slowly says, his nickname for me. You really are beautiful." His eyes soften into a genuine look he has begun to show me when it's just the two of us.

My gulp gets stuck to the walls of my throat, which feels more like quicksand. He's looking at me too deeply like he's referring to my heartbroken soul. If I try to wiggle free, his eyes will just trap me deeper. So, I try not to react or show emotions.

I fail and slip an inch deeper into his trap.

"I wish I could hurt whoever made you this way." He whispers.

"I made myself this way." Why did I tell him that?

He pushes up into a seated position. "Then let me fix you."

My lip tugs up into a sad grin. "You and I are not ‘fixers,' Kent. We are the ones that break hearts, not mend them."

I dare to look at him. His initial facial gesture tells me I'm correct.

"People change, Siren."

"Some stay the same." I blink rapidly and look back at my keyboard, wishing I could just press ‘delete' on this conversation. "Cut it out with the nickname."

He looks at me a second longer before he dissolves the serious moment. "Oh," he draws out the word, turning it into a playful tease, "you're into it. ‘Siren' suits you."

Good, we're back to banter. I feel like I can inhale again. When I do, my hard heart feels weaker…more fragile, like some of my thick scar tissue was chipped away by his eyes.

"You just can't be bothered to remember my actual name because it requires a brain cell that can function," I counter.

He shifts closer. The sheets slip, revealing more of his sculpted lower torso. Clapping his hands together like he's about to announce the next great plan, he shifts the focus back to the situation at hand. "So, what's the move? Do we bring Julian into this little spy drama?"

"No," I shoot back quicker than intended, a surge of apprehension tightening my chest. "I don't know if this has anything to do with your brother."

Confusion etches deeper into Kent's features, the playfulness from moments ago evaporating into the charged air between us.

"This spyware has been nesting in her laptop," I pause, drawing in a heavy breath to steady my voice, "for years, Kent. Years."

His confusion morphs into something darker, a shadow crossing his face. "What the fuck does that mean?" He mutters as he absently scratches at his jaw.

"Exactly my point," I let the words hang heavy, a mix of anger and ice in my voice. "Why has someone been obsessively watching my best friend for years, Kent? It's not just emails or passwords. They have been watching her. Hacked into her camera. It films and sends videos to someone, Kent." The facts slice through his shocked silence, leaving a trail of cold dread in its wake.

Tears threaten to spill over as they prick at my eyes. "How am I going to tell Poppy this, Kent? Someone has been filming her. Watching her every move." I feel like I'm going to be sick. I want to be wrong, but I know what I found.

Kent leans forward, pulling me into a tight embrace that feels like a lifeline in the midst of a storm. No words pass between us, but his fingers press into me with silent intensity, a physical promise of support where words fail.

What could he say, anyway? There's nothing that could smooth the raw edges of my fear. Nothing could extinguish the roaring fire inside of me for revenge.

All I want is for Poppy to find happiness and live freely without shadows looming over her joy. It's a cruel twist of fate that just as she begins to find her peace, something comes to sour it.

It feels like we've just peeked under the bed to find the monsters are real, and they've been here, hiding in plain sight, much longer than we ever feared.

***

"What time is that guy interviewing Poppy?" I shout to Kent, who is taking his sweet-ass time getting ready.

Kent's uncle, who heads the CIA and is equally determined and annoying as Kent, is sending a team to examine Poppy's apartment. He will also send a guy to ask Poppy some more questions about the maintenance man. Kent and I are planning on meeting Poppy and Julian at Sterling Defense. Naturally, I want to be there for my bestie, but I also wish I had an excuse.

I'm going to tell Poppy, but I just don't know when is the best time to say, ‘Hey, someone was not only tracking your digital footprint but spying on you through your webcam.' Yeah, no time is right to confess that.

"At 11:00. We'll leave as soon as I'm dressed," he says, poking his head through the door, his gaze lingering with a hint of anticipation.

Fuck me. No, please fuck me. He's standing there, dripping wet from his steam shower, clad in nothing but a plush white towel, the steam still wafting around him like a seductive haze.

A knock at his front door is either my savior or the person behind it should burn in hell for forcing me to peel my eyes off Kent's sculpted body.

He combs back his wet hair with his hand, "Can you get that for me?"

I raise a brow, "It's your house."

"I'm in a towel."

"I'm sure you've answered the door in far less."

He chuckles, "But the person at the door is for you," he admits with a devilish grin.

My body stills, fingers hovering over the keyboard again. Not many things could distract my attention from typing, but Kent takes the cake. He's dangled bait that is too tempting.

A knock comes again, harder this time. "It's rude to keep people waiting," Kent jokes, his voice tinged with amusement.

With a roll of my eyes, I stand and open his front door. Confusion mars my brows when I see two men struggling to hold an enormous mattress wrapped in thick, tinted blue plastic.

"You, Sterling?" The man grunts.

"No," I reply. Why does the young school girl that still lives in my mind like the sound of that? Why is she mentally doodling hearts that say, Mrs. Sterling?

Because she is a fool, my inner voice chides.

"I am," Kent shouts, his voice echoing behind me. "You can come this way. This is the room here."

I step aside, and the men bring the mattress inside. I look at Kent, who points to his bedroom and then looks over his shoulder at me with a playful challenge in his eyes.

"What is that?" I ask, knowing it's a stupid question. I know what it is, but the question is, why is he getting a mattress delivery?

"It's our new mattress," he replies as he begins to close the distance to me, a soft yet determined expression on his face. "Now you have no excuse not to sleep in my bed."

My heart melts into a puddle that he scoops up and claims.

I joked last night about not wanting to sleep in his bed because I know Kent is as big of a whore as me. Unlike me, I know he brings women back to his apartment, which means that mattress is like the Moulin Rouge of rotating, leg-kicking, dancing braless women.

He got me a brand-new mattress! It's possibly the sweetest and most disturbing thing a man has done for me.

When he comes toe to toe and looks down at me, I can't help but reach up and cup his still-damp cheek, the scruff from his unshaven jaw rough under my fingertips. I push up on my toes and bring my lips to his. As soon as we kiss, I feel like I'm floating up, up, and away like Dorothy, but eventually, I know I'll have to leave Oz and return home.

His hands wrap around me, cupping my ass and tugging me higher so he can sink his tongue inside of me and deepen our kiss.

Eventually, I pull back and place my hand on his bare chest, "I'm still not fucking you, Kent."

He flashes me a goofy smile, his lips slightly red from our kiss, "Who said anything about fucking? I'm a changed man now; I only make love, not war, Siren."

I swat his chest and step back. "Battles are much more entertaining than peace treaties," I reply, knowing that my mind is preparing to fight a huge battle with my heart. The question is, will I survive if my heart wins?