Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

AELLA

M y shift is almost over. A yawn tugs my mouth open as I finish in the bathroom and flush the toilet. Washing my hands, I take a moment to look myself over. Purple bags under my eyes scream that I've yet to get used to being on the night shift. I have plenty of time to sleep, but two men have taken some of that time up. I can't seem to keep my hands off of it. I'm slowly falling for Miles, but I'm a goner regarding Braxton. He's become something more. Something unspoken because there are no words to describe my feelings for him.

I don't know if it's the fact that I could've lost him that sped up my feelings for him or if I'm only letting myself feel them because of what happened. Either way, I hope nothing goes wrong between us. Losing either of them would kill me.

When I step out of the bathroom, I take a moment to stretch before I head back to the line, but a light at the end of the hall grabs my attention .

"Administration," a flashing sign reads. The bulbs are dying, but my heart speeds in my chest as I take it as the universe's sign that tonight is the night I try to get some answers.

This was the entire reason I took night shifts, after all. To gain access to these exact offices.

Before I can think about what I'm doing and how risky it is, my feet paddle silently down the hall toward the blinking light. Checking behind me occasionally, I try to focus on my actions to avoid making mistakes. Getting caught would be the end of me here. Not that I need the job. I need answers for them.

Once I make my way down three different hallways, following signs for administration, I have a sneaking suspicion I'm in a new building. One that might connect to the factory, but it's another world entirely.

Each door has a name on its black, outward-facing plate.

When I reach the one at the end with my father's name etched into it, the golden letters seeming more pristine than the others, I nearly stop breathing.

Sure, I thought he'd have an office, but his having one in this branch, next to so many people beneath him, astounds me.

I always thought he'd be on the top floor, not with everyone else working here.

I shake my shock off and grab for the door handle.

It is not locked.

This seemed ridiculous until I remembered that housekeeping cleaned these offices daily. I vaguely remember another girl talking about it in the break room a few nights ago. She'd been complaining about how ridiculous it is that they must clean every night when the offices are pristine.

Half of me wishes I knew when the housekeepers would arrive, but I don't have time to freak out. I'm finally here. Finally, we are close to answers for Miles and Brax.

I turn and lock the door handle. At worst, the cleaners will think he forgot to leave it unlocked.

Here's hoping they don't have keys.

Sitting on his chair is surreal. Of course, it has a tall back, and the smell of leather wafts to greet me as I twist toward his computer.

Of course, it's password protected, and after five failed attempts, it locks. I don't know if it will alert him tomorrow that someone tried to get into it. I also don't know if he has cameras in his office.

My ignorance only shows my lack of criminal expertise because I didn't do my homework well before sneaking into this office.

I reach for the set of drawers to my right. There's nothing notable inside, though. A bottle of his cologne I've seen him use all my life, a few pens, and some random office supplies.

The larger drawer at the bottom is where I halt and hold my breath before tugging on its handle. Because if any of them will give me answers, this one will because it's big enough to hold files.

When I pull, it opens.

Tightly packed files peer up at me, and I turn on my phone's flashlight and lay it facing the ceiling to give me enough light to read.

My fingers stop moving over the tabs when a familiar name stares at me.

Bardot.

Inside are pay stubs—and oddly enough, they're recent. One is dated last week—last Friday—when I got paid.

They're made out to one S. Bardot and worth two weeks' wages.

"What the fuck?" I breathe out, looking at what seems to be evidence that Miles and Braxton's mother is still alive. But she doesn't work here… or does she?

How could the news report on her being missing and the police investigate her disappearance if there's a literal paper trail that proves she isn't?

The Mac on my father's desk makes a noise, and I look up to see a little reminder notification pop up.

Don't forget to pick up S's medicine.

I look back down at the folder.

S. Bardot.

The door handle jiggles as I close the drawer, grab my phone, and shut the flashlight off. There's a small closet to my right side, but I don't know if it will be large enough to hide inside. Nor do I know if they're going to open it.

Fuck!

If I get caught in here, I'll never get answers.

Dad will fire me and likely not speak to me again .

"It's locked again, Sue!" the voice on the other side calls out.

Again, this means Dad's recent forgetfulness in unlocking his door is good. It'll mean no red flags are raised.

"I swear to God they never listen," another woman says. I hear keys jingling beyond the door, and her footsteps get closer.

I stand and make for the closet.

"Goddammit, I don't have that key. We'll have to try again another night," Sue says, and the other woman sighs.

The squeaking wheels of a cart move away from the door, but I stand still. With all I've seen in Dad's office, I'm finding it hard to stand here and not just make for the clubhouse with the file to tell Miles and Brax, but I need to make sure they're off this floor before I go.

The line workers have no doubt noticed I'm missing. It's been twenty minutes, and though I can use the excuse that my stomach is upset, if someone has already checked the stalls for my whereabouts, that won't hold up.

I might get fired anyhow.

After another ten minutes of hiding, I finally could return to the line. I stowed the file I'd taken from Dad's office into my locker and returned to the line, seemingly unnoticed. I see a few curious glances thrown my way. I rub my stomach a few times and feign illness.

By the end of the shift, I'm practically buzzing to get back to the clubhouse. Stowing the file in my purse means rolling it up, but I do it anyway.

"Have a good night," a girl calls out, and I wave at her.

"You, too!" I tell her.

I always park the furthest away from all the other cars, not wanting to draw even more attention to myself by letting them all see what I drive. I round the corner and head to my car, feeling eyes on the back of my neck as an ever-pressing presence.

I'm sure it's only because I just stole from the building. These files are the property of Montague Inc., and I'm sure what I've just done is a felony.

When I hear footsteps behind me, I panic. My heart speeds, and tears prick as I hurry to my car. It's not yet light out at six in the morning. I wish I wasn't such an idiot and parked closer to the rest of the girls.

Speeding my feet, I quicken as my car comes into sight.

Half of me wonders if it's whatever Cobra is watching me that's behind me, but they've never let themselves be seen or heard before. They've remained hidden even when I've been in the street yelling for them.

My car butts up to a curb, pines, and bushes behind where I've backed into the space, and Sully steps out and makes eye contact with me before looking behind me as I rush him .

He tugs me behind him on instinct, looking out into the darkness as if he senses the same thing I did.

"Sully," I mutter in a whimper, fear radiating from my voice.

He tugs me toward him, signing something I can't understand.

He growls, the sound more strangled than I've heard from anyone before. He's frustrated, and why shouldn't he be? He can read my lips but needs to communicate with me, and I don't know how to understand what he's signing.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types it away in the notepad app. I shift on my feet anxiously. He lifts it, the screen facing me.

" Were you being followed?"

"I don't know. I felt like it. I could hear footsteps. I thought it might be a Cobra, but I never feel you guys behind me. Even when I know you're there."

His grin is smug as he types. " Cobras don't make themselves known."

I'm shaking, and Sully sees that and tugs me into him. Even though I don't know him well, I melt into him. Knowing he won't harm me. Knowing he's going to protect me.

Whoever was following me, if they were there, saw him and moved off. Hopefully, they now know I go nowhere on my own.

"Thank you, Sully. I was so scared."

His brow arches as if he knows there's more to my fear than I'm letting on.

"I stole something from my Dad's office—something the boys need to see. I was afraid someone had seen me. That someone knew."

He nods. Opening my passenger door, he motions towards the seat.

"What about your bike?" I ask.

He eyes me as if to say he'll handle it later, and I'm thankful I don't have to drive back to the clubhouse in my state.

He's about to close the door when I stop him and stare deep into his dark eyes. Sully is scary, don't get me wrong, but there's also something soothing about his presence. I know I'm not on the other end of his cunning. I'm standing behind him, under his protection.

"Thank you, Sully," I tell him again, wanting him to know how truly thankful I am he was here tonight.

He nods once, but his features soften as he closes the door.

Rounding the car's hood to get inside, he eyes the empty parking lot beyond us, still on high alert in case someone lurks.

My life was unassuming before I met Braxton, but I don't think it'll ever be that way again.

Not now that I'm a Cobra.

I hope I'm cut out for it.