Tasteless

"ONCE WE ENTER THE PREMISES , you're to stay close, do everything I say, no exceptions."

Elizabeth nodded without meeting his gaze, and the sting of her avoidance hit harder than it should have.

" DC, the guy who owns this place—-he'll do anything for the right price. But he's also extremely good at keeping his hands clean, and that's the only reason why he isn't behind bars."

Elizabeth nodded again, gaze still fixed on the ground.

"Our goal is to get your dog out safely without raising any alarms. Understood?"

"Yes."

The strain in her voice lashed at his conscience, but Flint told himself it was better this way. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, couldn’t let himself care.

"Let's go."

He motioned for her to follow behind him, and they kept to the shadows as they made their way to the cottage.

Bucks had sold him a map to DC's place for several grand, and having a photographic memory enabled him to memorize everything in seconds. Ten-second windows between patrols. The type of security system that DC used. Blind spots and all possible exit points of the house.

Everything that had to do with safety, Flint had taken the time to learn, but what Bucks' map didn't prepare him for was just how fucking ugly DC's place was.

As picturesque the cottage may have seemed in the distance, up close it was nothing but a concrete pentagon-shaped montrosity that put to waste its majestic backdrop of pine trees and snow-capped mountains.

Flint glanced at Elizabeth, who was visibly struggling to contain her confusion. He cupped her chin to turn her gaze to his. Not a fucking sound. Got that?

His jaw clenched when all she gave him was a nod.

That's right, angel.

Hate me.

Guilt twisted in his guts even as his body moved on autopilot. Gaudy neon lights outlined the slippery driveway, but Flint bypassed this to pick the lock of a set of panoramic sliding doors at the back.

She followed him inside, not making a sound. But even he knew that she had other reasons for not saying a word. It was obvious that she wasn't even angry at him. She was just hurt, her heart shattered in pieces. Because she was a real-life angel whose greatest misfortune was running into an asshole like him.

Flint bit back an expletive upon realizing where his thoughts had taken him.

Get your head back in the game, dammit.

The interior of the cottage was as tasteless as it was on the outside. Taking center stage in the living room was a tall stone fountain...adorned with sculptures of bikini-clad women with cat ears. Framed movie posters hung on the walls, all of them featuring the bestselling adult films from all over the world. Even the furniture was an eyesore: a massive leopard-printed rug, zebra-striped couches, and a coffee table with a stack of Playboy magazines in full display.

He glanced at Elizabeth over his shoulder and was not surprised at how badly she was struggling not to gape.

Flint raised a brow in question, and Elizabeth seemed just about to mouth her answer when the light in her eyes suddenly died, and he knew that was the moment she remembered his words from earlier.

Don't play dumb.

She jerked her gaze away, and his throat burned at all the words he wished he could say.

I'm sorry.

It's not what you think.

I don't mean to hurt you.

But he couldn't.

Because the moment she started to matter to him was the moment Flint had to cut things off.

Completely .

Permanently .

And in the most vicious way possible so that there was no turning back for either of them.