4. Luke

I’m monitoringfeeds and tracing signals like a ghost haunting the fucking digital world when Cian’s call comes through. The screen flickers as his face pops up, all rugged charm masking the strain barely kept in check. I’ve seen him in every shade of pissed off, but this, this is different. Protective fury, that’s what’s etched into every line on his face.

“We’re a go,” he mutters from what appears to be him lying on someone’s—not his—bed. It sends a bolt of deep-rooted lust straight to my cock as I imagine it’s Victoria’s.

“Ordered and picking up. You sure she’s not going to shoot me?”

“Can’t guarantee it, but her dad convinced her it was in her best interests.”

“Charles is there?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, fun.” I snicker at the sour look on Cian’s face.

It’s a fucking delight working with this lot, always dancing on the edge of a knife. I hang up and check the last batch of encrypted messages crackling through our network. All is clear for now, but I don’t expect that to last.

My phone pings, and it’s the order I placed that has come through already.

Prepping myself mentally for dealing with Victoria, I smile. She’s a firecracker and no mistake. Pulling on my leather jacket, I check the pockets for everything I might need—keys, phone, taser. Can’t be too careful with her; she could try to take me out with a fucking hairpin if she felt like it.

Cian would cut my balls off and feed them to me if I hurt her, but a little electricity never did anyone any harm.

As I step into the crisp morning air, the mist clinging to my breath, I imagine her reaction when I show up. I’m not exactly her favourite person. Scratch that. I’m not even on her radar. I’m Cian’s mate, and that’s it. Not that it bothers me—I’ve never needed to be liked. But Victoria has got this way about her that gets under your skin whether you want it or not.

The sleek black sedan in the driveway is inconspicuous enough not to draw unwanted attention as I climb in and fire up the engine. Heading out towards the warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where the tech is ready and waiting, I weave through the traffic like a pro, making every second count. This isn’t a joyride; this is logistics with a side of potential mayhem.

As I drive, I run through every possible scenario in my head. Victoria Stroud is unpredictable, which makes her dangerous, and I fucking love it. I love the challenge of it, the way my adrenaline spikes when she’s pushing everyone’s buttons just to see how much she can get away with.

The warehouse looms ahead, a nondescript beast squatting in the grey early morning light. I pull into the car park and kill the engine with a sense of purpose throbbing in my veins, not to mention my cock. Victoria is a man’s wet dream, and she fills my mind most seconds of every day. I envy Cian to the level where sometimes I can’t be around him.

Inside, the tech guys are already packing up the gear. Cameras that can see in pitch black, mics that can pick up a whisper from fifty feet away—state-of-the-art shit that most people don’t even know exists. I check each piece personally because if something goes wrong, it’ll be on my head.

The guys inside give me a nod as I walk past; everyone’s on the same page—get in, get set up, get out. No time for fucking around. I grab the boxes containing the high-end surveillance gear and load them into the trunk. My mind is already mapping out the installation points in Victoria’s place. She, not to mention whoever this fucker is that’s messing with her, won’t even know they’re there unless they’re looking for them—that’s how good I am. The thing is, whoever this asshole is, I’m betting they’ve staked her place out, and know there are no cams up. That means they will cock up next time, and we’ll have them.

The drive back is smooth; traffic has picked up, but nothing stands in my way. As I pull up to Victoria’s place, an attack of nerves hits me square in the chest. Not for the job, not even about her fiery attitude, but the thought of seeing her again sparks something inside me—a dangerous something.

I grab the gear and lock the car behind me, making my way to her door. Just before I knock, I take a deep breath because this could go one of two ways: she lets me in without much fuss, or she sends me packing with a side of verbal castration. Or possibly even physical castration.

But when the door opens, it’s neither.

It’s Cian.

“That was quick.”

“Don’t fuck about. Where is she?”

“Waiting to have this talk with her dad. He took a phone call and is still on it. She’s pissed.”

“Oh, fucking great,” I mutter. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Oh, don’t fucking blame me. Blame Charles. I thought she’d be distracted, but here we are.”

“Well, I’m not here. A fucking ghost.” I place the case down and look up above the door. “Let me work and keep her away from me.”

“Gladly,” he says with that smug smile that tells me he is thinking of all the ways he can do that.

“Fuck off now,” I say, crouching down next to the case to get started on the outside. There won’t be cams inside unless they’re placed there without her knowledge. The thought of observing her in her natural habitat, alone, naked, makes me stifle a groan of longing. But if she, or Cian, ever found out I was spying on her, I’d be six feet under. If I’m lucky.

I work fast, hands steady even as my mind races with thoughts of her. Each screw I fasten, each wire I hide, is one step closer to ensuring Victoria’s safety.

In less than half an hour, the perimeter is rigged with eyes and ears that would put fucking MI6 to shame. It’s discreet, it’s deadly effective, and it’s going to keep her out of danger—or at least give us a fighting chance to get to her if shit hits the fan.

Taking a step back, I admire my work from a distance. You wouldn’t notice anything unless you knew exactly where to look. The gentle hum of satisfaction in my chest doesn’t last long, though; the sound of footsteps alerts me that my time alone is up.

Victoria’s father, Charles, rounds the corner of the house, strolling through the garden as if this were a beautiful summer morning, and he has nothing better to do.

“Luke,” he murmurs, looking up. “Nice job.”

I give him a sharp nod, knowing he isn’t just talking about the surveillance setup. Old man Stroud is well aware of the tensions and the dangers, and his acknowledgement means more than I care to admit.

“Thanks,” I say tightly, my eyes scanning the area one last time, ensuring nothing is out of place. “It’ll keep her safe.”

Charles’s gaze hardens for a moment, a glint of something lethal behind those eyes. “It better,” he replies with a quiet intensity that reminds me he’s not just Victoria’s dad. Despite my own powerful family connections, this is a hierarchy, and Charles is at the top of the fucking totem. He’s a man with enough connections to make life very unpleasant for me if his daughter ends up in any sort of trouble on my watch and not think twice about the consequences.

He walks past me towards the front door and opens it, stepping inside and then shutting me out. There’s nothing left but for me to pack up and head out. As I climb in the car, I see a black SUV round the corner and catch sight of the elusive Butcher of Barnsdale at the wheel as he pulls up in the driveway. He is probably here to pick up his boss. I ignore him as he does to me, and that’s the way this game is played.

Pulling away from the curb, I fight back the urge to look back at her windows. Every move I make now has to be calculated and controlled. The surveillance rig is my tether to her safety—my excuse to justify the need that gnaws at me whenever she’s nearby. But it’s also a line I can’t cross. She’s Cian’s, and yet every fibre in my body screams otherwise.