"On the ground," Ace instructs, his voice steady and low. I gawk at him, my eyes bugging from their sockets.
"You're kidd-"
"Do as he says," Viper mutters into his glass. I catch a couple of glances from men across the table, their gazes assessing...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ace
I watch as Wren sits on a chair in the corner, her knees tucked towards her chest and her night gown riding up her thighs. My eyes take in the creamy expanse of her legs and I swear I drool a little at the sight of her. The map of Alek's mansion is splayed out against her legs and her eyebrows furrow adorably in confusion as she traces her gaze along each edge of the tattered sheet of paper.
She's no idea I'm here—no one does—except Ivan, of course.
The cameras on the outside of the building are playing a loop of footage that shows nothing's amiss, and the guards snuck off to play a game of cards suggested by Andrai, leaving Alek's mansion vulnerable. The men continue to give me shit about being a desperate dog for Wren, but knowing how far I'll go for her, and not knowing how tomorrow may go down, this may just be my last chance to have her to myself so I couldn't give two shits. Alek's men are proven to be careless, and if I were him, I'd kill them all on the spot. But thanks to their carelessness, I now get to see the one thing that haunts my every waking and sleeping thought.
Alek could be dead in minutes if I wanted; I could sneak into his room, shoot him in the head—no, I'd strangle him and watch the life leave his eyes, it's more personal that way. But that could put our whole plan at jeopardy, so I decide otherwise—especially with her on the line.
Besides, I just want to visit my little doll.
I stand on the edge of the windowsill just out of sight, my boots firmly planted against the balcony—if the term balcony was even permissible, more-so related to a ledge. The girls have no access to it, it can barely fit a full-grown person, and my footing feels precarious like one wrong move could leave me splattered against the cement below—but I don't care. I watch wren and feel almost as if we are sent back in time, back to when I stood on her street, a part of the shadows, and unbeknownst to her, watched her every move from within her home. I drink her in greedily like a glass of water given to some poor bastard lost in the cruelty of a desert.
After a couple of long moments, when I feel I've enjoyed this little game we used to play, I finally lift my hand and rap my knuckles against the glass. Her head shoots up instantly and her eyes fight to focus on my shadow, shrouded by darkness with a hood that conceals my face. The familiar look of fear clouds her expression and I feel my pants tighten at the sight. The look of fear in her doe-eyes do something to me that I'm too ashamed to admit. Finally, familiarity replaces the fear and a small smile pull at her lips. She stands quickly and rushes to the window, her satin gown hugging every part of her body and causing my fingers to clench with need; Need to touch her, feel her. She smiles at me and my cold heart clenches, loving the way her face lights up at the sight of me. A month ago, it was the exact opposite. Her fiery eyes wanted nothing but my death—can she blame me for falling so hard? Nothing makes me fall in love more than a woman who hates me. She reaches down to the handle and fiddles with the lock fastened on the window or a few moments.
