I'm not surprised. He doesn't keep anything from his sister. Never has. "No one else has seen her," I state. I'm only privy to the information because I ran into her during my first nightly food hunt. She didn't anticipate anyone else would be awake and almost gave me a heart attack.
"Wes saw her when you arrived but hasn't put together that she was not one of his friends. He was too preoccupied with King once Haddie was in bed."
I chuckle and can't swallow the comment. "Don't tell me you've used your little creation for anything but security purposes?"
He closes his eyes and draws in a calming breath. "Dude, I wanted to bleach my eyes after witnessing…" He shudders. "They're like family. It was like catching your kid sister—"
I blink, scanning his features. My mouth falls open, his mortified expression a dead giveaway. It's like a switch flipped, and I double over. My shoulders shake as I attempt to suppress the laughter. Straightening, I slap his shoulder. "Man, don't tell me you did…"
He whips around. "Not on purpose, fucker," he growls and pushes me with so much force I stumble to the side.
This is too good.
"I've always been alone. The system sent an alert aboutunusualactivity. I fixed the sound alerts quickly after that," he mumbles the last part.
I bend at the waist again and howl. My side cramps as I try to draw in the necessary air. I needed a distraction but didn't expect it to be this humorous. It feels good not having to force the positive emotion—great, even.
"Fuck you. I'm going to bed," he announces with a huff before pushing himself out of his chair.
I straighten and mock salute. "Sounds good, boss." Another chuckle bursts out. He doesn't spare me a backward glance.
Alone,I plant my ass behind the desk. Pulling my phone out of the pocket of my sweats, I unlock the device and click on Spotify. Being the mastermind he is, my boss created his own network inside the walls of the estate. You cannot bring technology inside unless he allows it, but everything works perfectly normally once you're permitted access—even inside the steel cage I'm currently sitting in. Tapping on the radio based on my most recent playlist, I place it next to the keyboard and lean back in the chair. I let my gaze flit across the screens. Everything is quiet. I watch him enter his bedroom, and my fingers hover over the keys before I type in the commands, transferring the feed to the six monitors on the wall. Each screen now displays another six windows. The estate has hundreds of cameras, each individually accessible. I let the system my boss developed from scratch when he was in his midtwenties do its thing.
The man is a true genius.
The pictures switch every couple of seconds, and my eyes swipe over the frames. The feed changes again, and I sit up straighter. There is movement by the pool. The property has an underground gym, a running track, and an indoor lap pool. I enlarge the frame and narrow my eyes.
What the—
In the back of my mind, the song coming out of my phone's speakers registers. "Glass House" by Machine Gun Kelly fills the air.
How ironic.
Denielle sits at the edge of the pool. She is still in that ridiculously oversized, long-ass dress she wore earlier today, the material pulled up to her thighs as her feet dip in and out of the water. I zoom in further and pause. The water of the pool is reflected on her glistening cheeks. My brow creases, and I tilt my head to the side. I don't think I've ever seen the woman cry. No, not true. There was one time. The day she thought I was about to kill her BFF for clocking me in the jaw. The idiot threw a jealous tantrum because of his own indecisions about his now wife. Keller stepped between us. I didn't stick around to see the full extent of her little breakdown after I made it clear once again where we stood. However, I'm aware that Denielle Keller doesn't show weakness. She got her nickname for a reason.
Studying her features, I follow the movement of her fingers swiping under her eyes, and my curiosity peaks. Why is she hiding down there? And in the middle of the night.
I grind my teeth as a bitter taste coats my tongue.Why the hell do I care?I don't.If she's upset, she probably deserves it.
I'm about to minimize the window when Denielle leans forward and slips into the water. Fully dressed. I blink. The fuck? Her head goes under, her dark hair the last to disappear. Holding my breath, the beat of my heart accelerates while I wait for her to come back up. What is she doing? I glance at my watch and back at the monitor. When the ripples in the water smooth out, I press my palms onto the armrests of the chair, ready to push out of the seat. No matter how much I loathe this woman, blame her for her part in what happened to McKenna—my eye twitches as I force myself to think her name—I'm not letting Denielle harm herself on my watch, let alone under Lilly's roof. What the fuck is wrong with this wom— Her head breaks the surface, and I exhale sharply. She treads water for a few minutes before she swims to the edge and pushes herself up. She faces the camera, and it's apparent that her tent of a dress is weighing her down. A diabolical grin pulls at the corners of my mouth, enjoying her struggle. I cross my arms and lean back, waiting for her to— The amusement dies in my throat, and I choke on my spit at her problem-solving: Denielle sinks back into the water and strips out of her clothes. A flutterunsettlesmy core. She is not wearing a bra, and where my gaze dips…NO!
I avert my eyes from the screen. This is not happening.But it is.A tingling that has no business being there floods my body. The music filling the background switches to "Familiar Taste of Poison" by Halestorm, and my cock stands at full attention from the short glimpse. My fingers curl around the armrests, and I squeeze, battling the urge to look back. I lose.
My stomach rolls in complete contradiction to the rest of my body. This woman is the physical reminder that McKenna…Kenis no longer with me. This is not some peepshow on Pornhub. But my groin region doesn't get the memo. Blood continues rushing to my cock, which, with my growing hate for Keller, causes a physical conflict I have no idea how to handle. Hate is black and white, dark and light. Either you do or don't. This is neither. I despise Denielle with every fiber of my being, yet said fibers have a will of their own. I shift and lean forward, grasping the edge of the desk as irrational thoughts fill my mind: intercepting her on her way to her room, pressing her into the wall, her legs wrapping around me and— My dick throbs in my sweats. I lock my jaw, and deep-rooted anger (at my body) slowly replaces the heat fueling the need to feel her perky tits on full display. She pulls herself out, her dress hanging limp from her fingers. She's standing there next to the in-ground pool, chest rising and falling, staring at nothing. The only fabric covering her is a black lace thong, and I can no longer stop myself from scanning her body. Denielle Keller is painfully beautiful—even with all my contempt and resentment, I have to admit that. Her subtle curves are the right amount of athletic and feminine. Her flat stomach shows a hint of muscle but not to the point of a six-pack. Her tits are the perfect handful, not too big or too small. My fingers itch at the thought of squeezing them, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. She emanates everything I've always been attracted to in a female. Jesus, why couldn't it have been King? Or even Elle or her sister? Elle is my type of brunette, but she's taken. And her sister is as blonde as it gets.Fuck!
Denielle drops her dress and reaches back to wring out her wet hair. My eyes greedily follow her movement, and I move one hand from the desk to fist my cock through my sweats. This is so many shades of wrong, yet the rapid thudding against my chest won't subside. Instead, it ramps up, and after a brief hesitation, I untie the string of my sweats. My fingers tremble as I pull the band of my pants down, letting my dick spring free. Every muscle in my body is coiled. I fist my shaft, moving up and down once, and my eyes roll back inside my head. When there is no visual connection anymore, rationality slams back into my brain. I'm not doing this. Not with her. I tighten my grip until I'm forced to hold my breath, nerve endings screaming at me to stop. Just when I'm about to grunt from the self-inflicted punishment, I let go of my cock and pull the waistband back up.
Not waiting for Denielle's next move, I turn off the feed and grab my phone. I'm out. The need to numb myself takes over, and I exit the NCC, not bothering with the lights. Taking two steps at a time, I make my way down the double staircase to the first floor, aiming straight for the bar in the grand room. Peering at my choices, I grab the bottle with the most amber liquid inside. I don't care what it is. It'll do.
I turn to head back up to my room when something catches my eye. Someone. Denielle, wrapped in a white towel, hair still dripping wet, and her dress clutched to her chest. She pads toward the foyer and staircase, not paying any attention—probably not expecting anyone to be here at almost four in the morning.
Before I can stop myself, I step away from the wall and in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. My shadow appears on the floor as she is about to step into that spot. Denielle shrieks and drops her dress, holding on to the towel at the last moment. She whirls in my direction, and our gazes collide. A buzzing current fills my veins. She sucks in a breath, and I revel in the emotions flitting across her face. Surprise, confusion, fear, and… She scans me up and down, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. My eyes narrow. I hadn't seen that since our first meeting—before I knew who she was. I slant my head as I slowly advance. My adrenaline spikes, and I revel in the feeling of the hunt, stalking my prey. I expect her to cower, as she has done for years, being fully aware of her guilt. She does the opposite. Denielle pulls her shoulders back, not dropping her eyes from mine. Ineedher to retreat. She is tall, but I tower over her nonetheless. When I'm less than a foot away, she cranes her neck.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I growl, putting extra disdain in the question. I know very well what she did. I watched her like a fucking Tom. But there is no way I will ever let her see what her little show did to me. I'm in denial myself. She is the reason… With that thought, my fingers curl inward, and I breach the gap between us until my nose almost touches hers. I can barely make out my own words over the rushing in my ears. "Get the fuck to your room, Keller. You have no business being here."
Awake or here, as in the sense of the property, she can draw her own conclusion to the meaning. I need her to submit. This is how it works.
Her lips press into a thin line, and she scowls. This is not how this is supposed to go. I wait for her to throw some type of retort my way. She raises her chin, indicating that, for once, I'm not intimidating her. The flutter in my lower half tells me I want her to push back. No. She is not allowed to be strong when it comes tous.But then she dips her head, crouches to pick up her fallen dress, and walks away without a backward glance. Her spine is straight, and my disgust has reached a new high. I am in charge. She is not! Her feet connect with the first step, and I whirl around, hurling the bottle against the massive fireplace.