Page 88 of Wicked Savage

He laughs dryly. “Let me guess. Trouble again?”

“This is important.” My eyes track her as she climbs into her car, the bodyguards getting into the SUV behind her.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s always important. What do you need?”

“I need you to disable an alarm just in case it’s on. One of yours.”

“Oh, that’s it?” He snickers. “I swear I need to start screening all your calls.”

“Can you do it or not?”

My patience is thinner than paper. She’s leaving soon, and I need to move fast. If I know Konstantin, he’ll have her turn on the alarm even with the staff in the house. Can never be too careful.

“Whose place is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. I also need access to her phone. One of yours too.”

Grant mutters something under his breath—probably regretting ever becoming friends with us. It’s no one’s fault but his that he’s a tech genius, running Westfield Enterprises, which creates AI tech and all kinds of other shit.

I can almost hear the click of his keyboard as he starts working. “Alright. Give me the address, and I’ll take care of it.”

I send it to him, and fifteen minutes later, I’m in her house, slipping in through a back entrance, keeping my movements quiet. Grant gives me a code to bypass the alarm and tells me what app to download to track her cellphone activity, another one of his creations.

“Better not hurt her,” he warns.

I let out a heavy sigh. “The last thing I want is to hurt her. If I wanted her dead, it’d be easier.”

“Lucky girl.” He scoffs. “Call if you need help.”

I hang up, my phone heavy in my pocket as I adjust my sunglasses and force myself to blend in. I can’t afford a mistake.

Making my way upstairs, I try to figure out where her room is. I open the first door, finding a generic bedroom with blue walls and white bedding. Not hers. I check the next two rooms: a bathroom, another guest bedroom.

Fuck!

But I can’t give up. I keep moving, until I finally find it. Her room. The bed is large: cream upholstery with lacy white curtains and pink-and-yellow floral bedding. But it’s not the décor that gives it away. It’s the scent. That sweet floral perfume.

Walking over to her vanity, I pick up the bottle, bringing it up to my nose and inhaling. I close my eyes, trying to feel her presence, to pretend she’s right here with me. But when I stare back, all I find is the emptiness around me.

My anger festers.

What the hell am I doing? Breaking into her house, stalking her. What the fuck is wrong with me? When did I become this guy?

But I can’t seem to stop myself either.

Moving toward her hamper, I find her clothes, a pair of black panties lying right on top. I let myself feel the thin scrap of fabric, my cock throbbing at the mere thought of her wearing a strappy thong and nothing else.

My pulse jerks as I grab them and bring them to my nose, the smell of her pretty cunt invading my nostrils.

I miss her smell. I miss the way her eyes sparkled like stars when she looked at me. I miss everything about her.

God, Dinara, I wish this was easy. I wish I could say fuck it all and have you.

As I run a hand down my face, frustration sets in. I hate myself for not being able to just forget what happened to Mom.

But I won’t betray her. I can’t. As long as I live, Dinara and I will be nothing.

Except you’re in her house, smelling her panties like a psycho. So what does that make you, asshole?

---