Page 125 of Painted Scars
Her laughter rings off the concrete walls, bright and unapologetic, shaking the foundations and letting cracks of light filter through. Sunshine against the bunker’s utilitarian gray. She leans over Grayson’s desk, needling him about romance tropes, and he’s engaging her instead of retreating into his screens. My bunker’s never been this loud with joy… never felt this alive.
Fuck. She’s here. In my world. With my people. Months ago, the thought of her anywhere near Spartacus had me chaining the doors. I saw her as someone to keep out of the line of fire. Now, I see the steel under her glitter, the woman who can take a hit and fire back. I should be on edge, but my walls roll down, inviting her deeper.
Kate sweeps her arm across the room. “Don’t I need some sort of initiation to work here? A neck tattoo? Deadly test?”
I chuckle. Yep. She’s feeling more like herself by the hour. “Swear fealty to the cause, commit at least one state crime, and drink coffee black.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t know if I can do the last one.”
“Pussy.” I wink at her, winning a warmer smile.
I move to my workstation, clearing a space for us to work amid the computers and half-dismantled rifle Katar abandoned mid-maintenance. I won’t chew him out for this one, since I called him last night seeking a favor to secure her laptop, personal documents, and files, leaving them with Grayson forsafekeeping. Then Katar disappeared into whatever hidey-hole he’s sharing with Murder Spice.
I set up her laptop and flip the lid open. “We rescued your things from your house in case the Romans raided it.”
“Thank you.” She gives me a brighter smile after nothing but darkness for the past twelve hours.
I gesture for her to take my chair, pushing her in when she drops her ass to it, crushing my fingers into a fist instead of brushing her shoulder.
“We’ll plug you into Spartacus’ secure system and review every shred of evidence on Burt.” I shove an Ethernet cable into the connection on the side of her laptop. Old-school because we lack wi-fi. “Ready to drop your first glitter bomb?”
She glances up at me, eyes twinkling with mischief and awe that shows me she understands what it means to be fully immersed in my world. “Hell to the fucking yeah, Daddy.”
Jesus. She’s riddling me with bullets. That nickname is more than I deserve, but I’ll spend every breath earning back her trust. I school my face to not give my pleasure away.
We start combing through the data Grayson pulled for us.
“Why does plotting the downfall of a secret empire feel like foreplay?” she muses.
She needs to stop before I tell Grayson to take a fucking hike while I lift her ass onto the bench and show her how truly sorry I am.
Our hands skim the same page, fingertips colliding. Neither of us moves. Her natural citrus and sugar scent blankets the stale of the bunker and wraps around my lungs. The betrayal is unresolved between us, the tension explosive. All I need is one more chance and I’ll make this right.
I clear my throat and move first, getting back to the document. Numerous HR complaints. Sworn statements from women who never got their day in court. Settlement documentswith gag clauses. Court records buried under seal, all showing similar patterns. Burt’s protected because he’s too valuable to the newspaper to lose.
Kate snorts at reading that. “Valuable as a heart attack.”
Fucker will wish for a quick death with what I’ve got planned for him.
Kate shakes that off and scrolls through each file with a reporter’s precision, lips pressed thin, forehead creased. Every so often, she flicks to a notepad screen, jotting down thoughts, deleting them, and typing something else.
She glances over at me. “Ideas for a headline?”
Not my strong suit, but I give it a try. “How about Esteemed Editor Exposed as a Piece of Shit?”
Her mouth presses together to hide a smile. “Needs a bit of work.”
She enters this onto the screen.
Subject:Burt Travers: A Pattern of Protection.
Subheading:From Complaints to Complicity - How a Newsroom Fed a Predator and the Romans Paid the Bill.
I rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “That will make more than HR shit their pants.”
She glances at my hand, lingering a second too long. Friendly and supportive. How I pat Grayson’s shoulders after he nails a hack.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing treating her like one of the crew? She’s not a soldier. Kate’s bright, reckless, and brave. I snatch my hand back before I do something stupid like trace her collarbone just to see if she leans into it or slaps me.
