Page 115 of Nest of Thieves
It’ll be game over when he figures out I changed his password.
Serves him right, though.
I stare at my screen. The camera is positioned almost identical to the one in my bedroom; only, Lark’s bed is perfectly made. Because I’m extra petty, I lie down and rub my scent all over his pillows. I bite my lip and decide to be extra bad. The danger of getting caught in his room, messing with his cameras and his passwords, is enough to send a little thrill of excitement through me.
Once he finds the camera, he’ll watch the footage, or at the very least, scan through it, right? Since he’s so intent on watching me, maybe I’ll give him a little show and an extrafuck youby leaving the delicious scent of my arousal hanging in his room. I pull my shorts and underwear off and spread my legs, slipping my fingers over my wet heat. Fingering myself isn’t nearly as fun as being knotted or having a vibrator, but I find a little climax and rub the victory of it all over his sheets, leaving a heady reminder of what he missed out on.
And wouldn’t you know it, suddenly I’m not bored anymore.
* * *
LARK
I grab my phone for the tenth time and try to open the app. I get the same error message as the last attempts and growl under my breath. Stupid app. I don’t know why it’s not working. I’ve never had problems with it, but something must have updated.
“What’s up?” Vette asks.
“I can’t check the cameras.”
“Thought you told her to turn them off.” Mac kicks his foot up on the console.
“I did, but I can’t even log into the app to see if she did.”
Mac hums. “And if she did, you wouldn’t be able to see her, anyway. Are you going through withdrawals?”
After spending a day watching over Damien’s men running guns, yeah, I’m missing Jo. The job was pointless. There was no Philly Vipers movement, and instead of hanging out at home with Jo, the three of us spent all day cramped in a truck together. I know why Damien’s being cautious—we screwed up a major business deal for the Philly Vipers—but I hate feeling like I’m wasting my time, especially with a gorgeous omega waiting at home for us.
“Well, we’re home, so you don’t have to worry anymore. Now you can stare at her from across the room like a normal creep.”
It should alarm me that Mac is counseling me on how to handle my Jo obsession, but it doesn’t. If anything, relief shudders through my chest ,and I hop out of the truck before Vette fully parks. Jo’s scent is all over the house, and I follow it all the way to my room, where it slams into me like a Mack Truck. I inhale deeply and release a low growl when I scent her cum. I storm inside and stop at the bed, glaring at the mattress.
It’s all over. It’s so strong.
Stomach churning, images of her with another man in my bed flood my mind. It doesn’t make sense. Who would she invite over? She doesn’t know anyone here but the guys from the shop. I sniff again. There’s no other scent, but my alpha nature is on possessive overdrive. I should go find her and make sure she’s okay, but I don’t. I type in the password to unlock my computer but get an error.
I frown and type in the password again.
Another error.
I scowl. She wouldn’t...would she?
Digging around in my desk, I search for the password-cracking device. The little box of cameras isn’t where I left it. She went through my things. Little minx. I knew she would if given the chance. I don’t know why I’m surprised that she actually did. The password-cracking device I’m searching for is all the way at the bottom of the drawer. I insert it into the USB port and let it run, prepared to wait hours. While I wait, I scan the rest of my belongings, making sure nothing else is amiss.
Not even two minutes later, the device beeps.
Why go to the trouble of changing my password and make it that easy?
I look at the letters lit up on the tiny display window and scoff, rereading it.
Kissmyass.
Kiss my ass.
What a brat. I type it in and open the camera feeds, using the new password for that as well because Jo changed that one too. A goofy grin cuts across my face. I scroll through the cameras and furrow my brow. Forty-nine. There aren’t forty-nine. I flick to the last page of the video feed and tip my head to the side, staring at...my bed? The lines on my forehead deepen as I replay the footage from the start. Jo turns in the computer chair and glances at the bed for a moment before getting up and rubbing all over it.
That explains her scent.
Then she does something unexpected. Her eyes find the camera, and she slides her shorts and thong off. Her fingers dive down to her pussy, and I don’t need to see any more.
