5

THALIA POV

CHAPTER 5 FRIDAY 5AM

“She’s awake. Set the table.”

Not Marcus’s voice. Not Vaughn’s.

I open my eyes to complete darkness. I’m blindfolded. What the hell!

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Damien’s voice, unmistakable.

 

I test my limbs: Legs free.Arms unbound.

I’m on a bed not restrained and the scent surrounding me is familiar: bergamot and vanilla. My custom candle, the one I make because store versions never match my father’s recipe.

I'm home.

“I’m making things fast and easy for her.” Carlos respond, closer than expected.

Footsteps retreat and a door closes.

Wait! Carlos and Damien are in my home?!

 

I blink twice after ripping off the blindfold, it's a sleep mask. And I blink again,to confirm I'm meeting Carlos’s eyes staring me down. He stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, forehead frowned.

Fuck. He captured me?

“Took you forever to wake up. Bathroom’s there.” He points behind me but I refuse to look, in case he stabs me.

“Get dressed. Let’s continue from last night.”

My throat feels dry and my chest hammers at the danger I might be in. He could have killed me while I was unconscious.

This room is too dark.

 

I take in my surroundings

The room is massive: double the lounge’s size. Everything dark: black furniture, charcoal walls, slate curtains. But there on the nightstand burns my candle.

“This isn’t my room.”

“True. It’s mine. Go wash up.”

I sit up immediately and lift my duvet... His duvet to my chest.

"How did I get here?"

He doesn't reply. My heartbeat echoes in my ear

"You kidnapped me?"

My voice harsher than it should. He squints his eyes, lift one eyebrow up then disappears through another doorway. Ignoring me.

 

'Think Thalia!'

I suck in a breath, try track-back to what I remember, what led me here. Chess. Blood.

I close my eyes and inhale.

Stupid trauma. It returned?

Three years since I overcame it and it returns in the most dramatic way?

In front of Carlos murderer Terrius

 

More than my trauma, a bigger truth dawn on me. I’m in Carlos’s bedroom.

Adrenaline floods my system. My mission crashes back into focus.

I look around for my purse and find it on the bed. My hands shake as I dump the contents. Scissors, Q-tip, lipstick.

Fuck!

What if he found my cameras?

Please be here. I need you now.

I open the hidden zip with trembling fingers and exhale! All three cameras still there, adhesive intact. Relief crashes into me so hard my knees weaken. I come down from the bed and freeze.

No socks. I'm barefooted!

 

My gun. Where’s my gun?

I search the bed frantically, throwing the duvet and sheets aside.

'Thalia Thalia! How could you do this to yourself!'

I throw the pillow aside and find it under it.

I exhale a large gush of air but my panic refuse to subside fully.

Carlos saw my gun and left it within reach while I slept, vulnerable and unconscious in his home?

He knows I have a gun, yet left it within reach? What game is he playing?

What if he’s testing me right now? I can lie. I'm good at it.

I check the clock: 5:14 AM. My wake-up time

I shake my head. No time to ponder. Nothing a little fib won't solve.

 

The room’s layout becomes clear as I move. The bathroom is to the left of the bed. Another door sits facing his bed, down three small steps. I look at the door Carlos left through, no noise.

Look around his room, no CCTV.

I creep through the stairs toward the door, cameras clutched in my palm as I open it slowly.

It’s an office. His office. Empty & dark. Windows are even closed. I look forward and sideways, no cameras in sight.

The bastard is probably too arrogant to assume no one can infiltrate his home.

 

I don’t let myself look around. I place the first camera underneath his desk with the mic facing out. The adhesive holds immediately.

One down.

I peek through the doorway, the bedroom remains empty.

Back in the bedroom, I position the second camera behind his bedside lamp, angled to capture the bed and the room’s main entrance. Confirm. Mic on.

The third one goes back in my purse. If I’m lucky, I’ll find somewhere more valuable to place it later. A safe room. A weapons cache. Something that will give Shadow the leverage we need.

 

I should call Marcus.

I search for my phone but can’t find it.

He’s probably with it.

I scoff. It’s clean as a grave thanks to Vaughn’s tech knowledge.

Least of my worries. I’ll find a way to reach Marcus later.

A smile spreads across my face. We’ll see everything through these feeds: meetings, phone calls, vulnerabilities. The reality settles in: after six years, I’m inside his sanctuary.

I’m finally, finally making progress.

I actually do a small victory dance toward the bathroom.

Then I stop cold.

All my products lined up on the counter. My shampoo. My specific Portland body wash. My toothbrush. Even my facial cleanser in the exact brand I use.

My heart pounds.

How does he have all this?

I pick up the candle from the nightstand, examining it closely. The scent is exact—bergamot and vanilla in the precise ratio my father taught me. I make these in small batches, never more than three at a time.

I made four last month.

But I could’ve sworn I woke up to two

My hands start shaking again.

Was my candle stolen? By Carlos?

No. Can’t be. I concluded I miscounted from exhaustion that week.

But how did he…

Stop. You’re being paranoid.

I look through the rest.

No clothes though. Just his, the shirt from last night, boxer briefs that might be clean.

 

I'm not sniffing to know.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge drowning in his clothes. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh.

Carlos sits at a small table positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows. A chessboard waits between two place settings. Toast. Coffee. Water.

“You can’t be serious. It’s not even six AM.”

“We had a deal. But you passed out.”

His hand is bandaged. White gauze wrapped around his palm.

The glass.

I scan the room quickly. No sign of anyone except the peppery, woody scent that I’m beginning to recognize as distinctly Carlos.

We’re alone. I’m trapped if he becomes a threat.

“How did you get my candle?” The question comes out sharper than intended.

“I had someone pick it up.” He moves his knight without looking at the board, eyes fixed on me.

“The candle is custom-made. Not available retail.” My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t.

“Then I guess it’s not that special.”

His nonchalance is more unsettling than anger. He either broke into my apartment or knows more about me than he should.

Neither is good.

 

It's high time I get cameras. I don't care what Marcus says.

We play. I lose pieces carelessly while he remains calm, composed.

“You must be very trusting, bringing a stranger home.”

We're halfway through and I'm losing. As planned. My mind haven't changed.

Fuck his job offer.

 

His eyes travel down my body slowly, lingering on how his shirt loosen on me.

My nipples visible through the thin fabric.

I match his stare as I drop my half-eaten toast.

Tank top showing muscled arms. Skull tattoo at the back of his palm. Hair down.

Longer than modern man, shorter than rebellion would allow.

His tongue piercing visible when he licks his lips from moving his gaze between my lips and chest.

Hes exact definition of dangerous edges and casual dominance.

He licks his lip again, picks up my half-eaten toast and bites exactly where my mouth was.

My lips part unwillingly and breath hitches. I gulp.

He leans back, legs spreading wider as he chews. I refuse to look.

Don't look at his thighs Thalia.

Each movement hammers in my chest.

“You intend to hurt me, pretty doll?”

He drawls out like the thought is laughable.

Cocky bastard

“I can try.”

He quirks an eyebrow, gaze returning to my visible nipples.

“It’s rude to stare.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“You didn’t give me another option.”

I make another move. He doesn’t look away when he plays.

“You’re naked underneath my shirt.”

He enunciates the word and I roll my eyes.

His eyes never left my body and I stopped being bothered.

He’s a Don who does what he wishes.

I’m glad he didn’t kill me.