LOGINAfter my talk, it seems as though David has taken what I said to heart. Over the course of the next few days, he talks to me more, little comments, quips just like before this emotional rollercoaster started. It makes my chest feel warm, the excitement of our developing relationship hitting home the more I look over at him, smile at him, tease him back.
It has almost made me forget about the other side of the relationship. The physical side, the one that has this whole thing from the secoHe knows. I don’t know how he knows, I don’t know who in this building has a death wish severe enough to gossip to Elias Arden about my business, but he knows, and he’s sitting there with that barely-there smile like he’s already won something and we haven’t even been in this room for five minutes. I turn back to my notebook and write absolutely nothing on the clean page in front of me because I can’t remember what class this notebook is even for and my brain is too busy formulating ways to make the next two weeks survivable. The proctor, whose name tag reads Ms. Finch and who has not looked up from her paperback once, clears her throat at the front of the room for no apparent reason and then goes back to reading. The fluorescent light buzzes faintly overhead. Someone two rows ahead is clicking a pen in a rhythm that I am going to need them to stop immediately. “You’re not going to ask me how I know?” Elias says, without looking up from h
The thing about stealing is that the hard part was never the taking. It was the getting away with it. "Left, left, left!" Emma hisses beside me, her ponytail whipping across my face as we round the corner. "I heard you the first time!" I snap back, tucking the folded test papers tighter against my chest as we sprint. The manila envelope crinkles with every stride and I want to scream at it to be quiet, but that would require slowing down, and slowing down is not something I can afford right now because two of Westbridge Academy's finest security personnel are thundering behind us and they are, unfortunately, more athletic than their faces suggested. "They're gaining!" Emma breathes. "Thank you, Emma, I would never have figured that out on my own." She ignores my sarcasm, which honestly, after four years of friendship, she's gotten very good at. We skid around another corner and I catch the exit sign at the end of the hallway, gr
So.You thought Lucia was going to be easy, huh?You sat through David Reid terrorizing grown men in tailored suits, watched Nora survive things that would break most people twice over, closed that last book feeling like you understood this family... and you thought the daughter was going to be the simple one.Adorable.Lucia Reid didn't inherit her father's patience or her mother's grace. What she got was the stubbornness of both of them wrapped in a pretty face and a mouth that has never once known when to stop. And the boy she is about to meet did not come looking for love. He came looking for something else entirely.I'll let you find out what.So here we are... back in the SIR universe. But this time, we're trading polished power games for sharp tongues, stolen glances, family wars, reckless decisions, and two people who would rather choke than admit they’re obsessed with each other.This book is messy.It is addictive.It is arrogant.It is emotional damage in designer shoes.An
The bedroom door is barely closed before David's hands are on me, sliding up under the thin silk of my robe as he backs me against the wall. I tilt my head back against the cool plaster, letting him kiss down the column of my throat while my fingers work the buttons of his shirt open. His skin is still firm under my palms, though the muscle has softened slightly with the years, the hair on his chest is more silver than dark now. I love every change. Every line around his eyes when he smiles, every grey at his temples, every scar from nights we almost didn't survive. I trace them with my fingertips as I push the shirt off his shoulders. "You smell like trouble," he murmurs against my collarbone, voice low and rough the way it gets when he's already half-gone on me. "Good trouble?" I ask, sliding my hand down his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jump under my touch. "The best kind." He catches my wrist, brings my palm to his mouth and kisses the centre before guiding it lower
Wow. I can’t believe I’m writing this. Two chapters and one epilogue ago, we were still holding our breath. Now here we are… at the end of SIR. For good this time. I don’t even know where to begin. Thank you. Truly. Thank you for stepping into this world with David and Nora. Thank you for riding every high, surviving every heartbreak, arguing with me in the comments when I stressed you out, and loving these characters as fiercely as I do. What started as an idea became something so much bigger because of you. Writing this book breathed life into my lungs in ways I can’t even explain. There were days when this story carried me just as much as I carried it. David and Nora’s journey wasn’t just ink on a page for me. It was healing, it was cathartic, and most importantly... it was home. And now… BOOK THREE! After so many debates with my editor and so many passionate discussions with you all, I’ve finally made the decision. Book 3 of SIR will follow Lucia. Yes. Our little Lucy
Maya jerks backward from the impact, the bullet tearing through the meat of her shoulder. She staggers two steps with her right hand clamping over the wound and blood already seeping between her fingers. The knife she’d pulled from her boot clatters to the floor. Her eyes are wide and locked on the smoking barrel in David’s hand. I’m still on my knees beside Vincent’s body, his blood soaking through my jeans. My ears are still ringing from the shot. Everything feels slow and too loud at the same time. I turn and see David standing in the doorway, holding the gun steady even though his knuckles are white around the grip. He doesn’t look at me first. His eyes stay on Maya. I push myself up slowly, legs shaky under me. “I thought I told you to stay outside and let me handle this on my own.” He finally glances my way. Just a quick flick of his gaze enough to make sure I’m still breathing, before returning to Maya. “I heard you,” he says. His voice is calm, almost conversational.
Maya stands frozen under the bright lights of the Red Room, her chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide with the kind of shock that only comes when every careful plan collapses in the same heartbeat. Blood is drying on my arms, sticky and warm, but none of it is mine. The bodies of her men lie
Six months pass in the kind of blur that only comes after everything has already broken and been pieced back together wrong-side-up. David finishes physical therapy the week before Thanksgiving. The last session ended with him jogging in place on the treadmill while the therapist clapped like he’s
David’s eyes are already on me before I even hang up the call and lower the phone. He doesn’t ask who it was. He doesn’t have to. The way my shoulders stiffened told him everything. “No,” he says before I can even open my mouth. I slide the phone back into my pocket and meet his gaze. “I didn’t s
The recorder sits on the kitchen island like a small black bomb waiting to detonate. I haven’t touched it since I got home at three in the morning, showered twice to wash off the warehouse smell, and crawled into bed beside Lucy without waking her. Now it’s almost ten and I still can’t touch it. M







