All Chapters of Cracking His Code: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

OliverThe wait is absolute fucking torture.I can’t see a thing. The padded silk blindfold blocks out every trace of light, plunging me into a thick, suffocating void. My hearing dials up to a terrifying degree, picking up the faint, rhythmic hum of the building's ventilation and the slow, deliberate scuff of Kir’s boots against the hardwood floor.He’s pacing at the end of the bed.The lube is cooling against my aching cock, a sticky, agonizing reminder of exactly where he left me.Every time I twitch, the thick leather cuffs bite into my wrists and ankles. I’m spread open, immobilized, and burning up from the inside out.I should hate this. By all logic, being strapped to a bed in the dark while a massive, lethal man silently circles me should send my anxiety into overdrive.Instead, my brain, which usually refuses to shut the fuck up, is blissfully, beautifully empty. The crushing responsibility of worrying about my own survival is gone. Kir has taken it from me, leaving me w

KirThe drive across the city feels heavy, like a storm looking for somewhere to break.My hands are clamped onto the steering wheel of the stolen sedan, the tension radiating in a hot, rigid line straight up to my shoulders. My gaze flickers between the windshield, the rearview mirror, and the side mirrors in a tight, repetitive pattern. I am tracking every pair of headlights, every pedestrian lingering too long at a crosswalk, every vehicle that makes more than two consecutive turns behind us.Oliver sits in the passenger seat. He’s quiet, which is a rare, unsettling thing. He has his knees pulled up, his sneakers resting against the edge of the dashboard, staring out the window.He smells like my shower gel and the faint, lingering heat of my bed.The scent fills the cramped space of the car, scraping against my nerves. It’s a heavy, undeniable brand claiming he’s mine, and every time I inhale, a tight coil of possessive heat twists low in my gut. But fighting that heat is the

KirThe atmosphere inside the warehouse is toxic. The air feels heavy, suffocating under the weight of what we just learned.My jaw is locked so tight the tension radiates in a hot, aching line up to my temples. Nobody is speaking. Max stands a few feet away, his massive arms crossed over his chest, a mountain of silent, radiating violence. Tariq is beside him, all of his usual bright energy violently erased. The young forensics expert stares at the floor, his jaw working as he processes the sheer volume of human lives being bought and sold by the man hunting Oliver.Or rather, facilitated by the man hunting Oliver. This is not a web with one spider at the center, in control of every strand. This stretches across the world.Oliver is leaning against the cold brick wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his own torso. He’s shivering, the tremors vibrating through his frame, and I want to pull him into my arms and lend him my heat until he stops shaking.What completely derails my tra

KirThe city map spread across the metal table is a goddamn mess of exit routes and choke points, and I can’t focus on a single inch of it.Scott’s shadow empire is sitting on Chana’s drives.If he finds out we’re the ones who breached his servers, he won't send a discreet hit squad. He’ll send an army to wipe this entire block off the map.I need to be calculating defense vectors. I need to lock this warehouse down.Instead, all I can hear is Oliver’s voice."I'm just saying, if you're offering to buy me a drink after we save the world, I prefer cocktails to bourbon," Oliver says.I don't look up, but I know exactly what he looks like.He’s leaning back in the chair next to Chana, his long legs stretched out under the table.He’s talking to Tariq. His tone is easy, dropping into that smooth, careless charm he wears like a second skin.He isn't trying to be seductive. He’s just existing, tossing out effortless flirtation while I stand ten feet away, my jaw locked so tight my teeth ach

KirOliver hasn’t said a word to me since we left the warehouse. He looks shattered. His skin is pulled tight over his cheekbones, his eyes bloodshot from staring at the monitors for hours. But underneath the exhaustion is a sharp, jagged resentment directed squarely at me.He puts as much distance between us as the architecture of the penthouse allows, his shoulders rigid, the air in the room vibrating with his silent, simmering rage.He drops his bag onto the floor with a heavy thud and doesn't look in my direction. He just turns and starts walking toward the guest bedroom.He hasn’t slept there in weeks and the message he’s sending is loud and clear. But I pretend to be deaf and blind.I catch his arm before he can take another step.He jerks away instantly, his muscles bunching with hostile energy. "Don't," he snaps, his voice hoarse and scraped raw. "Keep your hands to yourself, Kirill. I’m done playing whatever game this is. Fuck the hacker in private and scorn him in public