Page 41 of Shattered Veil
I’m sickened by what happened to her. Iwillfind and punish that prick. My chest tightens and a thickness in my throat makes me heave. I’ve never killed anyone. Never had to. Never wanted to. I deliver intel to my brothers, who use my evidence to assassinate our enemies.
That’s my role. But this... This hatred of a man I’ve never met and the desire to see him suffer and die at my hand will eat me alive, turn me into someone I don’t want to be.
“I’d like to talk about you working for me,” I say to Ella.
I need to get out of my head or I’ll strangle my plants.
“Did I do something wrong?” She bites her lip.
Fuck, I want those red velvet pillows wrapped around my dick so badly.
“No.” I touch her arm, needing more contact or I’ll go insane. “Ordering food for us all day and making coffee isn’t something I really need.”
She nods. “I understand.”
“But there is something I can really use you for.”
Her eyes widen. “Yeah?”
It’s thrilling to think she’d agree to be my no-strings, plaything. God, the fun we could have.
“If you’ve noticed I don’t always make it into the office by eight.”
“Or nine. Or ten.” She smirks. “Late nights with theladies?”
I push her against the breakroom wall, my control snapping. “No. There’s been no one else, Ella. I... I can’t.” Rolling my eyes, realizing I’m making it sound like I can’t get it up, I clarify, “I can’t be with anyone else. Not while I still have your taste in my mouth.”
And what I’m about to ask is only going to make her a bigger temptation.
I might be a genius, but I’m a masochist too, apparently.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ella
The following Monday, Trace tells Dad he needs to find his own way to work. Grumbling, he orders an Uber. God forbid he takes the subway.
Trace then brings me to a three-story brick townhouse in a very chic Astoria neighborhood.
Last week, Balor confessed to having horrible sleep habits, ones that make him impossibly late every morning. He’s even missed appointments.
“It’s a lot for me to admit that I need this,” he confessed, blushing.
Then he assigned me the duty of waking him up. In his bed. And making sure he’s awake and into the shower.
Trace parks in the driveway and lets me inside the house through the kitchen. My jaw drops at the size of it. On the island is an envelope, and inside is a key to the house. Along with a bunch of passwords and pins.
I’m flattered by how much Balor trusts me.
Trace tips his head to me and disappears into a room behind the kitchen after fisting a Red Bull from the pantry.
Past the kitchen, through a living room with a fireplace, I find the staircase near the front door.
Swallowing, I climb, mentally counting the steps. It’s something I do to reduce stress. At the top of the stairs, a landing stretches out.
Which bedroom is his?
He never told me. A few open doors suggest those aren’t the rooms. I take Balor for asleep-with-the-door-closedkind of guy.