Page 153 of The Pucking Wrong Man

There was a long, exaggerated silence, and if this had been a text conversation, there would definitely have been a “…” involved.

“If I were to burn down a building…”

“Hypothetically...” I interjected.

He snorted. “If I were to burn down a building, hypothetically, I’d want to target areas where a fire could take hold easily. Maybe near the entrances or exits, where the airflow is strong, or in the storage room where there might be flammable materials. I’d make sure that all the cameras in the area were disabled first. I’d wear a disguise when I went to the building and start the fire from inside rather than outside. Hypothetically, though, I would hire someone to burn it down using a burner phone that was untraceable so that it could never be linked back to me.”

I blinked slowly, even though he couldn’t see me.

Because hypothetically...hiring someone was a lot better idea than doing it myself.

But also, he sounded like he'd put a lot of thought into that, and that was definitely something to think about.

“Do you...hypothetically need help with any of that?” Lincoln asked, so casually you’d almost think the golden god really was speaking hypothetically.

Before I could say anything, I got a text from him with a phone number. “Call that phone number...on one of those prepaid phones from the grocery store. Tell him what you need. You’ll be good to go,” Lincoln said before he hung up.

Alright then…that sounded like encouragement. But it didn’t solve the immediate problem of getting her out of there tonight.

Just when I was going to go barging in, she came out the side door, arms crossed in front of herself defensively as she stepped outside.

There was no way she hadn’t gotten that job. If I was a club owner, I’d be basing my entire show off her perfection, even if I hadn’t seen her dance.

And then when you saw her dance...

Well, I imagine whoever had interviewed her was probably seeing gold dollar signs floating in the air around her.

She took a few steps before stopping, her body going rigid as she slowly turned and saw me.

Gotcha.

Anastasia

I sensed him almost the second I’d walked out of that dark, seedy club.

Camden.

He was somehow here.

But…I actually wasn’t that surprised.

I locked eyes with him.

He looked like a dark god, his eyes glittering as he leaned against a shiny-black motorcycle in the shadows of the building—a motorcycle I didn’t even know he owned.

“Anastasia,” he said calmly, but it was like the calm before a storm. The final breath you took before the gun went off and the race began. “Come here.”

A frantic energy filled me, a need to explain…it wasn’t what it looked like, not really.

But I couldn’t seem to form words as I trudged toward him, my mouth dry like it was filled with cotton.

His silence was somehow more intense than if he had yelled. As soon as I’d gotten to the bike, he had a matte-black helmet on my head and was buckling it tightly.

A second later, I was astride the bike.

“Hold on,” he growled as he slipped in front of me, pulling my arms around him so that my hands were wrapped around his middle. Camden gunned the engine, and we sped off into the night.

It was freaking cold for a motorcycle ride. Not as cold of a night as it had been last week, but the icy wind still seemed to be taking chunks out of my face as we raced down the streets.

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