Page 82 of Toxic Vengeance

“Yes. They’re getting set up in the conservatory right now.”

“What time’s the wedding?” Megan and Ty had decided waiting was pointless, so they’d somehow managed to get a wedding license and were getting married today here at the manor.

“Ten. Reception’s right after, then they’re taking a two-night honeymoon in York. Megan and Amber are headed into town shortly. Amber bribed the wedding dress shop owner into giving them private access to the shop before it opens. I should get back down and help.” She sighed. “Except I’m too comfy to move.”

“Me too. Best wakeup callever.” Her chuckle warmed his heart.

She was quiet a moment. “I’ve never been to a wedding before.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “I’m kinda excited about being there today.”

Ah, so she had a romantic side after all, much as she tried to hide it. So many layers to this woman. But now he was curious about something else. “What about you? Did you ever imagine getting married one day?” He hadn’t brought it up yet, wary of pushing too far too soon. He could definitely imagine marrying her, however.

She lifted her head to raise her eyebrows at him. “Withmylife? What do you think?”

“I think probably never.”

“Exactly.”

“And what about now?”

She stared at him for a second, surprise and something else moving in those pretty eyes, then laid her head back on his chest. “I think I might start letting myself imagine it.”

Zack smiled and kissed the top of her head, savoring the victory. That couldn’t have been easy for her to say, let alone admit to herself. “I’m glad to hear it,” he murmured.

Because one day, when she was ready, he was making this incredible woman his forever.

But his smile faded as he thought of what stood between now and then. The obstacles that loomed like a giant cliff in front of them, creeping closer every day.

He tightened his arms around her, a fierce protectiveness roaring to life inside him. Eden was his and no one was taking her from him.

Not even the so-called Architect, whoever the bastard was.

****

Outside the window, the trees quivered in the cool evening breeze. Fall in Atlanta was still warm compared to most of the country, but the shorter amount of daylight was reflected in the brilliant vermillion and amber leaves scattered across the mansion’s grounds.

After an almost unbearable wait, the time was finally near.

The groundwork was laid, the most threatening enemies neutralized, including that fucker Bennett with his impotent threats and big mouth. Killing him in such a messy way had come with significant risks—and had been worth every one of them. Few kills had ever been so satisfying.

Unfortunately, the attack on the Valkyrie team in Virginia had failed. Now another CIA handler was dead, along with other members of the hit squad, while all the Valkyrie team had walked away.

It wasn’t supposed to happen so publicly. The story had been splashed all over the news, making things more difficult. One of them had been wounded, but no one knew how badly. All reports said they’d gone back to the UK. But where?

The Architect’s gaze strayed to the initial design laid on the drafting table set near the large picture window at the back of the house. The latest rendition of the secret facility about to be built, with all the treasured tools laid out beside it.

Everything on the desk was lined up in neat, exact lines. Rulers, pencils and pens, protractors and other measuring devices. Technology was a wonderful thing, but rudimentary tools were still superior for some things. There was something satisfying and tangible about putting pencils to paper to create something that couldn’t be replicated by—in fact was ruined by—automated computer programs. Although technology was a necessary evil.

One of three computer monitors was on, positioned on the table to the left. Headshots of the remaining Valkyries filled the screen. Eight of them. The Architect knew every one of them, knew all about their personal histories…some more intimately than others.

Trinity. Megan. Amber. Chloe. Eden. Briar. Georgia.

And Kiyomi. The most perfect of them all.

A soft ding pierced the silence. An email from a source in the UK.

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