Page 92 of Break

I’m in no mood to sleep, but I’m happy to see Nicole’s passed out. I think after she unburdened herself and told us everything, she’s finally able to catch up on her sleep, especially knowing we’ll keep her safe. Of course, all those orgasms we gave her probably helped, too. I’m also relieved to see her appetite coming back. That spread for breakfast really eased some of my worry. Especially with how she shoveled each bite in.

Our girl is on the mend, she’s safe, and she’s staying with us. I’ll give her every damn thing she wants from this day forward. Nicole wants a life that’s so spectacularly normal, it melts my heart. I honestly never planned on having kids or a cookie cutter life. But that’s only because it just didn’t seem in the cards for me and Landon. I always imagined we’d be cruising through our life together, traveling, negotiating new business deals, and curled in each other’s arms at night in a top tier penthouse with sleek leather furnitureand glass tables.

I was happy enough with that future because I never dared to dream something beyond it. And now we have Nicole.

We’re going to eventually have crayons rolling across the floor, and piles of dirty laundry, weeds in the garden, and tons of shoes scattered by the front door. The TV will play in the background constantly with some kind of annoying cartoon and crumbs will be smashed into the carpet.

Fucking Hell, I can’t wait.

Too restless to sleep, I carefully get out of bed and make my way to the cold breakfast left on the table. Picking at a croissant, I pour a cup of coffee and grab my laptop. Everything Landon could find in his five-minute search is in a document still open on my screen.

The man giving Nicole shit is in his mid-thirties, single, and—

Something strange makes a sound in the living room. Our suite is big, but it’s also dead quiet, so the slightest noise can be heard. In my peripheral, I notice movement by the door.

What the fuck is that?

As quietly as I can, I snatch the envelope that’s been stuffed under our door. It’s from the hotel, so it’s most likely a bill. Opening the damned thing, my heart stops.

It’s not a bill.

It’s…

“Fuck.” Rage courses through my veins as Iglare at the photos taken of Nicole, me, and Landon the other night on the balcony. She’s naked and handcuffed to the railing. My head’s thrown back while I fuck her. Landon’s to the side, holding a toy with one hand, his dick in the other.

Picture after picture has my vision tunneling.

There’s a sticky note on the last one that says, “Cinnamon Café Noon” and I’m already swinging open the door to catch this mother fucker with my bare hands. But no one is there.

Of course not.

Heading into the bedroom to get Landon, I find him already awake.

Sitting up and stretching his arms, he smiles at me. But when he sees the look on my face, his body kicks into serious mode. “What’s wrong?”

I press my finger to my lips, make aShhgesture, and have him follow me out to the living room. Stuffing the envelope in his hand, I quickly grab our clothes while he reviews what’s inside it.

Tossing him a shirt and pants, I swiftly get dressed myself.

Nicole’s still passed out, and I hope she stays that way until we get back. I’d rather take care of this before she awakens because I know she’ll try to stop us from what we’re about to do.

Or join.

Landon’s fuming. “Where the fuck did this come from?”

“It was slid under the door just now.” In a rush to leave, I grab Nicole’s car key and beeline for the exit with Landon hot on my heels.

He’s still trying to get his boots on when we hit the elevator. My heart races and I push the lobby button a million times before the damned thing starts moving.

“There’s no way he made it up here and delivered that shit himself.”

Landon’s right. The hotel is discreet and too private to let anyone up to our suite. You need a special card key just to get past the fifth floor.

The elevator takes a lifetime to bring us to the ground level, and when the doors open, we head straight for the front desk.

“I’ll do the talking,” Landon says quietly. “You look like you’re about to rip someone’s face off.”

Because I am.

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