Page 89 of Without a Trace
My hand curled into a fist against my knee. Her perfume something subtle and criminal. Her skin sun-kissed chaos, lips still stained from the last time I lost my mind.
She’s too close.
And she knows it.
I drug my gaze out the window, forcing my breath even. She doesn’t play fair—and I’ve never wanted anything more.
I’m wrecked.
And she hasn’t even touched me.
Alden
She moved like the jet belongs to her.
No hesitation. No apology. Just rose from that seat, glass in hand, making makes her way to the bar with a sway that could undo a man in seconds.
I leaned against the counter, bourbon in hand. The good kind. The kind that burns going down and reminds you, you’re still alive.
Scarlett didn’t ask permission. Just poured herself more champagne, shoulders squared, mouth set in that dangerous way it gets when she’s halfway to detonating.
“Thirsty?” I asked, voice low.
She didn’t look over. “Figured I needed a refill before I ruin someone else's night.”
I huffed a breath. “Too late for that.”
She turned, eyes sharp and unforgiving. “You jealous, Rivers?”
I should’ve brush it off. Deflected. That’s the game we play, isn’t it?
But I didn’t.
I held her gaze. Let it land. “I wouldn’t blame him if he was.”
Her expression tightened. SShetook a slow sip, then set the glass down harder than she needed to. “This jet reeks of testosterone and buried feelings.”
I tilted my head. “You say that like you’re not the goddamn epicenter.”
A pause.
Brief. Fragile.
Then she laughed—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You could’ve told me.”
I knew what she meant.
We all did.
The Order. The secrets. The way we let her fall into the dark without a single warning.
I glanced at the bourbon in my hand, then back at her. “If I had, you wouldn’t be on this plane.”
Her tone went flat. Deadly. “You think I had a choice?”
I stepped closer, closing half the space between us. “I think you’d have run. From me. From Trace. From everything that makes your blood feel real.”
She didn’t deny it.
