Page 123 of Controlled Burn
He only needed Jake angry enough to bite.
And Brooks had spent a lifetime learning what bites looked like before they landed.
He drafted the message:
Want proof she’s playing you, too?
Attached: an unlisted clip. Short. No skin. No sound—just a hallway exchange: Talia passing a USB to McKenna. A glance between them.
Innocuous.
Unless you knew what to look for.
Unless you were already searching for betrayal.
Jake wouldn’t ask questions. Jake never did.
Brooks left his office at shift change. Straightened his collar. Smoothed his shirt. Pocketed the burner.
He passed Talia near the turnout room, caught her scent—subtle and sharp.
Clean smoke. Chanel.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look surprised.
“Cross,” he murmured.
“Brooks,” she replied—calm.
Their eyes locked.Herstance was relaxed. Too relaxed.
She knew.
He felt it instantly—the cold tremor of recognition.She’dbaited him.
She knew he was watching. And instead of hiding, she fed him a show.
The realization didn’t bring fear. Or rage.
It thrilled him.
Like the moment just before a car wreck—that split-second stillness before impact.
Now it wasn’t just surveillance, blackmail, or footage in shadowed corners.
Now it was war.
And Brooks understood war.
Wars had structure. Rules. Timelines. Victors.
He would be hers.
Or he would burn her down.
And he hadn’t yet decided which would feel better.
The others didn’t understand her. They thought she was reckless. Sloppy. Driven by lust.
