Page 26 of The Foreman
She lifted her chin. "Oooh, bossy. Dominant. I like it."
"Good. Because the minute they put a target on your back, they declared war."
Time to bring the whole damn thing down, brick by corrupted brick, secret by bloody secret, until every last thread of the web choking Macy was torn apart and reduced to ash. He wouldn't stop until there was nothing left but ashes.
8
MACY
With the ops room in motion, screens humming and the rest of Silver Spur buzzing around them, Macy stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching Trace like a hawk. He moved with brutal precision, barking orders, recalibrating threat grids, and coordinating with Reed and Jesse like this was a battlefield and not a heavily secured tech compound. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.
She'd never seen him this locked in, this commanding—every muscle taut with purpose, every word clipped and lethal. Watching him take charge sent a surge through her, like the spark before lightning strikes. Her pulse kicked, heat coiling low. Damn it, she was turned on.
"You gonna keep eye-fucking me, or jump in and help?" he asked without turning around.
"Depends," she said, biting back a smile. "Is the eye-fucking mutual?"
That earned her the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth, a shadow of something unguarded that sent a thrill down her spine. It was a small thing—barely there—but she caught it, savored it like a private win in the middle of a war zone.
"We go after nightfall," Trace said. "Nexus Technologies has a secondary satellite node that Hawke's team flagged. Small security detail, easy in, easy out. We hit it tonight."
She arched a brow. "And by 'we' you mean...?"
"You, me, Hawke, and Reed."
Macy blinked. "Seriously? You’re really letting me come?"
He turned to face her, stepping close enough she had to tilt her head to keep eye contact. "I don't know that I have much choice. You know Nexus and its systems better than anyone. You put yourself in this, remember? I can't see leaving you to sit with a target on your back."
The way he said it made her insides twist, like a taut wire pulled tight and ready to snap. Not from fear, but from something deeper, something molten and alive, coiling at the base of her spine like a storm about to break. It ignited a slow burn in her lower belly, a heated tension that pulsed outward, tightening every nerve ending with anticipation that dared her to step closer, to ask for more.
"So where are we going to wait until then? Here at the concrete bunker of doom?"
"Iron Spur," Trace said. "It’s closer, better shielded, and has better accommodations."
"Not to mention St. Andrew's crosses, beds with built-in restraint systems and the best showers this side of the Conservatorium Hotel in Amsterdam."
Trace stared at her. "You've been to Amsterdam?"
"Hasn't everybody?"
Reed leaned in as he passed by. "We also have better couches, great food and a fully stocked bar with top-shelf liquor."
"Sold," Macy said. "Do I get to nap before risking my life again?"
"No," Trace said. "You get to be briefed."
"Is that code for something wild and kinky?"
"Macy," Trace growled.
"What? I was just asking. But you boys know how to romance a girl."
He said nothing. But his gaze skimmed down her body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her pulse stutter. Heat flared beneath her skin, and she felt it pool low in her belly. Her breath hitched, but she held his gaze, matching it with a boldness she didn’t entirely feel. What was it about this man that could make her both wet and witty at the same time?
The Iron Spur seemed to always look the same, as if nothing could ever change it. From the outside, it still passed for a warehouse on the outskirts of San Antonio, tucked behind brush and bleached by the relentless Texas sun. But she knew better. She’d walked through these doors many times before—years ago, before everything went sideways. Before her banishment.
Once they passed the retinal entry scanner and the doors opened, the familiar transformation greeted her like muscle memory. Stone met steel. Warm wood gave way to reinforced walls.The sunken central room opened up beneath her, revealing the familiar curve of the Iron Spur’s main floor—a plush, high-end dungeon space with ambient lighting and soundproof alcoves designed for privacy and control.
