Page 142 of Filthy Royal

“A statement that only makes me less calm.” She typed faster. A series of three beeps issued from the desk. “Got you, you knothole.”

The numbers froze.

Damien grunted a half-laugh and, as subtly as possible, readjusted his junk. The old Scarlett never cursed. And rarely called him out on how he handled a situation. Damned if he didn’t like this new side of her too.

It helped that she’d saved them both from becoming over-cooked Golden Dome delicacies.

The keypad retracted into the desk. A heartbeat later, its glossy surface split into twenty vid screens, each featuring a different scene from somewhere in the Golden Dome. Only this time, it wasn’t just images but a cacophony of sound as well. Confirmation that the desk’s owner was committed to a full surround-sound surveillance experience.

“These guys are serious voyeurs.”

“You have no idea.” She wasn’t even paying attention to the vids themselves, her fingers already busy grabbing at the first drawer pull that had emerged on the side of the desk.

“I estimate we have only a short time left before the guards finish sweeping the lower levels and reach this one. We need to make the most of it.” She yanked the top drawer open. “Hells. He’s already cleared a lot out.”

Damien peered over her shoulder and saw row after row of mostly empty slots.

She snatched up the few vid sticks still in there, each no bigger than an omega’s fingernail. “Take what you can,” she prompted. “We’ll check them to see if you can find anything related to Darvish or your sister’s location later.”

He grabbed her wrist. “I’ve got a better plan. Leave them.” He let go and held up his comms. “This will scan them with just a tap of the wrist. The intel will go straight to Maxheim, who can analyze it and let us know what he finds. There’s no one better than him to get this job done well—and fast.”

A beat of silence. Scarlett’s expression turned wary. “He’ll watch them all?”

“He’ll have to.”

Her gaze shifted away. Damien gave her the time, though they both knew she had no choice.

Faster than she’d expected, she squared her shoulders, her gaze finding his. “Okay, right.” She stepped back to give him easier access. “Some part of me knew this rotation would come eventually. Scan away.”

Her easy acquiescence was just one more death blow to the internal narrative he’d played over and over these past four planetary rotations.

He’d been so sure he understood the situation with Scarlett. Guy meets girl, and they fall hard. Except the girl then realizes that love doesn’t conquer all—or give an omega money, status, and security—so she wises up, dumps him, and goes for the safer, wealthier, prettier option. A story as old as the solar system—and just as dark.

However, the hints he was getting now weren’t adding up to the neat picture he’d formulated in his pissed-off, ego-hurt, eighteen-planetary-rotations-old mind and nursed as fact ever since.

“What’s your story with Darvish?” He spoke as he worked, tapping his comms against each vid until it beeped, and he knew the scan was complete.

Not looking his way, Scarlett opened more drawers so they’d be ready for him. “Now you’re asking?”

Damien winced. “Yeah.”

He should have asked earlier. Before he tried to fuck her up against the wall or imprison her or throw her over his shoulder and threaten her brother.

But he’d just been so pissed and angry and, yeah, if he was being honest with himself, led by his dick and his ego.

Same way he’d been the last time he and Scarlett were together.

Heat prickled at the back of his neck.

Knot me. I really am a stupid Alphahole.

He kept saying he’d changed. Grown up. And yet… he was behaving exactly as he had before. Barreling in and assuming he had a handle on the situation.

Payback was a bitch.

Because he was fast learning that he didn’t know shit.

He cleared his throat and worked faster, already two-thirds through the vids left behind. “I, ah, should have asked before. I’m…” He choked out the word, having seen it work a time or two for his older brothers with their omegas, “Sorry.”

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