Page 33 of Tabitha

I turn my back on Pierce and face the door. I raise the knife, ready to pry off the top of the scanner, when Pierce catches my wrist.

“Wait,” he says, much too close, his warm breath brushing against the nape of my neck. I barely resist the impulse to scrunch my shoulders up to my ears and throw my elbow into his gut.

I easily twist out of his hold, my wrist tingling at his touch, the urge to rub away the sensation almost overwhelming. I spin, not trusting him at my back, and glare up at him. “What do you want? How did you find me?”

No matter where I go, Pierce always seems to find me. I’ve gotten kind of used to his presence, which just annoys me even more, and my grip tightens on my knife as I debate the many ways of gutting him.

“The house went silent.” He smirks, then shrugs his shoulder. “I figured you were up to no good, so I thought I’d join you.”

I reluctantly shove my knife back into my boot, grumbling under my breath about stupid rules.

“How does that help me get through the door?” I huff and cross my arms, raising my brows in challenge.

“If I may?” He holds out a hand for me, and I just stare at it blankly.

Only when he wiggles his fingers impatiently does understanding dawn. I frown, then reluctantly fling my hand out with all the grace of a toddler.

Which only seems to amuse Pierce more.

He captures my hand, then gently runs a finger down the center of my palm. My breath catches, my brain going haywire, because damn if my body doesn’t wake up at his touch, as if it has been waiting for him. Before I have a chance to jerk away, he tightens his grip, then begins to fold my fingers down one by one until only my index finger remains. He gently presses my finger against the scanner.

“Don’t be ridiculous. There is no way—”

Beep!

“Huh.” I blink once, completely confounded.

The light around the scanner changes from red to green, and the door unlocks with a thump. I gape at the door, then I glance up at Pierce in confusion. “But…I don’t understand.”

Pierce squeezes my hand, then he releases me before I can pull away. I almost miss his touch, which is ludicrous.

The enclosed space must have really rattled my brains.

“I think your grandfather built this house for you,” he murmurs, then pushes the door open after he drops that bombshell, leaving me standing in his dust, gaping after him.

“That makes no sense.” I trail after him, feeling lost. “That means he had to know I was alive—”

“When you joined the Belladonnas,” Pierce finishes, but I can do nothing but gawk when the lights flicker on at our entrance, revealing a massive fallout shelter.

The concrete room must run the full length of the house, the place resembling the set of a spy movie. Bunks line the far side of the room, while a small kitchenette rests across the way. A bathroom sits in the corner, along with shelves and shelves of packaged food meant to outlast the world. There are even water lines along the ceiling, disappearing into a room I can’t see.

A war room takes up most of the main space. A fancy, computerized table the size of a queen-sized bed stands in the middle of the room, activating when I draw near, and I notice the sensors underneath. Darcy would be so jealous.

Maps line the walls, different sections marked off or circled. One entire wall is plastered with guns of all types, with dozens upon dozens of different ammo cases stacked underneath.

The bunker is a treasure trove any megalomaniac would love.

Or assassin, for that matter.

“It’s his command center.”

Pierce doesn’t answer, rubbing his jaw as he takes in the room. I come to a stop next to him, curious to see what’s caught his attention.

In the middle of the wall, amongst the maps, is an envelope with my name on it.

I make no move to take it.

“Buford knew he was going to die.” Pierce turns and glances at the room with narrowed eyes. “I think he left clues here for you to find.”

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