Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 45 Shadow of Jealousy Sophia
"Boss," I sighed, but of course, I got no response.
Scooting forward, I tapped the desk once, trying to yank his focus back to me. "Maddox, do you plan to prep for this meeting, or should I reschedule it? Because you're not winging it this time. Last time was a nightmare—I had to do damage control for days."
His head shot up. Blond hair flat against his forehead, and the apology that curled on his lips didn't reach his gray eyes. He shut his phone off and placed it back on his already cluttered desk—for the tenth time—though his eyes stayed glued to it, anxiety swarming just beneath the surface as he waited for it to light up. For Mateo to text. To prove he's still alive.
I've worked side by side with Maddox for months now. I've never seen him like this—so tethered to his phone, so locked in place and yet restless. He's been like this since he got to work. Since Mateo left yesterday. They've spoken every hour, but it's not enough. Not for Maddox.
I can't blame him. I'm worried, too. But Maddox wears it differently. His fear has weight. It's there in the dark circles under his eyes, in the scowl that makes most people reconsider walking past his office. Even in the clothes he's clearly chosen himself today, he still somehow looks pulled together—but I know better. Maddox would rather be anywhere but here. He can't sit still. He's shuffled between his office and my desk, the window and the couch, the chair and back again. Restless. Agitated. Scared. And nothing I've done has helped. I might feel offended if I didn't understand who Mateo was to him—or if I didn't see the fear leeching all the color from his already muted eyes.
"Sorry, Soph," he mumbled, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, maybe just reschedule it. I'm not feeling it today."
I already had. But I didn't tell him that. I'd hoped the meeting might distract him. I was wrong. I hate being wrong. I hate feeling helpless. "How can I help?" I asked, shutting the notebook in my lap, readjusting my skirt with fidgety hands that betrayed how unsure I was.
"There's not a whole lot you can do," he muttered. "I just need to wait it out... and hope Texas doesn't burn down."
I gave him a sharp look. "That's dramatic. Texas is not going to burn."
"You don't know that."
"It's a whole state, Maddox. There's no way."
He shook his head. "You have no idea what's possible when it comes to the cartels."
It was the first time he's said that word out loud. The organization. The past. It sent a cold rush down my spine. "Okay, maybe I don't," I admitted, "but you know what I do know?"
His eyes lifted, desperate for a reason to climb out of the panic spiral, for someone to tell him it would be okay. For a reason to stay in this version of reality—the one where he's safe and loved and doesn't need to brace himself for impact. The survivor in me—dormant for years—rose like a flame. Angry. Protective. Steady. She hadn't been needed in a long time... but Maddox needed her now. "What I know," I said carefully, "is that Mateo didn't go down there alone. He's got his dad. His brother. Saint. Joel. That's a hell of a team, Maddox. None of them would ever let anything happen. Give it a day or two, and this will be behind us. You'll realize you panicked for nothing. Worrying isn't good for your heart."
