IGNITE

CHAPTER SEVEN

EZRA

Acorner office in a high-rise building isn’t the worst place I’ve been forced to sleep. Actually, it might be the safest. Which is saying a lot, considering Cain, or Rev, could barge in here any minute and decide to play operation with my organs.

I lie down on the floor beneath the desk. The windows are chilled from the winter air, but the room itself is warm, and the carpet is soft beneath me. Plus, there’s a ton of the city to take in from this height, all symmetrical lines and architectural beauty challenging gravity.

My stomach growls in protest, but I’m used to ignoring that particular signal. Curled up, I let my thoughts turn to Jakey, hoping he’s safe. Gabriel wouldn’t be expecting me back this soon, right?

I should have made Rev promise that Jakey would be protected. Instead, I’d been too caught up in helping him research Gabriel while shoving tacos in my mouth.

Unrest stirs up in my bones, and I sink my fingers deep into the fibers of the carpet. I really don’t want to lose my friend. My life has never mattered, but Jakey… he’s something special. He carries such an envious light. Mine was extinguished long ago by the people who were obligated to care for me.

I suppose Jakey’s been messed up by people, too, what with his previous tendency to dip into bad substances. At least he can’t remember most of those troubling memories. I still go to war against mine every time I drift off to sleep or get too overcome with unexplainable energy.

Over the years, I’ve gotten better at winning that fight. I’m good at convincing myself that I’m just experiencing nightmares.

But when I lose…those are the nights I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart racing, convinced I never got out of that basement.

My throat tightens, and I sense that all-consuming panic slithering toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to go away. Sometimes it feels like a living entity. Acknowledging its existence gives it more power over me.

I lurch up to my feet and pace the room. The streets allow me an outlet for this excessive need to move. Trapped in here, I fear what my mind is going to do to me.

Scrounging through the desk, I find nothing but some old newspapers, trash bags, and more loose paper clips. I scoop them up and begin winding them together into some sort of lock pick.

Then I sit in front of the interior window until I confirm that Cain has left for the day, a shiny metal briefcase in his hand. I lift a hand to mock-wave at him, but he doesn’t look my way.

It’s not hard to see how tightly wound Cain Vincent is. Aggression bubbles just beneath his surface, barely contained. I wonder what could have filled him with such rage.

More overhead lights shut off. I make my move, working the paperclips into the lock on the door. Freed from my corporate prison, I do a quick walk around the office floor, scoping for cameras. Two by the glass doors to the elevator, which really limits my options. No doubt the hard drive has been moved from the lower levels by now.

Still, the chaos unfurling inside of me needs a fucking distraction. Dropping into a chair in one of the cubicles with a puppy calendar hung on the wall, I rifle through drawers. I let out a low whistle and prop my legs up on the desk as I scan through documents.

Sinro Enterprises has some interesting paper trails. High-dollar purchases for military-grade weapons, armored vehicles, passports, and plane tickets. I’m beginning to think they lean more toward taking people out rather than protecting the average politician or celebrity.

Do they work for the government? Special Forces hidden under the guise of a consulting business? Considering Cain’s skill and his unique staff, it’s a valid possibility.

I can’t leave it a great big mystery. Hands on an invisible string, I keep tugging and tugging, seeking answers to curb my anxiety. I dart from desk-to-desk in a frenzy, sorting through everything I can get my hands on like an auditor with a chip on his shoulder.

Some desks have paperwork on local companies to help secure their assets and keep their employees safe. There are plenty of summaries for upgraded software packages, cyber protection, and fine-tuning building security.

Other desks, well… they have coded lists that confirm my suspicion about Sinro’s true activities. The beating heart of its operations.

I raid the break room next. Nothing’s safe from my manic investigation. I find Steve’s green lunchbox in the back of the fridge with an untouched peanut butter sandwich and a pudding cup. I devour both.

“Sorry, Steve,” I mumble, shoving the empty lunchbox back in the fridge. Immediately after I close the fridge door, I reopen it and decide to clean the interior until it’s spotless.

Fighting back yawns—the clock now reads 3AM—I try out the fancy espresso machine. I end up breaking it, unleashing steam that burns the back of my hand when I try to unplug the stupid thing.

Now what?

What time does Cain arrive at the office in the morning? I feel like he’s the kind of guy to follow a strict routine. Heavy work-out regimen. Probably cooks all his meals.

It hits me that Cain’s going to be pissed when he sees what I’ve done to the office. Will he kill me for the intel I’ve gained on his company? I doubt he keeps the city informed of all of his business activities.

Should I try searching for the drive? Or would that earn me some torture? What if this is a test?

I comb both of my hands through my wild hair, yanking at my roots. Shit, I’ve definitely failed. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, if I’m already doomed, I might as well keep letting this madness reign free.

I stroll past Cain’s office. Once. Twice. My fingers trace over the etched gold nameplate on the wall by his door. I picture his dark hair and rich brown eyes and cut jaw and strong hands.

Blood surges to my cock. I sigh. He is a bit dreamy, if not for the whole simmering temper and murderous tendencies.

This infatuation is completely foreign to me. I usually don’t think too much about other people. They exist around me, but the only time I take notice is when my brain warns me that I’m in danger.

Giving in to temptation, I break into his office with my handy dandy makeshift lock pick. I drop into his plush chair. Lights from the city spill through the floor-to-ceiling windows and blur in my tired vision as I spin around and around.

When I scramble his mouse to wake up his computer, I’m prompted for a password. I’m no hacker. My failed guesses lock up his dual screens.

I notice the lack of family pictures and mementos in his office. There are no glimpses into Cain’s life within these walls. Does he even use his office? Or is it kept for appearances as he stalks the city with vengeance?

Settling deeper into his plush chair, I must keep my eyes closed longer than planned because soon I fall asleep