Dominate (Deliver 8)

But apparently, he wanted this badly enough to invest his entire future in them.

“How is the kitchen already stocked?” Tiago rummaged through the built-in commercial fridge, his nefarious presence as out of place as his question.

“You’re worried about my secrets,” Cole said to Liv, “when you should be worried about the Venezuelan kingpin who carries razors in his pocket.” He turned toward a scowling Tiago. “I have a caretaker, vetted and trusted, who’s been looking after this property for fifteen years. He prepared the bedrooms and stocked the kitchen this morning.”

Tiago nodded, his expression brooding. Pensive. “You’re already in the fold, Hartman. They need you. Most of them care about you. Trust will take time.” He grabbed his bag and strode into the hallway, vanishing around the corner.

Silence descended in his wake. Looks were exchanged. Someone blew out a breath.

“That was awkward.” Tomas rubbed his nape.

“Fuck him.” Lucia crossed her arms. “He’s just sore because he has no friends.”

“Fix it.” Van pointed a toothpick at her.

She made a growly sound. “Why me?”

“Because Tate and I made our peace with him. You’re still hanging onto the past.”

“Fine.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned to follow Tiago. “I’ll do it for Kate.”

“You’ll do it for you.” Tate swatted her butt. “And not until you’re ready. Let’s grab a room.”

The massive living space slowly emptied as everyone wandered off. Between Colombia, Texas, and Missouri, the team had been traveling nonstop for four days. Two weeks before that, they’d been in California, taking down La Rocha Cartel.

Now that they were safe, the first order of business was food and sleep.

Within minutes, only Tomas and Rylee remained.

“I’m hungry, not tired.” She stepped into the kitchen and snatched an apple off the counter.

She’d slept most of the way here and missed the meal they’d grabbed through a roadside drive-through.

“Eat.” He collected their bags and ambled toward the hallway. “I’ll claim a room.”

“Two rooms.”

He didn’t bother acknowledging that ridiculous request.

A gradual slope of stairs ascended into a long corridor, the flooring tiled in an artistic mosaic of slate stones. He lost count of how many doors he passed, all with keypad entry. Christ, there must’ve been eight or nine bedrooms in total. Unless something else was hiding behind these locks.

He stopped at the first open door and gaped.

Inside, racks of guns covered one wall. Dozens of firearms of every size, shape, and caliber. File cabinets, desks, and worktables filled the rest of the dimly lit room, the surfaces covered in laptops, camera equipment, and high-tech clothing and gear.

Cole stood at a table, sifting through stacks of burner phones, all plugged into a power strip that ran along the wall.

“Last room on the right is mine.” He didn’t look away from his task. “The one on the left is still open.”

“Thanks.” As Tomas turned to leave, his gaze caught on a transparent garment bag that hung from a hook behind the door.

White satin and lace.

A wedding gown.

Damn, it looked eerily spectral and downright sad amid the plethora of guns and spy tech.

“I should burn it,” Cole said behind him.

“I don’t know, man.” He pivoted, meeting the starkness in Cole’s brown eyes. “I burned everything, but the ghosts clung.”

“Are they still clinging?”

“Yeah.” He scratched his jaw, rethinking his answer. “Actually, I’ve been too distracted to notice.”

“Your dick’s been distracted.”

“More than usual, and more than just my dick. That woman has her claws in every part of me. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she scared the ghosts away.” He chuckled and quickly sobered. “Do you think her ex-husband hired hits on her and Evan Phillips?”

“I don’t know yet.” Cole turned back to the table of burner phones. “Get some rest. Recharge. We have a lot of work to do and need to be clearheaded.”

With a nod, Tomas made his way to the last room on the left. An airy, tidy space with a large bed and private bathroom—all decorated in simple, natural hues. Beyond the windows, trees rippled on hillsides that stretched to the horizon.

He could see why Cole chose this place to retire. It was lush and green. Peaceful. Calming. Completely void of sand, desert heat, and hatred.

With Rylee, he would take her hatred over indifference. Her fire was irresistible, addictive, and he wouldn’t dare try to control it if it made her happy.

But it didn’t. Her anger made her miserable. He accepted the blame for some of that, not all of it. Nine days ago, she walked into his house with a block of ice around her heart and a grudge against men that was ten years in the making.

Enough was enough.

He dropped their bags near the door, brushed his teeth, and found his angry little hellcat sitting alone at the kitchen island. She’d fixed herself a salad with pre-grilled chicken.

Lowering onto the stool beside her, he reached toward her bowl to steal a meaty morsel.