I'm standing halfway up the dark wood staircase, fingers stretched over the wooden bannister as my heart pounds in my chest.

I'm giddy. Excitable. Nervous.

My head is ready to burst.

I hear him before I see him.

"A god damn fucking palace!" The deep voice sends warm shivers through my body. And then he ducks through the doorway, instantly spotting me. A grin spreads across his face and he opens his tattooed arms up, away from his body.

It's all the encouragement I need. I sprint down the remaining stairs, my bare feet pounding against the wood before I jump, landing on his chest, my head falling beside his neck, legs in the air.

Riley laughs, a loud, cocky guffaw that I've missed dearly, and his hands curl around my back, holding me in place.

"Anyone would think you've missed me, my little truck driver," Riley murmurs against my ear.

"Just shut up," I mutter, burying my head in the crook of his neck and inhaling the familiar pine trees and spice scent.

"Whatever you say," he replies softly. Slowly, he lowers me back onto my feet, keeping one hand at the base of my spine while the other lifts to caress my cheek as I pull back and look up at him. His eyes are twinkling. "I told you that you could do it." His eyes leave mine for mere seconds, taking in the grand hallway around us. "And now look where we are. I'm in awe." He grins. "I'll do whatever you say from this moment on, Kay-Kay."

"Don't call me that," I reply.

His smirk widens, but then the amusement falls from his expression. "Okay."

I blink at him. "Okay?"

Riley nods, his hand twirling a strand of my blond hair. "Didn't I just say—"

"I didn't think you meant it," I retort. My fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck.

He smiles. "It's alright. I've had over a month to think of new nicknames—"

I launch myself onto my tiptoes, crushing my lips to his in an almost bruising way. His grip tightens on my back, his lips parting, allowing me to devour him in a way that I've been craving since the second he gave me my very first taste.

I'm drowning in all things Riley, my hands trailing down his muscular chest, his hand intertwining into my hair, tugging it backwards and leaving me open to his wicked whims. His lips trail along my jawline and I suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed as I relish the desire that saturates my veins.

"Kayla," he murmurs before his lips return to mine, far more forcefully than before, as though he's scared I'm going to disappear. My hands clutch at his biceps. "Kayla. Kayla."

He's talking too much.

"Kayla!"

He sounds feminine.

"Kayla?"

My body jolts forward, and then back, and the image of Riley blurs into black, fading to nothing.

"Kay—"

"I'm awake!" I snap, forcing my eyes open and looking up at the intruder.

Lyla looks slightly guilty as her eyes dart back towards the doorway. I fell asleep at my desk. Shifting, I stretch my arms out, straightening my spine before wiping a hand down my face.

"I'm really sorry to wake you," Lyla says. "It's just... you wanted to know the minute we got back from Nottingham."

I nod, forcing a smile on my face. "I did. How did it go?"

Lyla clears her throat, writhing her hands together like she's nervous. "It... didn't. We were overrun with Enforcers the minute we got to the store."

My brow furrows. "Enforcers? There were fifteen of you. They only ever guarded the stores with six maximum..." I trail off, clicking my tongue and leaning back in the chair. "Who...?"

Lyla's gaze drops to her shoes. "We lost eleven people."

My eyes bulge out of my skull. "Eleven?" My hands slam down on the desk as I stand. "What the hell happened?"

Lyla's back to writhing her hands together. "There were at least twenty Enforcers there."

"Why?"

"I... I don't know."

"That doesn't make any sense," I spit out, stepping away from my desk and trudging over to the window. Down below, I can see five or six people gathered around a truck, some of them crying as they hear about the loss of their loved ones.

It was supposed to be a simple trip. Drive into Nottingham. Leave the truck hidden. Make their way to the store that sits in the old married sector. Obtain as much food as possible. Bring it back here. Maybe kill one or two Enforcers if they encountered them. Not... not this.

"I'm sorry, Kayla." Lyla's voice is quiet.

My head snaps back towards her. "Don't be silly. It's not your fault." Stepping towards her, I reach out, tugging her hands apart and taking them in mine. "I'm just glad that some of you were able to get away."

Her eyes well with tears and I pull her towards me, wrapping my arms around her and assuring her that she's done well. After five minutes, I pull back, telling her to go and find something to eat in the kitchen. Something to calm her nerves. I know by now that Jeanie, the enthusiastic cook, will instantly shove some sort of sugary delight down Lyla's throat.

As soon as she's gone, I turn back to my desk, picking up the pen pot and launching it at the wall.

"Fuck!" I exclaim. My hands trail up my face before they're in my hair, gripping onto it as I try to collect my thoughts. I thought I'd been too cautious with this mission already. Sending fifteen people to do a moderate risk job. But apparently it wasn't enough...

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I straighten, turning away from the desk and heading out the door, ready to descend the stairs and step outside, into the belly of the beast. I need to be with those grieving, to tell them I'm sorry, that I'm there for them.

It won't help... but as leader, I don't know what else I can do.

I fucked up.

*~*~*

"The gala is only a day away," Carl says quietly. We're gathered in the dining room, with me sitting at the head of the table, blinking down at the mahogany surface. "Do you really think we're ready?"

"We don't have a choice," Pippa answers. "It's a once a year kind of deal."

"We'll be fine," Jesse insists.

"We only have half a plan," Pete hisses.

"It can't—"

"Then let's finish it now," I snap, standing from my chair and slamming my fists down onto the table.

My head has been swimming since yesterday's failure, unable to shift the losses that we experienced out of my head. I can't understand what went wrong. Why were there so many Enforcers at the store? Did they change their policy this past week? Why would they? There's hardly anyone left in the married sector. It makes no sense to up the security.

None of it makes sense.

Unless... we have a snitch. A mole.

My teeth grind together and I shake my head, forcing myself back to reality. I can't dwell on that issue right now — or the funerals that took place this morning before we started this meeting. Right now, I have to address more important things.

Namely, the Enforcers Gala that's happening in just over twenty four hours.

"What's missing in our plan?" I ask, my voice softer as I look around the table. The only one who looks surprised by my outburst is Lyla, sitting at the end of the table with a notebook in front of her. She blinks at me. I ignore it.

"Who's actually going," Pete answers in a monotonous tone.

I purse my lips. "Did you ask the Enforcers, Jesse?"

He nods. "All but six of them are happy to participate," he tells us.

"Can we sneak some of our own in, in their place?" I ask.

Jesse's bushy brows scrunch together before he nods. "I should think, with all of us arriving closely after one another, it should be fine. They won't look at our IDs in too much depth."

I nod. "Can you get their IDs? We can find willing volunteers and assign them to the Enforcer who looks most like them."

Jesse accepts, ducking out of the room to obtain them as fast as he can.

"How many Enforcers do we have?" I ask.

"Twenty three," Carl tells me. "Jesse's managed to gather a few this past week from Nottingham."

"And every single one of them..."

"Will be accompanied by a 'wife' or 'widower'," he confirms.

I smirk, crossing my arms across my chest and leaning over the table at the names of men and women who have agreed to help.

"I'll be Jesse's partner," I tell the room. He's my closest Enforcer confidante, and I'm planning to obtain every inch of insider information that I can from him the minute that we're inside. "Pippa, you go with Carl," I say. She nods, just as Jesse returns, a stack of cards in hand. 

"Here they are," he says, handing them over. I rifle through them, glancing over the pictures in my hand before staring down at the list of volunteers in front of me.

I grin. "Well, Pete. Looks like you made the cut." I turn one of the cards over, towards him. This man has the same curly black hair and olive skin tone that he does. "You'll be playing Ulrich Greenberg for the night."

*~*~*

I'm standing in the middle of a large ballroom, poised at the top of the stairs as I look out at the golden ballroom below. I can't move, dazzled by the splendour of the place... the diamond chandelier and the gilded walls, gold lining every single window, the marble floor glittering.

It's full to the brim with Enforcers, all of them dressed in their uniforms. Did we miss the memo? Jesse didn't tell us that this was the dress code. I haven't worn the right thing...

Every single face turns to look at me, their eyes trailing over my body, head to freaking toe. I suck in a breath at the familiar faces. They're all there.

Every.

Single.

One.

The ones who tortured me. The ones who were there the day Rayden was killed. The ones who dragged me to prison. The ones who stood beside Germain as she married me off. My eyes try to look away, but then there's an Enforcer with a shattered bottle sticking out of her neck, standing beside a couple of people with knives through their chest.

The ones I killed.

I choke on my breath.

They stay exactly where they are, but their faces morph until every one is sneering at me, hauling their arm back, weapons in their hands, ready to attack.

"No. No, no no," I mutter, trying to step backwards, away from the room. I need to get out of here. "This isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Carl asks, appearing over my shoulder. My head snaps to him. His expression is calm. Collected.

"This is what you wanted, Kayla." Jesse stands on my other side, his face just as neutral.

"No!"

"You wanted this," Carl murmurs.

"I didn't—"

"You did," Jesse hums.

I shake my head, trying to step backward all over again. Only this time, their hands grasp at my waist, stopping me, forcing me forwards, back towards the angry crowd.

"Let me go!" I beg, my struggle turning into a full blown wrestle as panic rises up my throat. There's no escape. They want me. Carl and Jesse are feeding me to the buzzards. The crowd below step forward, their teeth bared. Some have smug smiles on their faces, others just look sick as they lift their weapons. Waiting for me, like I'm a freaking meal.

I'm hyperventilating.

"But you wanted this," Jesse says.

"You asked to come here," Carl echoes.

"No, no, no! You're wrong! This isn't—" A scream plunges through my lips as they shove me hard. I tumble forwards, catapulting towards the angry mob as I fall down the stairs, tumbling hard until I roll into their feet. The Enforcers' hollers of victory echo around me, their screams full of desire. A desire to kill.

My eyes fly open with a start.

My heart is racing.

My hands clutch at the bedsheets beneath me as my body shakes, tears flooding down my cheeks.

Shoving the blankets away, I slide up the bed, slamming my spine against the headboard and wiping my hands over my eyes.

Count to a hundred.

1, 2, 3, 4...

... 98, 99, 100.

First memory.

Riley's smug face has me smiling into the darkness.

Favourite memory...

"I suppose you don't always have to smile."

"Oh?"

Riley's nose brushes against mine. "There are other expressions I'd prefer to see."

"There are?"

Riley nods, our noses side by side as his lips hover, inches away from mine. I can feel his breath against my lips, the scent of peppermint saturating my senses. "And I'll see them too."

"What?"

"When I get back," he murmurs.

"What—" I'm cut off when his lips meet mine. They're gentle, pressing against mine almost as though he's worried that I don't want this. Nothing could be further from the truth. The stir of anticipation that stirs in my stomach is enough to prove that to me. In surprise, my lips part, a breath slipping past them. Riley smiles against my mouth, the sound spurring him on. His lips are suddenly rougher, harsher, igniting something darker. The stirs in my stomach whip into desire, coiling their way through my body. Riley's tongue slips past my lips and grazes against my own. Lust jumps into action, flooding my veins. My hands land on his arms, holding him to me as I tilt my head sideways, opening more of myself up to him. Riley's tattooed hand clutches at the back of my neck, holding us together as he gently bites my lip. I moan, softly, my eyes fluttering open. His are staring back, but for the first time ever, there's not a single hint of amusement in his expression.

I shiver and shift, crossing my legs together. It does nothing to ease the ache that lies there, only adding friction to an already heightening burn. My eyes flutter shut and then Riley is there, in the bedroom with me, inching his body on top of mine, dwarfing the enormous bed with his muscular body. He holds himself above me before dipping his bottom half down, grinding it softly over mine.

A moan escapes my lips as I imagine Riley's lips descending on mine, capturing them in a soft, yet desperate clash. I lift my fingers, sliding them down the front of my body and dipping them under the waistband of my pyjamas, inside the hem of my panties until I can flick my clit, imagining that it's Riley instead.

He's the one sweeping his fingers around my breasts, toying with a singular nipple before his tongue envelopes them whole. My spine arches off the mattress, up into his body, needing more from him. I need to feel him on top of me, his hard torso against my soft one, meshing together as I've craved for weeks.

It's Riley's fingers that sweep downwards, away from the sensitive nub before feeling the wetness that coats my upper thighs. It's for him. It's always for him. Every few nights that I awake like this. It's him.

I — Riley — slides a singular finger inside, thrusting it upwards and moaning into the dead of the night. And then Riley's there all over again, our tongues fighting for dominance, his hand grasping at my chest, kneading every inch of me and setting every nerve on fire.

A second finger joins the first before they curl up, stroking my walls.

Riley's hands are on my hips, grinding me into the bed, pressing himself against me, proving how hard he is.

"You feel that?" he utters against my ear.

I'm breathing heavily.

"I've been waiting for weeks to have you like this." His lips tickle my throat. "To see you writhing underneath me."

"Riley." His name falls from my mouth, the fingers speeding up inside me. I'm climbing — higher and higher.

"Show me, Kayla." His breath fans across my collarbone. "Show me those expressions I've always wanted to see."

The words shatter me.

A cry shoots through my lips as I come apart around my fingers, exploding into the silence. Riley disappears into the dark of the night and my eyes flutter closed, my heart racing.