Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
My breath catches. They’re coming. Actually coming. Relief floods through me so strongly my hands shake on the keyboard. I want to reply, to tell him everything, to beg him to get Enley out first, to warn him not to hurt Orchid. But the channel is one-way right now, a burst transmission that doesn’t really allow an immediate response. I can only read and wait.
I type anyway, even if he can’t see it.
P: Do not hurt Orchid. She’s not what she seems. There’s more to her. I think she hates this as much as I do. Please. Just get Enley safe.
I stare at the unsent message for a long moment, then delete it. I can’t risk it. Not yet. Not until I know exactly where we stand. And where Orchid stands.
I keep working, feeding the dummy data through the system, making it look convincing. My mind, however, is split in two. One half is focused on the code. The other half is upstairs with Orchid, replaying every second of what we just shared, every command she gave me, every moan, every time she called me her good boy. I’m confused as hell about how I feel about her. She works for Serafina. She’s the reason I am here. But she’s also the woman who looks at me like I’m more than just a tool. There’s something different about her. Like she doesn’t like this whole operation any more than I do. Like she’s trapped too.
I’m still turning that thought over when soft footsteps sound on the stairs.
Orchid appears in the doorway a moment later, wearing leggings and one of my t-shirts. It swallows her, the hem hitting mid-thigh, and the sight of her in my clothes does dangerous things to my chest.
She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey, looks like they’re still raging hard next door.”
I lean back in the chair with a small laugh. “They’re ridiculous.”
She nods, but her eyes are searching my face. She steps inside and closes the door behind her, then perches on the edge of the desk. “How’s it going?”
“Slow but steady,” I say. Silence settles between us again, comfortable but charged. I watch her for a moment, then decide to push a little. “What about you?” I ask. “I know you told me you grew up with your grandmother in the States. What was that like?”
She hesitates, then shrugs one shoulder. “It was tough. I felt like I had to fight for everything I had. My grandmother was one tough cookie. She taught me how to stand up for myself.”
I smile softly. “You definitely take after her.”
She huffs a small laugh. “Maybe. What about you? What was your childhood like?”
I lean back, thinking. “Normal, mostly. Enley and I used to play cops and robbers in the backyard for hours. She was always the robber. I was the cop. We had this secret code. Whenever things got too intense or one of us was about to get in real trouble, we would say ‘Super Duper Pineapple.’ That meant trouble was about to happen. Drop everything and run.”
Orchid’s lips curve into a genuine smile. It lights up her whole face. “Super Duper Pineapple? That’s ridiculous.”
“It worked,” I say, grinning. “One time I said it when our mom was about to catch us sneaking cookies. We both took off running in opposite directions. She still laughs about it.”
Orchid laughs too, the sound soft and real. It does something warm to my chest. Then she reaches into the pocket of her leggings and pulls out a small blue rosary, the beads worn smooth from years of handling. She holds it up, letting it dangle between us.
“My grandmother gave me this,” she says quietly. “I’m not religious. Not really. But I like having it. It makes me feel safer when I hold it. Like she’s still looking out for me somehow.”
I reach out and gently touch one of the beads with my fingertip. “It’s beautiful. You miss her?”
“Every day,” she admits. Her voice is softer now. “She was the only person who ever made me feel safe.”
The words hang between us. I watch her face, the way her thumb rubs over the cross at the end of the rosary. There’s something vulnerable in her expression that makes me want to pull her into my lap and hold her until the weight on her shoulders disappears.
I ask gently, “Has there ever been a time you haven’t felt safe?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then her eyes meet mine, dark and serious. “Whenever I’m around Serafina.”
The words land like a stone dropped into still water. The air in the room shifts. I can see the tension snap back into her shoulders, the walls starting to rise again. She slips the rosary back into her pocket and stands up, putting distance between us.