Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Yeah… that’s my reputation,” I mutter, and it’s a sad commentary on the last few months. Van and I are teammates, but I don’t know him or his wife, Simone, all that well. “I haven’t exactly been the most social guy in the locker room.”
Malik gives a knowing nod but doesn’t press. “Van’s a good guy. Simone’s golden too, but I’m a little biased as her brother. You ever need anything, they’d have your back, as I expect all your teammates would.”
“Let’s just say I’ve come to figure that out,” I murmur, shifting my gaze to Mila, who’s back to staring out the window. Her grip on my hand is tight and I can feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves.
Last night we were able to put all our worries aside. I must confess—I had a fucking awesome time hanging out with her, King and Willa. It was the most fun I think I’ve ever had in my adult life and that’s a brutally sad thing to admit. The laughter, the storytelling, sitting next to Mila with our legs touching… all of it was perfection.
Malik turns down a narrow alley, pulling away from the bright, polished streets of downtown into something… grittier. The building that looms ahead is a far cry from the glitzy high-rises just a few blocks away.
“Here we are,” Malik announces, his voice laced with a hint of pride as he steers the SUV into a private underground garage. He’s stopped at a steel bar blocking the entrance but after a few seconds, it lifts for him. I didn’t see him press any buttons so maybe there’s a security guard watching.
The exterior of the building is deliberately nondescript—a dilapidated, gray-brick structure that looks like it’s been abandoned for years. Graffiti stains the cracked walls, and several of the windows on the first floor are boarded up. Windows on the upper floors are crusted with dirt and grime. To anyone passing by, it’s nothing but an eyesore, blending perfectly into the rougher part of town.
“Doesn’t look like much,” I mutter as we roll to a stop inside the underground garage. The space is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of concrete and motor oil. There are several vehicles parked in spots that long ago lost their painted white stripes.
“That’s the point,” Malik replies with a grin. “Jameson isn’t interested in drawing attention. We like to operate under the radar.”
As we step out of the SUV, I notice the subtle security features many people would miss—motion sensors discreetly mounted in the corners, surveillance cameras tucked into shadows, and a reinforced steel door leading to the interior.
“Come on.” Malik gestures, leading us to a box mounted on the wall beside the door. He presses his thumb to the screen and it glows green. Then he peers into the screen and a red light focuses in on his eyes. “Biometric scanner,” Malik says with a smile as the door clicks open with a soft, almost imperceptible hiss.
We step inside, entering what looks like… a fucking disaster.
The first floor is as uninviting as the exterior. The space is cluttered with broken furniture, peeling paint and debris that gives off the vibe of an abandoned warehouse. Exposed pipes run along the ceiling, rust streaks marring the concrete walls. The air smells faintly of mildew and neglect.
Mila’s nose wrinkles. “This is the Jameson office?”
Malik laughs, shaking his head as he leads us toward a steel elevator tucked discreetly in the corner. “Not quite. This is just the illusion. Upstairs… that’s where the magic happens.”
He swipes a keycard and punches in a code. The elevator hums softly and the doors glide open, revealing a sleek, modern interior that’s a stark contrast to the chaos of the first floor.
As we ascend, I glance at Mila. Her eyes are wide, taking everything in with quiet curiosity. I don’t blame her. I feel the same way—completely out of my element but intrigued as hell.
The doors open with a muted chime, and the scene transforms.
The upper floors are a whole different world. The space is modern and immaculate, all glass, steel and polished surfaces. The layout is open, with floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the office with natural light. The floors are gleaming hardwood, the walls painted a cool, neutral gray that exudes sophistication and control.
“Wait a minute,” I say, and Malik turns to face me. I point at a stretch of windows showing the sunny winter sky outside. “The windows… when we pulled up, I saw they were coated with dirt but from in here, they look clean.”
Malik chuckles. “Optical illusion. Kynan had an artist paint the windows to look dirty from the outside but whatever the magic compound is, it’s see-through from the inside. Again, to give the illusion this building is abandoned.”
“Genius,” I murmur, feeling for the first time that we’re definitely in the right place.