The S-class tires crunched against the gravel driveway, the sound muffled by the thick, cedar-scented air. Galathea Brooks leaned against the leather upholstery, her pulse humming a frantic, irregular rhythm. Beside her, Cael Alexander shifted, his dark corporate mask cracking to reveal exhaustion and the faint grimace of a fresh injury.
"Take one of the bikes back," Cael told Thomas.
Thomas's eyes lit up in the rearview mirror. "The Harley? Or the BMW? Sir, I saw the ARCH..."
"Take the Harley or the BMW. I'm not done with the ARCH yet," he said coolly stepping beside Galathea.
Galathea exhaled a sharp breath. Her skin felt tight, the residual dread clinging like mud. "Thomas, pick a bike and go."
Cael chuckled, his lips brushing her ear. "You really can't wait to have me to yourself, huh, Sweetheart?"
Galathea scoffed as Thomas scrambled out. As the iron gates clicked shut remotely, she guided Cael inside.
