Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

20. Twenty

Twenty

9-2-2024

I want to be wrong.

-Sam

Jasmine is curled against my chest, her palm resting flat against my skin. I carried her to bed hours ago, but I haven’t been able to sleep. This time, it's not my past keeping me awake; it's my present and all the new emotions she has awakened in me. I don't know how to process them or what to make of them, but I can feel my head pounding from the overwhelming rush of dopamine.

Fuck , she looked so broken on her knees, entirely at my mercy, as I rammed my cock down her throat. I almost expected her to tell me it was too much for one night—more than she could handle and not what she expected or wanted –but she didn’t. Instead, she clung to every deep-rooted, sick, and twisted part of me as if it were the last fire extinguisher in a burning building.

I revealed the darkest parts of myself to her. I let my demons dance in her mind and allowed myself to do something I didn’t think I was capable of anymore: feel .

I brush my fingers through her hair again, savoring how much softer it is than mine. It feeds my fixation on running my fingers through something when my thoughts become overwhelming.

After everything I went through in my childhood and the chaos that followed, I told myself I would never trust another soul. I proved myself wrong by trusting Caspian and then Moe, but I thought I would be forever trapped in the hell of being unable to do the same for her.

Yet again, I was mistaken because she isn't my damnation; she's my salvation. Whatever God is out there knew I wouldn’t change, so He sent a bad angel to my front door to give me a purpose. He gave me something to protect and fight for.

I reluctantly pull myself out from under the covers, knowing we only have one more day until the ball, and I still need to go through the files we stole. It shouldn’t take long, though. As I enter the living room, I grab my bag from the closet and rummage through it to tuck the papers into a folder. I notice the cameras in the corners, so if I hide the intel and lean the other way, it will seem like I’m only reading a business report.

My stomach growls, so I check the bedroom door to ensure Jasmine is still asleep. Confirming she’s out, I toss the file onto the counter and search the fridge for eggs. I know the room will be charged, but since it’s not my account, I don’t care. I refuse to go to another restaurant.

Once done, I quietly sneak back into the room with the plates. I swear the woman could sleep through a bloody raid with how sound she is, not even budging when I knock my knee into the bed frame with a few silent curses. Setting the plates on the nightstand, I slip back under the covers, rubbing my leg as she shifts beside me.

Noted. So, a fucking air strike is white noise, but a subtle shift can wake her. I roll my eyes at the thought. As if she senses it in her sleep and needs a way to push my buttons, she turns her back to me, pressing her arse right against my thigh.

I’m half tempted to say screw the mission just so I can fuck the sass out of her sleep, but the sooner we get this done, the sooner we go home.

With an aggravated groan, I open the folder and take a bite of my omelet. I know I have all the time in the world to do what I want with her, but that doesn’t make it any easier as I start the tedious reading. My thoughts drift to wondering what might wake her up first; my cock buried deep inside her or my hand tight around her throat, depriving her of air.

I furrow my brows and pause mid-bite. Each sheet contains small papers printed on regular printer paper, featuring neat, bold writing that conveys information similar to what I’ve memorized over the years. I drop my fork and quickly flip through the sheets, dated from the start of the Land and Sea War until they abruptly stop on May 15 of this year—the documents detail soldiers from various factions, including their ranks, mission logs, and family histories. Towards the end, the focus shifts to information about Depth members, but no matter how many times I scan through the notes, I can’t find any mention of myself or Jasmine.

Each little taunting, insufferable fucking piece of paper stares back at me. Mocking the thought of how much blackmail is written in the same meticulous, infuriating handwriting. If it falls into the wrong hands, our way of life is done for. My home is gone.

Jasmine shifts with a groan, and I slam the notes shut, unable to look at them anymore. I can’t believe I missed someone spreading our society’s secrets. I typically monitor screens and memorize schedules but overlook the physical mailings.

This is my fault.

My breathing quickens as the logical side of my mind narrows down the suspects. The list isn’t long; only a handful of soldiers go to town, which reduces the possibilities to about five. Around three of them make trips to the local post. Two names are missing from my list.

I know it wasn’t me.

“Sam…” Jasmine whispers groggily, wrapping her arm around my waist as she pushes her nose into my side. I go stiff as a statue and hold my breath. I just need a moment to think—process my thoughts.

I need time to regain my composure.

I want more facts before panic or anger sets in, but the latter is slowly winning the longer I try to rationalize the idea that I may already have all the facts I need. I’m boiling in a way that aches and feels sickening, making my chest uncomfortable.

Jasmine's head snaps up, and her hooded gaze flicks over my features as if my sudden change in body language is a loud alarm. Sleep lines imprint her cheek, and the dried drool at the corner of her mouth makes me want to soften and pull her back in.

I haven’t even had the chance to savor her yet—to memorize the things no one else gets to see.

“Morning,” I grumble, pushing my thoughts aside as I try to ease the tension in my muscles.

“What’s—”

“Eat,” I cut her off, tossing the plate onto her lap. She jumps at my tone, clears her throat, and reluctantly picks up the fork.

“It’s an omelet…” she mutters. I grab my file and head into the living area. I don’t have the energy to explain why I made the same meal I previously claimed was someone else’s cooking, nor the patience to treat her the way she wants right now.

The sun beams through the large glass windows, so I hit the wall button to shut the blackout curtains. A little darkness will help me focus on the forms, but as I sit on the couch staring at the stack of papers, my mind begins to wander.

Maybe someone put their name on the documents to cover their tracks. I can run some of the writing through a database to match it with someone else's. But if it comes back to… How the hell can I cover that? How can I forgive it? I can't. She wouldn’t do that to me. To us.

I glance at the flames flickering behind the glass of the fireplace. It’s ironic how the world works, how it can give you hope only to rip it away. I’m a living example. My uncle, chaos, and now Jasmine can all testify to that. Each one made me feel like I earned something better, only to prove that I never deserved anything more than what I’ve received: hate, torture… betrayal.

Like I've summoned the devil herself, Jasmine tiptoes around the couch with her plate, a fork in her mouth, and a kitchen knife twirling between her fingers. The couch dips, so I glance out of the corner of my eye as she shifts to get comfortable and starts cutting into an apple.

"I used to tell my sister that apples can heal anything," Jasmine says softly as she lifts a piece to examine it.

"Bad hair day? Fixed. Tired? Well, now you're awake. Feeling broken? Now you're put back together." She recites while extending the fruit in my direction.

I ignore her with a grumble. I've never felt guilty about being difficult, but the way her face falls slightly makes me want to leap out of the glass plane separating us from the outside world. She’s finally offering me everything I’ve ever wanted to know with a smile on her face, and I can't bring myself to accept it.

"Sorry," I murmur, and she holds out the apple again.

"Do you need me?" she whispers, causing me to snap my head in her direction and make her pull back slightly.

“I mean… are things too overwhelming right now?” she mutters as she sets it back on her plate.

I sigh, tempted to run my fingers through her hair and soothe her worries, but I do it to my own instead. Even though I understand what my gut is telling me, I also realize that the back-and-forth in my head is pointless.

No matter how unforgivable her sins are, I’ll follow her to hell and back. I’ll scorch my soul if it means keeping her safe. I’ll burn alive rather than let anything rip her from my side. Even if I'm reduced to ashes, I'll cling to her skin because now that I know what it feels like to be loved by her, I can't imagine letting her go.

I nod and extend my arm to the side, giving her an opening to touch me.

“What do you need me to do? I can kiss you until you're breathless. I can dance around the living room naked. Or I can show you my impersonation of Sharkie.” She rambles as she tosses her plate to the table and moves to straddle my lap.

“We’re going to have to give you a safe word,” I murmur as she brushes her fingers through my hair, smoothing it down.

“I’ll be fine,” she laughs, unaware I’m consumed by thoughts of what I might do to her if I'm right.

“I’m serious...” I pull her head to rest against mine, my hand at the nape of her neck.

“Red,” she says quietly, and I nod. I can work with that if needed. I hope it doesn’t reach that point.

“Does that mean you, um...” She glances at my lap and raises an eyebrow.

It’s tempting, but that’s not what I need right now. Instead, I pull her head into my neck, and she wraps her arms around my shoulders, relaxing into my touch.

“Just hold onto me for a moment,” I murmur because this is what I want—to feel her, to know she’s here. Even if I'm right about the situation, I'll fix it and still have her. I might be upset for a while, and my reaction may not be the best, but who knows? Maybe I'm wrong.

I want to be wrong.

“What do you want to do today?”

Her head pulls back at my question, and she gnaws at her bottom lip, so I gently pull the flesh from between her teeth.

“I’ve always wanted to see Central Park. I lived here for years and never really got the chance,” she says, shrugging as if it's a silly idea.

“Then we will do that,” I reply.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything before we go? You seem lost ,” she whispers.

If only she knew how much I wanted to take her up on that. My thoughts are consuming me, and the longer I hold her, the more I crave the comfort she provides. However, I need answers, and I can only hope she will give them before I find out for myself. Looking her over, I gently tug at her chin, causing her head to bounce and a giggle to escape her lips.

“Just go get ready, little devil.” I force a grin, hoping that the woman who unexpectedly saved me from the world didn't just burn mine to the ground.