Playing with Fire: A Standalone Dark Romance

Chapter Nineteen

I feel her eyes on me, and I’m not going to lie, it feels fucking good.

After the shit show of a council meeting that just kept going from bad to worse the longer it went on, I was disappointed to find she had separated our bed. Did I expect to hold her all night? Absolutely not but I’d found comfort in that scent of hers and it was muted because of all the damn pillows in the way.

Then I woke to an empty bed, her side long cold.

So, coming down to the kitchen to find her in a pair of blue jeans and cropped sweater was a sight. She looks good. Edible.

The moment I saw her I’d had an image flash in my mind of her spread out on that kitchen island, naked and sweaty and writhing while I got myself another taste of her. I can only imagine how divine it would be directly from the source.

And now her eyes on me, devouring me like I was her in my mind. Who knew it would be a pair of grey sweats that caught her attention?

I make my coffee, grabbing the sugar to drop in a couple of spoons and stir it in, cradling the cup in my hand as I turn and lean on the counter, capturing her eyes.

She cocks a brow defiantly, a tiny devilish smirk toying on her mouth.

“Good morning, kitten,” I address her.

“Malakai,” She replies coldly, tucking back into the stack of pancakes with fresh berries sprinkled over them in front of her.

She flicks her eyes to me as I bring the cup to my lips but the way she looks makes me pause.

“What is it?” I ask.

She shakes her head, “Nothing.”

“That look suggests otherwise.”

I make a note not to invite her to our poker nights because that poker face is the worst one I’ve ever seen.

“Just didn’t know you owned sweatpants, Malakai.”

“You saw the gym.” I tell her, finally taking a sip of the coffee.

Only to spit it out, spraying the hot liquid across the shiny floor.

Olivia roars with laughter, clutching the edge of the island as if it’s the only thing keeping her seated. The salty taste in my mouth makes my tongue itch.

“What the fuck!?” I bellow.

She just laughs harder.

“You poisoned my coffee!?”

More heaving giggles leave her clutching her stomach, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“That depends,” She laughs so hard the anger in me almost dissipates. Almost. But I’m too furious right now to truly appreciate that laugh. “You allergic to salt?”

I glare at her and then flick my eyes to my chef, “Did you have something to do with this!?” I roar at him.

Louis’s startled eyes bounce between us, his face paling.

Olivia sobers immediately, jumping up to step between me and my chef as if to protect him from me. “You leave him out of this. He had nothing to do with it.”

“So, all you then, kitten?” I step toward her, and she takes a step back.

“All me,” she taunts, giving a big show even though she is backing up. “Can’t take a joke, Malakai?”

My eyes narrow on her, homing in on the way she tilts her chin up defiantly and plants her feet.

“Don’t fucking mess with my routines, Olivia.” I warn her.

A fire lights up in her eyes, “Whatever you say, Malakai.”

A deafening silence settles in the space between us while Louis hovers, still pale in the background. She messed with my coffee to get a reaction from me, and I’m giving it to her.

“I’m going to the gym,” I growl, dumping my coffee into the sink and grab a bottle of water before I storm from the room, leaving her and my chef behind. I’m around the corner when I hear the sweet tinkle of laughter and my own lips quirk at the sound.

My fists slam into the bag, over and over again, my breath coming out in short quick bursts as I push myself to the limit. The sound of my fist on leather echoes in the empty gym around me, my sweat rolling down my face, down my back and chest. Bare feet move effortlessly across the mat, eyes focused on the target ahead of me.

I’ve been in here for hours, pushing myself to the point of pain to try and ease some of the tension I feel coating my body, but nothing has helped. I knew ninety percent of this stress is stemming from the damn council and their need to drag Olivia into my world, but the other ten percent came from my very reluctant wife.

For as long as I can, I will keep her away from the shadows that surround me, away from my enemies and the death that follows. I’d thought it would be easy, that the council would drop it now that I satisfied the old tradition, but apparently I was wrong.

My fists move faster, harder, pounding into the leather bag with determination and quiet rage.

You’d think they’d be happy.

They have more money than they know what to do with because of the organization my ancestors built. They have their big houses and expensive cars because of us Farrow’s, but these fuckers are always greedy, and they just love to corrupt the innocent.

Like fucking demons stalking through the darkness waiting to suck the life out of something.

And Olivia is innocent, as devilish as she can be with her quick words and cold stares, she is too much of a bright light to be corrupted by my darkness.

I’d thought her broken when I arranged our marriage, thought her this sweet little doll I could have wrapped around my finger, but I realize I simply jumped too soon. And I don’t regret it.

Perhaps my life would be easier if I had chosen a quiet little demure bride, but when have I ever enjoyed the silence? She’s ten times the woman Regina is, and I don’t even have to know her to see that. Where one would suck whatever soul I had left in me, the other lights it up, crafts it and challenges it.

Having Olivia is both a gift and a curse.

And as I think about it, think about her with her sweet smile to accompany those sharp claws, I wonder what I have to do to make her want me as much as I am starting to want her.

I grab the bag to stop it from swinging like a pendulum and rest my forehead on the warm leather, breathing hard as I slowly begin to regain my equilibrium, feeling the rapid thumps of my heart beating inside my chest.

The sound of heavy footsteps draws my attention to the door, and I watch my second in command stalk toward me, his face thunderous, brows drawn low.

“We have a problem.” Sebastian says in way of greeting.

“Just what I fucking need.” I walk to him where he’s stopped at a row of benches and as I get there, he throws down a brown folder, several images falling out. I’d recognize that spill of dark raven black hair anywhere.

“The fuck is this!?” I growl, snatching up the photos, my throat growing tight as I flick through each one.

Olivia on her knees, eyes unfocused, skin rosy. Her on her back, legs spread, eyes closed. There are over ten photos of her in various positions. She looks younger in these images; her hair is shorter and she’s wearing heavy makeup. There is a man in each one, but their face is cut off, revealing nothing about them except that he has his dick in my wife.

“Who?” I growl.

Sebastian shakes his head, “Delivered this morning.”

“Here?”

“To me. Found it on the windshield of my car. Asked around to see if anything had been delivered here today but no one has seen anything. Killian and Dean haven’t had anything, nor any of the other inner circle members.”

“Why you?”

“My guess,” Bast starts, “I’m your second, your closest. They knew I’d come to you immediately. They didn’t deliver here because there’s too much risk of being seen but at my apartment? There’s plenty of areas one can go to avoid security.”

“Fuck,” I roar, unable to take my eyes from the photos.

“Does she know?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know, Kai.”

Why the fuck would someone dig this up about Olivia? Where the fuck did these photos even come from? They never came up in any of my background checks on her.

And how exactly do I address it with her?