Chapter 21
Xander
Fuck.
With my bedroom door shut behind me, I lean into the wall, forehead pressed to the cool surface.
My lungs drag air in like I’ve been running, but it does nothing to steady the pounding in my chest. The muscles between my shoulders pull tight, a constant burn from holding back.
I should get a goddamn medal for walking out when all I wanted was to ruin her mouth and wipe out every inch of space between us.
That mouth. That pretty pink mouth lifting toward mine, like she didn’t even know what she was offering.
One slip of her tongue over her bottom lip, and my control snapped, teeth grinding while my brain lit up with everything I shouldn’t do to her.
Not if I mean to keep her here. Not when all I want is her begging to stay, forgetting there was ever a world without me.
I haven’t gotten off since the night I first had her.
My energy went to tracking her, dragging her out of the corner she tried to hide in, putting her back within reach.
And now she’s here. In my house. Close enough that I can hear her move on the other side of the wall, smell her lingering scent if I let myself breathe deep enough.
It should be enough. Having her here. Knowing she’s mine whether she wants it yet or not. But it isn’t.
Because I know how she tastes. I know the sound of her voice breaking when my name rips out of her throat. And I’m starving for it.
My hands curl into fists against the wall, bones grinding together to keep me from turning the handle and walking back into her room. If I touch her again now, I won’t stop. And she isn’t ready for what that means.
But she will be.
My cock is rock hard, grinding against the back of my zipper.
I pop the button with a sharp snap, a growl caught low in my chest as I wrap my fist around myself.
Precum leaks hot over the tip, slicking my grip.
The thought of it smeared across her lips makes my cock jerk up into my hand like it’s reaching for her.
I squeeze the base, choking back the release, then drag my hand slowly from root to tip.
My teeth grind. I shouldn’t be doing this, but the picture’s already locked in my head.
Her knees on the floor. My cock filling her throat.
Lashes wet. Cheeks streaked with tears while she swallows around me. Sweet and ruined. Mine.
My forehead pushes harder against the wall.
My hand tightens, squeezing the tip, wet heat smearing across my fist with every stroke.
My pace builds without permission, faster, harder, hips bucking into my grip like I’m chasing her mouth.
A live wire runs down my spine, heat curling deep until my balls pull tight, and I explode against the wall in thick, hot streaks.
Jesus Christ. She has me losing control like a goddamn teenager. Hungry for her touch when she doesn’t even want me.
The only thing that pulled me out of that room was knowing the truth.
No matter how her body betrays her, her mind still sees me as a threat.
Her eyes said it all, filled with equal lust and fear, charging the air between us.
I could have taken her. She would have given in.
But I know what would come after. The moment it ended, terror would smother whatever heat was there.
And I’ll never let that be the way she remembers me.
I yank my shirt over my head, use the fabric to wipe the mess off the wall, tossing it in the hamper as I head to the shower.
I twist the knob hard to the right and duck under the stream.
My palms flatten against the tile, fingers spread wide, pressing hard until the tips ache.
Ice-cold water streams down my face, into my mouth, and down my throat.
I’m supposed to be the man who controls everything. The one who calculates ten steps ahead. Who never cracks. But ten minutes alone with her, and I’m stripped down to something raw. All my precision shredded, revealing my true nature underneath.
The need to touch her has been clawing at me since the second I saw her smile at Marco. That smile should be mine. It burns that she gives it away so easily to him, while every glance at me is loaded with suspicion.
I stand under the stream, letting the cold hammer my skin until my muscles go numb, forcing myself to stay put, to fight the pull to storm back into her room, spread her out naked beneath me, and remind her of just how good I can make her feel.
I really am the fucked-up beast she thinks I am. I’m supposed to be earning her trust, not shattering it.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel low around my waist. My phone buzzes against the vanity, screen lit, demanding my attention. Bash. Of course.
I pour whiskey into a glass from the bottle I keep on the vanity. I already know I need something strong to get through this conversation.
Bash: Soooo when do we get to meet her?
I take a slow drink, letting the burn drag down my throat. My thumb moves over the screen.
Me:
Never.
Bash:
Awe, come on, don’t be like that. I promise to tell her all the sweet things you’ve done.
I snort under my breath. The sound dies quickly. My thumb taps again.
Me:
I can hear the lie from here.
Bash:
But really man. The girls are going crazy over here. If you don’t bring her over soon, you’ll have all three Mrs. Everettes at your door, and don’t think for a second they won’t steal your girl if they don’t think you’re treating her well.
My jaw tightens. He’s not bluffing. Those three will definitely do it.
Me:
That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I need more time before they meet.
I type out my next message and stare at the words a second too long before I hit Send.
Me:
I can’t risk losing her again.
Bash:
You really do make kidnapping sound romantic.
Me:
Are you going to help me or not?
Bash:
Yes…I will keep the girls away, but you fucking owe me. You have no idea what I’m risking pissing Anastasia off.
Me:
She really has you on your knees doesn’t she?
Bash:
And I’ll gladly stay down here.
Bash:
You’ll know how that feels soon enough. winky face
I already do. My thumb hovers over the keyboard a second, and then I type it out and hit Send anyway. I’ve been down there since the first time she looked at me, and the hurt staring back mirrored mine.
Bash:
So, what’s your plan?
Me:
I’m working on it.
The screen dims, reflecting my cold eyes back at me.
Another message pops up. I switch over to the brothers’ thread.
Matthias:
They found Calder’s body.
My jaw locks as my thumbs hit the screen.
Me:
What the fuck do you mean, body?
The last I heard from him, he was backing out of our deal, leaving me to work with that asshole Elliot. Calder showing up dead now? That’s a problem. I didn’t give a shit about him personally, but the man was a Saint, and the Lords of the Order of Saints protect our own. Always.
Damon:
What do we know?
Matthias:
Not much. They left him in a barrel and tossed him into the harbor. A fishing boat found it and called the cops.
Matthias:
My contact figured I’d want to know after his driver’s license was found tucked into his sock. Clearly, he knew something was about to go down.
I refill my glass, nearly to the rim.
Me:
So is this an isolated incident, or are we looking at a bigger attack here?
Matthias:
Unclear. As of now, he’s the only Saint unaccounted for. Could be isolated.
Bash:
Why does that feel so unlikely?
Damon:
Doesn’t matter. Dig into what he was into before the hit. Give the word to the men. We’ll be on alert until we know more.
Damon:
And we can’t rule out this tying back to the ones after your wife.
Bash:
She still keeping you in the dark on why she ran?
The hair on the back of my neck lifts. My head turns toward her room before I can stop it. She’s been here under my roof for days and still hasn’t given me the truth. Still doesn’t trust me enough. It’s been driving me insane.
I can still see her the way I first found her in that hospital bed, bruised, blood dried along her temple, a shadow of herself under fluorescent lights. Whoever put her there signed their death warrant the second they touched her.
We’ve been tearing apart every lead since. My brothers pulling strings, men working around the clock, names getting crossed off one by one, only to find that her attacker was already killed by someone else.
Now Calder’s found, dumped like trash in the harbor. Another dead end.
The frustration is a live current under my skin. I can control everything else: business, men, money. But this? This hunt? It’s slipping through my fingers. And she’s still silent. Still refusing to give me even one name, one reason why they’re after her.
But as long as she’s under my protection, she has time. I’ll wait her out.
Even if it’s fucking killing me.
Me:
We’ll leave her out of it for now. I’m not fucking this up by pushing her to tell me something she doesn’t want to.
Matthias:
It’s fine, we’ll find him on our own. You just work on warming up your wife so she stops hating you.
My grip tightens on the phone until the glass creaks. If only it were that simple.
I don’t tell them I wish she could just hate me. That would be cleaner. Instead, I still catch the fear in her eyes, even when she tries to hide it. She’s a normal woman, and I dragged her into a place where murder is a line item and loyalty is paid for in blood.
As long as they keep coming for her, I’ll become the thing she fears, if that is what keeps her alive.