Chapter Thirty-One Blake
Chapter Thirty-One
Blake
I was waiting for him the next night. I left the light off but moved to the chair in the far corner so when he opened the door, I could see him, but he couldn’t yet see me.
Watching him ghost inside, moving silently and lithely, I would never get over how he could move.
Among everything, Creighton had some innate athleticism that in another world, he could’ve used to become a professional athlete in some sport.
He’d been too vicious for football or basketball.
Coaches knew not to give him a ball for baseball.
Hockey was the best fit, but when he learned how to use his stick as a knife, he was quickly taken off the ice.
I never heard those stories from Creighton himself, but the other foster kids loved to tell them at times.
There were a lot of stories about Creighton.
All of them had the same theme. He was dangerous and deadly.
And yet, I hadn’t been able to get Palma’s words out of my head.
I needed him to be a different man in order to be with him, but she was right. He would not be the man I . . . My heart palpitated. I hadn’t argued against what Palma said, but acknowledging and saying those words to myself meant that I needed to accept what I felt for Creighton.
A tremor went through my hands.
I still wasn’t ready. Not yet, but we needed to talk.
I couldn’t stand aside any longer in this new war he was embroiled in. When he came into my room that night, I waited until he was standing over my bed, looking at the body pillow I’d put under my blankets.
I moved fast, knowing I only had the element of surprise for this to work.
I had a pair of handcuffs opened and in my hand, and as his back was turned to me, I pounced.
I slapped one of the handcuffs around his hand and used my body to propel him onto my bed and lifted his arm so I could slap the other handcuff around my bedpost. As he lay there under my weight, momentarily surprised, I scrambled to do the same with his other hand.
By that time, as I was lifting his other hand, Creighton had caught on to my intentions.
I expected him to fight. He didn’t. He let me lift his arm up, and he watched, almost amused as I finished the second pair of handcuffs.
I was out of breath, and my pulse was pounding from the buildup more than anything.
He tested the handcuffs. They held firm. I made sure that he couldn’t flip over and bring his hands together because if he did, he’d figure out a way to pick the handcuffs. I knew he could because I’d learned how to do it from him.
I sank down over him, a little sweaty, and gave him a lopsided grin. “I can’t believe that worked.”
He only raised his eyebrows, his eyes slowly trekking down my body and lingering where I was nestled right over him. “I’m game to see where this is going.” He lifted his hips, grinding up and into me.
I stifled a moan, not expecting the pleasure that coasted through me.
With him.
This was new to me.
Him. Me.
“So far I’m enjoying it.”
I groaned before I growled, lifting up only to grab a pillow.
I put that over him and sank back down. He couldn’t grind against me as well with the pillow in place, but I still wanted to keep my weight on him, as if I needed that added way to hold him in place.
It was probably a useless way of thinking, but it made me feel more in control.
And it added an extra closeness for the conversation we needed to have.
He waited, but when I remained quiet, he inclined his head toward me. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
I was a little lightheaded as I confessed, “Not really. No. It was more of an idea, but I didn’t think it’d work. I’m kinda figuring this out as we go.”
I rested a hand to his chest and tried to ignore all the feelings happening in my body.
I liked sitting this way on Creighton.
Like I could dominate him.
Like he would have to do what I wanted him to do.
The power was intoxicating.
Though, of course, it’d only work until the morning because he had an ungodly amount of followers who’d crap their pants if their boss was absent for longer than a night.
One of his men would come looking for him.
Probably Lassiter. He wouldn’t care who he had to bowl over in order to check my bedroom.
Or Levi, who was still here. And was also trying to charm his way into Palma’s bed.
I could talk Levi into helping cover for me, though he’d probably only give me another day. If Lassiter showed up, no way. The game would be up, but until any of that happened, I let myself relish the fact that Creighton was handcuffed to my bed.
“Usually when handcuffs come out, the other person tells me what they want from me. Information or . . .” He lifted his hips up again, and I squeaked a little because even with a pillow between us, I could feel him. And he felt good.
This felt good, the rocking motion he was starting to do.
I pressed my hand harder on his chest. “Stop.”
A chuckle came from him. “Or what? You haven’t told me the reason for this.” He moved his left hand, rattling the handcuff.
I was getting all confused before remembering. “Answers.” I moved my hand.
His head lowered, watching where my hand was going. “For?”
I’d started to lift his shirt up over his stomach. Flustered, I smoothed his shirt back in place and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring down at him, or more accurately, glaring straight at him since he was sitting up against the headboard. “Your war.” My voice cracked.
We were so close to each other.
If I leaned forward and if he met me halfway, our mouths would touch.
My gaze fell to his lips. I was remembering what it’d been like to kiss him. To be in his arms. To taste him.
I swallowed roughly.
My blood was heating up.
“My war?” A faint hint of amusement was heard from him.
As his own gaze fell to my mouth before lifting to meet my eyes, he was aware of the internal turmoil happening inside of me.
I was getting distracted by my body and his body and the fact we were on my bed, at night, and no one would be interrupting us anytime soon.
Finding myself leaning forward, I groaned and closed my eyes. Slapping a hand to his chest, I shoved myself backward, imagining a bucket of cold water coming down over me.
“One of the last times you saw me, you wanted to murder me.”
Murder him.
Right. Yes.
The robbery.
“I need to know what’s going on with your war with West and Walden. You knew they took me.”
He went eerily still. “You’ve always been able to protect yourself. I failed you.”
“No,” I started to say, but paused.
I sank farther back on his lap. Both of my hands went to his chest and began toying with the bottom of his shirt. “Wait. When did you find out?”
“I have an inside man with them. He was going to notify me, but the alarms went off. You’d already escaped. He ran interference, tried to help give you time to get away. Did they hurt you?”
That explained a lot. I shook my head. “They looked like they wanted to. Walden’s unhinged.”
He made a noncommittal sound, his mouth pressing in a flat line. “He deserved everything he got.”
That attitude wasn’t going to bring this war to an end.
He was going to keep it going, and going, and going.
“Creighton, if I’m going to make a decision about you and me”—my heart was suddenly trying to pound its way out of my own chest—“then I need to be read in on everything. Changes and compromises have to be made. Do you agree? I mean, if you do want a you and me thing, that is. Do you want that?”
Gah. I was doing this backward. People in real life hooked up, hooked up again and again, and after it was a pattern, they talked about maybe getting into a “thing” together. Creight and I hooked up once and boom, he was handcuffed to my bed and I was making him have the talk.
I had out-stalked my stalker. Mic drop.
He didn’t respond, staring at me with his default setting. His dead eyes.
“If I’m staying here and if you’re going to continue to be a part of this war, they’re going to come after me again.” I skipped over the other question. Because, embarrassing.
His eyes shifted, still not showing any emotion. “They took you from Octavia. In doing that, they included a whole other Mafia organization into this fight, but maybe that was the plan. I can’t make a move against them until I know what decision Cole Mauricio has made concerning repercussions.”
I was trying to catch up. “No. Wait. There was a guy. I forgot about him. I was leaving work when I saw Walden with the guy. That’s when they took me. Maybe . . .”
“What guy?”
“A guy.” I shrugged, relaying everything I remembered about the incident.
Creighton had gone still beneath me. “He handed him a thick envelope?”
I nodded. “He said that I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“Walden said that?”
“I thought he meant because of Octavia. Because of the owner.” I was suddenly terrified to ask. “Is Cole Mauricio powerful?”
“Yes.”
My heart sank. “How powerful?”
“He runs Chicago. With Carter Reed, they run half of the Twin Cities too.”
“That’s in Minnesota?”
“Yes. Minneapolis and St. Paul.”
My chest tightened again. “Who runs the other half?”
“Kai Bennett. They have a tentative truce.”
My mouth dried. I didn’t understand that part. “And how powerful is Kai Bennett?”
“He runs half the country.”
“Oh.”
“And Canada.”
My heart dropped. “So he’s scary.”
“If I were to experience that feeling, yes.” He was answering all of the questions with those same bland responses that were his default setting.
I swallowed a knot, remembering one advantage that Creighton had over his enemies.
He wasn’t ruled by emotions, so therefore as I studied him, I knew that even though he was using those words, he was doing it for my benefit.
He was not scared of those men. It’s the advantage he’d been extorting against Tristian West and Ashton Walden, and it’d been working so far.
Which brought me back to the original reason for all of this. “I have people here that I care about.”
“You’re worried West and Walden would go after your friends?”
I held his gaze, knowing he could see my answer.
He didn’t reply, not at first. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “I can put more guards on your friends, but I don’t think they’ll move on your roommates.”
“I like them, Eight.”
My hand was resting against his chest, and it was only for that reason that I felt his heart thump when I whispered that nickname for him. That was his only reaction. His face, his eyes, his tone, nothing else changed.
“I thought they would kick me out, but they didn’t.
Palma got mad at me when she caught me. I .
. .” Could I have this hope? Could I have it and keep it?
“I’ve only wanted to feel normal, and Palma gave me that.
I think I could finally have that normal life, but that means your war can’t hurt them. ”
I sank farther down on him.
That’s what I wanted from him. I wanted to stay.
I wanted to remain in these people’s lives.
And I wanted to not be a part of Creighton’s war.
Except that was unrealistic, because I was the one weakness he had.
I would never be rid of him. I didn’t think I even wanted that anymore.
And Creighton would never stop being Creighton.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
He cocked his head to the side. That was his only indication he didn’t understand my question.
I clarified, “At the end of the day, what do you want?”
“I want you.”
God. Those words hit me in the sternum, sending vibrations through my whole body. They were intoxicating to hear. My blood heated.
“But other than me, what do you want?”
He considered my question for a little bit.
“I can’t live under someone else’s rule.
That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?” His eyes lingered on my mouth.
He flicked back up to meet my gaze. “You want me to stop doing what I do. If I did, that would mean another gang or organization or family would rule instead. Where there is an opening for power, someone will take it. It’s the natural way of things.
Someone always rises to the top. We’d have to live under their rules and guidelines.
I wouldn’t be able to protect you. I can’t do that.
Where you go, I will always try to protect you.
Even though you have proved over and over again that you don’t need me. ”
My heart leapt. I whispered, unable to stop myself, “I’ll always need you.”
And just like that, all of the hope that I’d been too scared to let myself feel, all of it deflated right out of me. We were back to square one because if I had him, I’d never live any semblance of a normal life.
I wanted him, but not how he was. And he couldn’t change himself.
I was being torn apart inside.
“Uncuff me.” His eyes were suddenly heated, tracing over every inch of my face.
My arms were weighed down by cement anchors, but I did as he asked. As soon as one hand was free, his arm snaked forward, his hand cupping the side of my face. He smoothed his thumb over my cheek, tilting my head in his palm. “What did I say that made you so sad?”
Because of course he wouldn’t understand. Maybe logically, but not emotionally.
I shook my head, my voice rough as I whispered, “It doesn’t matter.”
He leaned closer, now arching over me. “It matters to me.” He kept searching my face as if the answer would suddenly appear there. It wasn’t that simple. “What do you want me to do, Blake? Tell me. I’ll do it. This one time.”
I could’ve said so much, but the truth was that I wanted him to be someone else, and that would never happen. “I—” My whole body was hurting. All of it was one massive ache that was never going to leave me. This wasn’t going to work. I needed to accept that.
I couldn’t stay in this in-between stage. Where he and I were dancing around being together or not. I needed to try something different.
“Kiss me.”
He studied me for another beat, his eyebrows pinching together, but then his face cleared, and once again, with dead eyes, he leaned to me.
His lips found mine, and I gasped, because even though there was no emotion on his face, the fact was that his touch elicited all the emotions inside of me. I had more than enough for both of us.
Something had to change.
I was going to give in.