Thorn
Belladonna Mansion
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Grand Foyer
Two and a half weeks later…
The movers’ heavy boots scuffed across his marble floor as four contractors strained beneath the weight of Casey’s grand piano, guiding it through the wide double doors toward the waiting truck.
Thorn stood in the center of the foyer, his left arm cradled in a sling, body still aching in ways he didn’t care to acknowledge. But instead of being bitter or upset, he stood in the foyer with quiet gratitude.
Belladonna was still standing strong.
The mansion had been tested, invaded, violated, shot up, and doused in blood—but she had not fallen. She never would. She was more than stone and glass. She was a haven, a fortress…their home.
He thought of her namesake, Atropa Belladonna, deadly nightshade that poisoned and killed Romeo and Juliet’s epic love.
Thorn smiled.
In Belladonna, love is the antidote, the cure for every venom lodged in the souls, minds, and hearts of its residents.
Lucas’s sudden presence pulled him from his thoughts as he bent and brushed a kiss across Thorn’s lips, lingering a few seconds before he eased back.
“I’ll be home late,” Lucas murmured. “The meeting’ll probably run over.”
“I’ll be right here waiting,” Thorn whispered.
Lucas’s house—the one he’d shared with his ex—was already on the market. He’d all but moved into Belladonna anyway, sliding seamlessly into Thorn’s life as if it was always where he’d belonged.
They’d promised each other balance, not allowing work or responsibilities to eclipse the love they have for each other.
Lucas was going to London next month on business and had invited Thorn to go with him. And, instead of making reasons why it’d be difficult to get away from his desk, he’d tossed all excuses to the side and said, “Hell yes.”
He’d gotten wind that his gentlemen were making bets that Lucas would propose overseas, but Thorn refused to play into the game. If it happened, then it happened.
Of course he’d say yes.
Until then, he was holding on to love with both hands, never again taking a single day for granted.
Casey bounded up to him and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. Galan was, as always, a steady presence at his side.
“I’m gonna miss you, sweet boy,” Thorn said warmly, brushing a hand over Casey’s cheek, careful to not touch his Sir’s collar.
Casey’s grin wobbled, bright but emotional. “I’m only twenty minutes away. You’ll still see me all the time.”
“Not enough,” Thorn teased, squeezing his hand.
Axel and Waylan descended the staircase together, brushing shoulders, eyes bright with something Thorn recognized even without the gift of empathic sight.
Axel embraced Casey tightly. “We’ve gotta run. Picking up supplies to take down to Skid Row tonight.”
Lucas, already halfway to the door, called back over his shoulder, “You and Waylan ready to present your proposals next week? The investors won’t go easy on you.”
Axel smiled wide. “We’ll be ready.”
He and Waylan were petitioning the city to make some upgrades to Skid Row, but of course, they needed some financial backing, so they’d asked Lucas for help.
He’d agreed to get them the meetings, but they’d have to do all the work themselves. Knowing those two…it would get done.
Casey piped in, “Don’t forget my debut at the Chrysler at the end of the summer. My first university composition. You will all be there, yes?”
Axel kissed Casey’s cheek again. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
When they were gone, Casey looked around. “Where’s Lincoln and Rambo?”
Ever since Sharpe had made the incredible sniper shot through his office window that saved his life, he’d been called everything from the Terminator and Hawkeye to Robin Hood and Lancelot.
Thorn laughed. “Last I checked, they were in the garage, working on Lincoln’s bike.”
They wove through the halls, into the kitchen, until they got to the garage door. Casey pulled it open and almost choked.
Lincoln had Sharpe sprawled over the glossy black Harley, hand down the back of the detective’s jeans, and his tongue buried in his mouth like a man feasting on his last meal.
Thorn cleared his throat, but the two of them didn’t even flinch.
Lincoln eventually let Sharpe breathe, the detective scowling up at him as if he were mad he’d stopped.
“Do you two ever come up for air?” Thorn drawled.
Sharpe—stone-faced, unapologetic—didn’t bother to answer. But Thorn saw it. That look. He knew it well. Sharpe burned for Lincoln, an alpha’s surrender to the one man who could tame him.
Lincoln rushed over and pulled Casey into a tight hug.
Casey wrinkled his nose and pulled back. “Ugh, you smell like oil, testosterone, and gun smoke.”
Lincoln laughed as he set Casey back on his feet and returned to Sharpe’s side.
“Linc, we have a date in the media room next Thursday for the premiere of White Lotus .” Casey clapped excitedly. “Don’t you dare forget.”
“Hell yes, we’ll be there.”
“I’m not watching that shit,” Sharpe rumbled, squatting beside the bike with his wrench. “You might have time to stare at a fuckin’ big-screen TV all night, but I don’t.”
Lincoln rounded on Sharpe. “You got fuckin’ time for whatever I tell you to have time for.”
Sharpe threw his tool down with a loud clack against the concrete. “Fuck you.”
“Oh gosh,” Casey sighed, closing the door on them.
No one wanted to see what was about to happen next.
Casey’s departure was bittersweet as he walked him back to the front door.
He kissed his cheek one final time before Galan ushered him into his black Lincoln sedan.
They followed behind the moving truck and Thorn watched until they’d cleared the gates.
He was going to miss Casey living there, but he was also glad he was happy and content and only moving a few miles away.
Movement drew Thorn’s gaze as a gangly, tall man stepped out of an Uber at the edge of his driveway.
He tilted his head back to take in the mansion before he walked slow, hesitant steps toward the porch.
The closer he got, the more Thorn had to lift his eyes. He was definitely tall .
He wasn’t GQ -runway gorgeous, but he was handsome in an everyday kind of way. He had a five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon yet, a crooked nose, average build, and a slightly awkward posture.
But his smile was shy, and his blue eyes exceptionally kind.
Thorn recognized him from the email the night before. One of his potential new gentlemen.
“Mr. Blackwell?” the man asked.
Thorn nodded.
“I’m Malachi, um…Jonah gave me your card.”
Thorn’s heart stirred. With his good arm, he extended his hand toward the foyer and said warmly, “Please come in. Welcome to Belladonna.”
The End