Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lucian
The rain pounds against the windshield as if it’s trying to get in—like it wants to drown out the silence. Erin hasn’t said a word since I shoved her into this car. Not a single word.
Good.
Because if she opens her mouth right now, I might lose it.
We’re both soaked. And she’s not wearing a coat. Of course. If she’s going to go against everything I’ve told her, why not start with the coat?
She sits beside me, sexy and wet, skin flushed, hair stuck to her neck, dress clinging to every curve. My fists are still clenched on the wheel. My jaw’s tight enough to snap.
That dress.
She walked into a den of predators wearing that.
Without me.
Without fucking telling me.
Bayne told me. And now I have to kill him twice. Once for Gregory. Once for her.
We pass the vast expanse of the moor. Almost there. I keep my eyes on the road, headlights slicing through mist. My voice is low when I finally speak.
“You have a death wish?”
She flinches.
“Lucian—”
“No. Don’t even try.”
I throw the car into park, shove the door open, and slam it behind me. The wind rips at my coat as I stalk around to her side. She’s already out of the car.
I rip off my now somewhat dry coat, throwing it over her shoulders even though she’s already soaked. She stops, holding my arm so she can slip off her shoes, then starts stomping off barefoot, mud splashing up her sexy bare legs.
“What the hell? You want to get tetanus, too?” I bark.
She calls over her shoulder. “I’m not ruining these beautiful shoes you bought me.”
I catch up with her in two steps. I scoop her up, with a grunt, carrying her down the path to the front porch.
She wraps her cold, wet arms around my neck, shoes hanging from her hands, bouncing on my shoulder.
“And what about the coat I bought you?”
“Didn’t work with the outfit,” she hisses.
I growl, “Careful, babygirl. You’re already on the thinnest of ice.”
I stomp across the porch in my heavy boots, and one of my men opens the door for us.
I gently set her down on the soft carpet, one my men brought the other day to warm the place up, and the fire is already burning for us.
She looks down at the pool forming around her bare feet. Her voice is soft. “I had to do what I could.”
“You could’ve died.”
“I had Bayne’s men—”
“Bayne’s men aren’t me.”
The words snap out, harsh and brutal. Her spine stiffens. Her eyes flash.
“I’m not your prisoner, Lucian.”
“No. You’re going to be under a tighter lock and key than a prisoner because you’re mine.”
I grab her wrist and drag her deeper inside the cottage, heat rolling off me in waves. She stumbles once, on the way to the bedroom, but I don’t slow down. I’m too furious.
Too turned on.
Because she’s alive.
Because she’s fucking brave and stubborn. She came out here with less than a plan to protect me, protect her family somehow, and then when Gregory showed up, she tried to end Caleb on her own.
To protect my brother. So I wouldn’t have to go through what she has had to with Cass.
I get it.
But I’m pissed as hell about it.
The second I slam the bedroom door shut behind us, I spin and pin her against it.
“How could you try to go off on your own like that?”
“I didn’t. I had Bayne, and all the Kings’ horses and all the Kings’ men.”
I slam my hand against the door above her head. “Do not joke right now.”
“Not a joke.” She sighs. “Just a little nursery rhyme.”
“You know what I mean,” I say through clenched teeth. “We were supposed to work together.”
“I was ready to work with you,” she says, her voice shaking. “And then your brother came, and it no longer made sense to—”
“You think I’ll let you walk into a war zone alone?”
“Things changed, and working with you would mean exposing your brother to this world.”
“Let me decide.”
“You’ve already done too much for me. Putting Gregory at risk—for my sake?” She shakes her head. “Not happening.”
“It’s not your choice.”
Defiant blue eyes challenge me. “It’s not yours.”
“The hell it isn’t!” I shout.
“You don’t get to decide for me,” she says.
“Yes,” I growl, “I do.”
We’re in a standoff for a moment, then she breaks. Her voice goes soft. “I thought I had it all figured out. I’d go with Bayne’s men. I’d be the bait. They’d do the rest. I didn’t know Rory would be there, too.”
“And now you have a hostage.”
“Two,” she snaps. “Aren’t you proud?”
I can’t help adding with a hiss, “And let me guess, that syringe of insulin you’ve been hiding in the fridge was supposed to do Caleb in.”
She flinches. “You knew about that?”
“I inspected every inch of this cabin when I arrived. That’s what I do. But did you really think about how close you would have to get to that man to stick a needle in him?” My anger boils over. “Seriously.”
“It was a stupid plan,” she says. “Me coming here in the first place was a stupid plan.”
“Stupid doesn’t begin to cover it, Erin.”
She throws her hands in the air with exasperation. “I know! I’m pathetic. I don’t want to be a never-do-nancy!”
“A what?”
“Never-do-nancy. Someone who says they’re going to do the right thing but then doesn’t. I was trying to do something and end this.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“It’s nothing,” she shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is that I try to do the right thing, but instead, I make the wrong move at every turn. And you have to come galloping to save me,” she breathes, “I know.”
“You know what?”
“I know, I’ve been wrong every step of the way,” she says. “But dragging your brother into this? I couldn’t do that to you.” Her voice breaks almost enough to soften me.
Almost.
I cup her face in my hand. Her eyes meet mine. “I think you’re strong, and you’re brave. You did what you could. But now we’re in this together.”
“You, me, and now Gregory too,” she says. Her brow furrows. “Where is he anyway?”
My hands drop to her waist. I explain, “Gregory is where we are headed now: to a safe house protected by the Kings. It’s called Red Shutters and it’s on the border of England and Scotland.”
“Now?”
“Yes. We’re only stopping here long enough for you to change your clothes. And,” I add firmly, “Your attitude. You have to accept my help.”
“I will,” she says, but her words don’t convince me.
“I’ve killed men for less than what you pulled tonight,” I growl. “I’d tear the world apart to protect what’s mine.”
She breathes hard, chest rising. Then, those blue eyes of hers find mine. And she cuts me with, “Then you know why I did it.”
My lips are a whisper from hers. “Yes, babygirl. I know exactly why you did it. Because you’re stubborn and you’re brave and you don’t want to see anyone hurt. And it’s going to get you fucking killed.”
She opens her mouth to argue.
I don’t let her.
I kiss her instead—hard and punishing, like I need to remind her who the fuck I am. Who she is. And how we got here. She moans into the kiss, pulling me closer even as she trembles beneath the weight of me.
“I should tie you up for this,” I rasp against her mouth.
She shudders. “Then do it.”
My control snaps.
I rip the coat from her shoulders and toss it aside. My hands slide up under her soaked dress, gripping her ass and lifting her. She wraps her legs around my waist, head thrown back as I carry her to the wide dresser top and drop her on it.
I plant one hand on either side of her hip, staring down at her. “No more bullshit.”
She nods, dazed.
“No more lying.”
Another nod.
“I bought this dress for me to see you in.” I grab the already ruined fabric at the deep V above her breasts, “And now that worthless men have looked at you in it, I’ll burn it.”
“Is that really necessary?”
I tear the dress at the seams. The fabric peels away like surrender, exposing the lacy push-up bra I also bought for myself. She no longer owns a scrap of clothing that I haven’t bought for her. I made sure of it.
“You want to finish this?” I ask, voice low and dark. “You want to take Caleb down?”
“Yes,” she whispers, “More than anything.”
I lean in, planting a kiss on her lips. “Then you’ll do it my way.”
“Fine.”
“For someone shy of violence in the past, my girl’s got enough fire in her to be mafia,” I say. “Either that or she’s a little crazy.”
“Your girl only does crazy things,”—she wraps her arms around my neck—“when she’s protecting the ones that she loves,” and she’s tangling her fingers in my hair. “Even if she does it poorly—the heart is there.”
“We seem to have that in common.”
“We do.” She flashes a smile that sends blood surging to my core.
We’re currently holding the father and the son separately until we have a plan. One that keeps her safe. And doesn’t start a war for the Kings.
But Caleb—he’s mine to kill.
“I know your heart was in the right place,” I say, sinking to my knees.
I stare up at her in all her glory; skin flushed, dark hair tousled, destroyed black dress. A god damn beauty. She’s stunning. And an absolute vision. “That’s why I’m letting you off without my belt tonight. But don’t think this conversation is over, babygirl.”
She shudders as my hands grip the insides of her thighs.
She hesitates. “Lucian—I’m a mess…”
“You’re my delicious mess. Now keep those pretty fingers tangled in my hair. And don’t stop saying my name.”
My tongue draws out her first cry. “Lucian!” and I devour her, pulling her to the edge of the dresser, spreading her open and tasting every part. She’s already dripping, slick and desperate.
For me.
Only me.
Her fingers tighten around my hair, and her thighs are trembling. “Please—Lucian—please don’t stop.”
I don’t.
Not until she’s gasping my name like I’m the only thing left in her world.
Then I rise, ripping off my sweater and hooking my arm around her waist. I haul her off the table and shove her against the nearest wall.
“I love you,” I say, voice raw.
Her eyes go wide.
I press my forehead to hers. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
Then I sink into her in one brutal thrust.
She screams.
I don’t stop.
I fuck her like if I bury myself inside her, it’ll keep her safe. Like if I hold her tight enough, she’ll never slip through my fingers again. But the girl has a mind of her own. And that’s one of the million things that has me obsessed with her.
Her nails rake my back. Like always. Her mouth finds mine.
“I’m not letting you go,” I promise between kisses. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
She comes with a cry into my mouth, her body trembling around me.
I follow with a groan, burying myself deep, claiming every inch.
And when it’s over, I don’t pull away.
I carry her to bed.
Her fingers trail over my bare chest, stroking the scars from the fire at the Manhattan warehouse, a lifetime ago. As she touches them, they come alive like I’m burning in a way that hits my core.
She looks up at me, trusting, protected in my arms. “What did you say your friend’s name was? The one who told you not to go back in, that it was a trap?”
“You mean the one I should have listened to, or I wouldn’t have these scars today?”
“I like them. They make you…you.”
I hold her closer.
And I don’t let go.
Not even fucking caring that I confessed my love.
Or that she didn’t say it back.