Chapter 20
KILLIAN
Leaving Logan alone this week was a struggle, and even that seems like a trivial word for how difficult it was.
The last time I saw him, I tried to stop myself from taking him, but then he kept pushing, and it was too much for me.
I needed to find out how tight that virgin hole was.
Needed to feel the way the muscles would contract as he breathed with me lodged inside him.
Needed to see the desperation as his eyes begged for a desire he refused to voice.
But as much as I enjoy fucking with his head, I knew I’d gone too far when he started denying what we’d done. Sometimes it’s so easy to read what’s on his mind, what he wants from me. Others, I’m oblivious.
I wanted to reach out to him to make sure he was okay, to be sure I hadn’t pushed him over the edge, but I chose to respect his desire for peace.
I’m a Lorde, after all, and if there’s anything a Lorde knows, it’s patience.
I’m a predator stalking in the night. I can always wait, decide on the best time to strike, and when he finally called, I knew I’d have my chance once again.
But damn, in all that time he avoided speaking with me, it was like he had me in a chokehold, steadily restricting my breath, taking my very life from me. I’ve fucked plenty of men, but what Logan and I share is different. We activate something so primal within each other that’s overpowering.
And now, when I should be focusing on work, all I can think is how much I wish I could be breeding Logan Wilde’s ass.
I take a whiff, my nostrils filling with the fresh batch. There’s that good rush, telling me everything I need to know. “Oh fuck yeah,” I tell Klyde—my distribution manager, coordinating major deliveries—and Rage. “You weren’t kidding.”
Rage beams, his eyes bulging.
“Clearly, you’ve already had plenty for yourself,” I observe.
“When it’s this tasty, can you blame me?”
“I can always find a way to blame you,” I tease.
“Where are the other guys?” When I came to the warehouse, I immediately noticed we were low on security.
Once our guys got all the boxes in here, I counted thirteen of us—myself excluded—most organizing the boxes around us, and only two guys on the upper level, keeping an eye out for the Feds.
That’s too few guys for a shipment this size.
“This is only half the load, so we worked it out,” Rage says.
“We needed to keep security on the other half,” Klyde explains.
Tension knots in my throat. “You need more security covering the place,” I insist.
“It’s one time.”
“One time was all it took for Old Terror, isn’t it?” I snap.
Rage’s jaw stiffens. “It wasn’t my call.
And with you being in a mood, I’m not gonna tell you who made it, but we didn’t have a choice.
Since the Feds got the drop on the first location, we had to move everything to another location before bringing it here.
Otherwise, the only person getting their hands on this was gonna be a SWAT team. ”
I take a breath. Whether I like it or not, shit like this comes up. You can’t expect everything to go according to plan when you’re a crime boss. Still, it gives me an uneasy feeling. And I hate uneasiness.
“Get some of the guys to come from the house,” I instruct Krychek and Jaime, “and see if we can’t call in a favor from the Wildes. Just to be on the safe side.”
“You don’t trust my judgment?” Rage says.
I pat his shoulder. “Sounds like you get the idea.”
He issues a playful glare before we finish up with Klyde, creating a pickup plan for the Veritovs. Once that’s done, Krychek heads out to fetch the car, and Jaime joins me.
“Sorry if this wasn’t up to snuff for you, bro,” Rage says.
“I’ll be fine once some more guys get here.”
“Bet you’ll be even better later, when you see your Wilde lover.”
He’s not wrong. “Speaking of Logan, I suggest you don’t watch us again unless you want me to cut your dick off.”
He grins. “I think you just wanted to say something about touching my dick.”
I roll my eyes. “Jaime.” I motion to the exit into the hallway, and the three of us head toward it.
“So when is this wedding gonna take place?” Rage asks. “We gotta make arrangements. Get all the family together.”
“It’s not that kind of wedding,” I say, almost sounding annoyed that it isn’t a real wedding. I tell myself it bothers me because I should have the right to marry whomever I choose, but I can’t help wondering if there’s more to it than that.
As we near the exit to the hall, there’s an unmistakable sound, one I’ve become acutely aware of over the course of my life. Assault rifles. We’re under attack.
“Fuck.” I snatch Rage by his shirt collar and drag him with Jaime as we round the corner into the hall, a series of shots following us, coming from the other side of the warehouse.
Rage and I exchange a look, and though my griping at him before was justified, I’m also not an idiot. Now isn’t the time for I told you sos.
We retrieve our guns from our holsters, peeking into the warehouse, where two guys in clown masks have already downed five of my guys, including Klyde.
Clearly these bastards found the blind spot in our security and slipped in through the other entrance or a window on the other side of the warehouse.
The sort of worst-case scenario I feared.
As gunfire rains down on them from our guys on the upper level, they use the crates as shields.
Fuckers.
The gunfire continues for what feels like forever, my mind flashing through the ambush with Old Terror, the day I lost him, my mom, and four of my siblings.
I held his hand as he pulled me close, his face covered in the blood of his best friend and personal bodyguard, his chest loaded with bullets.
“You…take care of your siblings, you hear me?” he told me when he still thought more would survive.
“Of course.”
“And the Wildes are our family too, you understand that?”
“Yes.”
At the time, I didn’t understand why we held this allegiance. Hell, some days I still don’t.
“You’re gonna be fine,” I told him, though I knew it was a lie.
He smiled. “Of course I am. I’m fucking Old Terror,” he said because he didn’t mind lying either.
Those were the last words I heard my father say.
The assault-rifle shots cease, which is concerning as fuck since I haven’t heard any more fire from our guys.
Rage and I exchange another look, Jaime covering our backs as Rage rushes to the other side of the exit and I brave a peek around the corner.
One of the masked guys is on the move, rifle pointed up, searching the second story for survivors, meaning he’s confident he got everyone.
I don’t have time to worry about that, though.
I take the shot, nailing him, blood splattering from his skull before he drops like a sack of stones to the ground.
“Got one,” I manage to tell Rage before shots drill into the hall from the other attacker’s automatic.
Rage signals with two fingers downturned like a claw. “Raptor”—our good ole-fashioned safety plan, just like Old Terror taught us.
“Don’t you dare,” I mouth.
“You better have my back, bro.”
Motherfucker!
Before I have a chance to argue, he pulls out of his safe space, rounding the corner and shooting into the warehouse.
As I hear rounds unloading, Rage pulls back just in time, and I’m not about to waste the opportunity.
I come around the corner, see the guy and take two shots, getting him in the chest, his gun flailing as he tumbles over.
“Who’s alive?” Rage shouts.
A few groans come from the warehouse, giving me hope, but damn, this was a bloodbath.
Krychek appears from the other side of the warehouse, where the attackers came from. “There were two more. Snipers. One nailed our two sentries outside, and the other was standing back there to take out the guys upstairs.”
Fuck.
Krychek, Jaime, Rage, and I assess the damage while making sure there aren’t any more surprises.
Klyde is down, holes in his shirt, fresh blood, and wide, still eyes.
“I’m counting seven dead,” Rage says from a quick glance.
“Who’d we lose?” I spit out, approaching the guy I nailed in the chest. Rage and Jaime list off our losses as I kneel next to him to make sure the bastard’s dead.
When I’m on my knees, his eyes pop open, and he sits up fast, his arm coming around.
I figure he’s gonna hit me, but as I raise my arm in self-defense, I see the shine of a blade before feeling it pushing into my arm.
“Dammit!” I call out just as I hear a gunshot.
I’m a dead man.
Just like Old Terror himself.
Like father, like son.
But the attacker’s back on the ground, blood spewing from his skull, and Rage is sporting a smile. “See? We make a good team.”
“Maybe I’ll appreciate that more when I recover from being stabbed.”
*
I’m still shaken as Jaime and I return to Rothguard.
It took a few hours for the guys at the Center to tend to our wounded men, and we have cleaners erasing our traces at the warehouse.
We searched the four attackers for anything that could link them to whoever hired them, and while some tokens pointed to the Raiders, it seems too easy.
I’ve been around long enough to recognize a setup.
I’m not worried, though—finding whoever’s responsible is only a matter of time.
And here I assumed the biggest event of tonight would be plowing Logan Wilde.
I texted him earlier to let him know tonight was off, without explaining why, though I’m sure he’s heard about the scuffle. Word travels fast in the underworld.
When we arrive at Rothguard, Jaime helps me inside, where Krychek greets me. “Killian…” His expression is somber, like he’s got bad news.
“Whatever the fuck it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s nothing serious, but—”
“Christ, can you just let me get a goddamn shower before annoying me?”
“Of course.” He nods and heads on his way.
Jaime escorts me to my bedroom, where I strip out of my blood-soaked clothes and head to the bathroom vanity, looking at the streaks staining my face. I should probably be panicked or anxiety-ridden or something, but this is one of those moments when I’m eerily quiet. Numb.
There’s a knock at the door, and I growl, irritated that anyone would disturb my peace right now.
“Boss?” comes from the other side, and I hear the door open.
“You can’t go in there,” Jaime says, followed by Krychek’s, “Ah, fuck. Your fiancé’s heading in.”
It’s not a second before Logan’s in the bathroom doorway. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m sorry for canceling our date. I was held up,” I reply sarcastically.
He moves quickly toward me, and while part of me is ready to act fast and stop him, another feels more at ease the closer he gets.
“You’re injured.” He takes my hand, assessing the knife wound.
I like the way he’s holding my hand…fuck, where did that come from?
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re ambushed.”
“When I heard about it, I drove to the Center, but on the way there I was informed you had already left.”
That he was so concerned catches me by surprise. Of course, maybe he’s only concerned that the person responsible for his family’s safety was in danger. It wouldn’t mean good things for them if something happened to me. Surely, that’s all it is.
“Who did it?”
“Not sure yet. They were hired guys and tried to pin it on the Raiders, but whoever did, they’re gonna find out the hard way that you don’t fuck with the Lordes.”
“This was close,” Logan says.
“You think I was struggling to understand that?”
“No, it was too close,” he clarifies.
“Yes, it was, but the good thing is, Rage and I got out of there alive, so why don’t we focus on the positives?”
“Positives for whom?” he says with a cheeky smirk, and damn if that doesn’t make me smile.
Fuck you, Logan, for finding a way through my defenses.
“The doctors from the Center didn’t stitch this up for you?”
“They had a lot to manage. It was packed with bodies, and not everyone’s gonna make it.”
He nods. “Well, get washed up, and then I’ll take care of it.”
He’s still holding my hand, and though it feels nice he gives a damn, I don’t fucking need his help. “I’m good, Log.”
“I’m gonna steal a line from you: Did you mistake what I said for a question?”
I sigh, surrendering. Too tired to fight him.