Chapter 16
The last time I visited Haven, a brothel fronting as a drinking establishment, I was on a training op for the Command.
Cross, being his vindictive asshole self, assigned me to go undercover as an aspiring whore.
In the wards, prostitution isn’t illegal as long as it’s conducted through the proper channels via Human Services, but Haven’s operations are certainly not on the up-and-up.
I’m the one who asked to meet here, since it’s a location I’m already familiar with, but Gray made the arrangements through the network, surprising me by revealing that the bartender is actually one of ours.
Her name is Pasha. She’s supposed to let me in through the alley behind Haven, but I hesitate as I reach the brick building, tapping my earpiece instead.
“Grayson,” I murmur over the comm. “Are you sure she can be trusted?”
“Yes. Pasha’s solid.”
Sticking close to the wall, I creep toward the back door. I’m uncomfortably aware of the camera pointed at that door. I’m a few feet away when it swings open, a hand beckoning me from the shadowy doorway.
I slip inside and come face-to-face with the bartender I met when I was undercover. She’s wearing short sleeves, her arms shimmering as I feel her trying to link with my mind.
“If anyone stops you,” she says over telepathy, “you’re my sister Mary.”
“Understood.”
Without a word—an audible one, anyway—Pasha leads me through a dimly lit corridor toward a rear stairway, where she suddenly stops, scrutinizing me.
“I know you,” she accuses.
“I was here a few months ago. You served me pure whiskey for my birthday.” I offer a sheepish smile. “Wasn’t my birthday, though.”
Recognition flashes in her expression, and she returns the smile. “I won’t even ask what your mission was, but you fooled me.” Pasha turns and climbs the stairs. “Come.”
I take the first step, wincing when the metal staircase creaks beneath my boots. We emerge through a door into a corridor on the second floor. This one is brightly lit, and I blink against the sudden onslaught of light. I feel exposed.
Pasha slips a keycard into my hand. “Last door on the left. Your guest is already waiting for you. If you’re here to kill him, try to keep it clean. I don’t want to scrub blood off the hardwood later.”
Killing him is the last thing I intend to do.
Well, unless he annoys me.
My heart rate kicks up from anticipation as I near the end of the hall. I tap the key against the door, and the lock releases with a soft beep. As I step through the threshold, I brace myself, because what if this is a trap—
I’m pushed up against a wall before I can blink.
Rough hands shove me forward, and suddenly there’s a hard, warm body pressed against mine. It’s reminiscent of the first time I met him at the inn in Hamlett, when I burst into his room uninvited while trying to flee another suitor.
His chin brushes my shoulder as his lips hover at my ear.
“This feels familiar, no?”
That deep, sexy voice.
God, I’ve missed it.
Cross grinds his lower body against my ass, letting me feel every inch of him, and a soft, desperate sound escapes my throat. He chuckles, his breath tickling my neck.
Then he spins me around and my gaze collides with his beautiful face.
Cross Redden is the most striking man I’ve ever seen in my life.
His eyes are a vivid shade of deep, dark blue I’ve never seen on another human.
His features are flawless, as if chiseled out of stone.
His smile is otherworldly. Those perfect lips curve when he sees me, and there it is—the elusive dimple that so rarely makes an appearance.
I blink and I’m in his arms, clinging to him as he holds me tight to his body. I don’t expect the rush of emotions that hits me all at once. I didn’t realize how much I missed this. The feel of his muscular chest, the spicy scent of him, his lips moving along my jaw. The weeks apart melt away.
“Fuck.” Cross buries his face in my hair. “It was so stupid of you to come.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” I tease.
“Of course I’m here. They didn’t let you come alone, did they?” He doesn’t look pleased with that notion.
“No. Gra—” I quickly catch myself. “Kaine escorted me. He’s handling some business.”
The corners of Cross’s mouth tighten.
“What?” I say.
“Sutler’s here with you?”
“Sort of. He’s off on some super-secret errand. He’ll collect me in two hours.”
“Oh, he’ll collect you, will he?”
His nostrils flare slightly, and I try not to smile.
“You’re jealous,” I accuse, unable to mask my delight.
“Yes.” His gaze rakes over me with a hot intensity that makes my heart race.
“If it helps, he has a girl back at the base.”
“So? Lots of men cheat on their girls.”
I lift a brow. “Would you ever cheat on me?”
“Never.” His voice rings with unwavering certainty. “Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?” I swallow through the sudden thickness of my throat.
“You own me, Dove. My heart, soul, body. It’s all yours. There could never be anybody else. Not in a million fucking lifetimes.”
For one breath-stealing moment, it feels like time stops. The entire world pauses for us. Cross isn’t usually a romantic, but the way he’s looking at me right now…
He cups my face, his thumbs brushing over my jaw. His blue eyes are bottomless, drawing me in, deeper and deeper, until I can’t look anywhere else.
“With that said…” His voice drops an octave. A sexy, possessive growl. “You belong to me, and I’m not sharing you. Not now. Not ever.”
There’s the Cross I know and love.
I toy with the fabric of his shirt, my voice rippling with mischief. “What are you gonna do? Mark me like I’m your territory?”
One strong hand curls around my waist, tugging me closer. “You are my territory.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, fucking really. And if anyone doesn’t know that yet, I’m more than happy to educate them.”
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“Don’t test me, Dove.”
I shiver at his imposing tone. I’m obsessed with this side of him.
The intensity, the raw need on his face when he looks at me, his possessive grip on my waist. The sharp pull of desire it evokes is more than welcome.
The weeks apart almost made me forget the way his presence overtakes a room, filling it with sex and magnetism. I forgot the way he makes my head spin.
He didn’t come in uniform, no captain stars on his sleeve, and his all-black getup only adds to his imposing air.
“I missed you,” Cross rasps, brushing a lock of hair off my forehead. His touch is infinitely gentle, but the uncontained fire in his eyes tells me he’s barely holding on to control. “You have no idea how much.”
His lips hover for a teasing, heart-pounding second before crashing over mine in a kiss so fierce, my entire body goes weak from the force of it. It’s like coming home. The familiar heat, the taste of him, the greedy plunge of his tongue.
“I forgot,” I groan against his lips.
“Forgot what?” he mumbles between drugging, hungry kisses.
“How much I crave you.”
“I didn’t forget at all.”
His hands slide down to cup my ass, squeezing it, and then he lifts me into his arms, while his mouth devours me. It’s more than a kiss. It’s all-consuming. A reminder of how utterly and completely his I am, and how fiercely he’s mine.
We have a lot of talking to do, I know that, but kissing him feels more crucial right now. Like I’ll die if we stop. He smells so good. Feels so good.
Next thing I know, I’m being lowered onto the bed. I yank his head down for another kiss and he winces before masking the response. But not fast enough.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
“Nothing. Just a little sore.” But when he twists his head, adjusting the collar of his tight black shirt, I catch a glimpse of color.
I tug the collar down and find a bruise blooming there. A faded purple. I gently run my fingers over his collarbone, grazing the skin just below it.
Alarm flickers through me. “What the hell, Cross?”
“I’m fine,” he insists, but I’m already pulling off his shirt, ignoring his pained grimace because I know if I don’t look for myself, he’s going to minimize whatever I find underneath.
And what I find underneath are bruises.
Everywhere.
He’s been beaten.
I run my fingers along his warm flesh, finding more bruises in various stages of healing. Purple ones on his ribs. Yellowing at the edges on his stomach. A bluish green on his shoulder.
“You said he just knocked you around,” I accuse. “Baby. This is bad.”
He grins.
“What?”
“Did you just call me baby?”
“Oh shit. I did.”
That makes him shudder with laughter before he stills, his voice turning rough. “I liked it.” He cups the side of my neck, pulling me closer, and his thumb traces my jaw. “I’m fine, Daisy. I’m a big boy. A few bruises and some broken ribs won’t kill me.”
“That little asshole broke your ribs? I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t bother. It made Roe feel good about himself. Just let him have it.”
“I don’t give a shit if he feels good. I want him to suffer.” I continue to run my hands over him, examining him for injury. “Did he beat you anywhere else?”
Cross gives a cheeky grin. “Well, not there,” he drawls, and I realize my hands are at the button of his trousers. “But please, keep going. Take them off.”
Desire surges through me when I see how hard he is, the thick ridge of arousal straining against his zipper.
The hunger returns in full force, and I promptly forget about his bruises, because if they don’t bother him, then I’m not going to fret on his behalf.
We’re kissing again, breaking apart only so he can peel my shirt off.
He reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, and when my breasts are exposed, his blue eyes burn with approval.
Cross tugs me toward his seeking mouth. His tongue comes out to taste my nipple, summoning a moan from my lips.
“I missed that sound,” he says, humming with satisfaction as he draws my nipple into his mouth and sucks.