CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #2
"I know enough." I step closer. The room feels smaller in the dark. I can smell her from here, something floral and faint. "I gave you time because you asked for it. Because of what you did for me. But this ends now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm done waiting. It means Reilan answers questions today. It means I find out exactly what he gave Viktor and when he gave it and why." I hold her gaze. "And if I don't like his answers, I deal with him the same way I dealt with Frank."
Her hand shoots out. Her palm connects with my chest and pushes. Not hard enough to move me. Hard enough to make a point.
"No."
"Aoife."
"I said no." Her voice is rising now. Breaking. "You're not going to kill my brother."
"Watch me."
She hits me.
Not a push this time. A real hit, her fist connecting with my shoulder, then my chest, then my shoulder again. She's crying now, tears streaming down her face, and she's hitting me like she can beat the decision out of me.
I let her.
I take every hit because I've been on the other side of this. I've been the one someone should have given up on.
Aoife didn't give up on me.
"Please." The word comes out broken. She stops hitting me. Her hands grip the front of my t-shirt instead, pulling, like she can drag the answer she wants out of my chest. "Please, William. I know what he did. I know. But he's still my brother."
"He put a target on your back."
"I don't care."
"I do."
The words come out rougher than I mean them to. She goes still.
I look at her. At the tears on her face. At the way she's holding onto me like I'm the only thing keeping her standing. At this woman who walked into my life two weeks ago and hasn't stopped fighting since.
"I care," I say again. Quieter this time. "About you. About keeping you alive. About making sure Viktor Tarasov doesn't get another chance to put a bullet in someone you love."
Her grip on my t-shirt loosens. Not releasing. Just shifting.
"Then let me talk to him first," she says. "One more time. Before you do anything."
"Aoife."
"Please."
I should say no. Should tell her the time for talking is over. Should remind her that Reilan is a liability I can't afford to keep.
But I look at her face, and I can't do it.
"One conversation," I say. "Today. Then I make my decision."
She exhales. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
She nods. Wipes her face with the back of her hand. Pulls herself together in that way she has, putting the pieces back in place where I can't see them.
I should let her go. Should step back. Should give her space to collect herself before we both do something we can't take back.
I don't.
"Why did you come in here?"
She doesn't answer right away. Just stands there, looking at the table. The chairs. The wall they scrubbed clean.
"I don't know," she says finally. "I couldn't sleep. I just...ended up here."
Her face is still streaked with tears. Her hands are still shaking.
But her eyes are clear.
I grab her face and kiss her.
Not soft. Not tentative. She grabs the front of my t-shirt and pulls me closer, kissing me back with a desperation I wasn't expecting.
I should stop this.
I don't.
My hands find her waist. Her hips. The curve of her spine as I pull her against me. She makes a sound against my mouth, something between a sob and a moan, and I swallow it.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. Her teeth catch my lip.
I'm using this. Using her. Using whatever this is between us to find something solid while everything else falls apart.
I walk her backward until she hits the table. The one Frank sat at when I put a bullet in his head. The one they scrubbed clean of his blood.
I lift her onto it.
Her legs wrap around my waist. Her hands find my belt. She's crying and kissing me and trying to pull my t-shirt off all at once, and I'm letting her, helping her, my own hands pulling at the hem of her sleep shirt.
"William." She gasps my name against my lips.
I pull the shirt over her head. She's there in front of me, skin and lace and the rise and fall of her chest. I put my mouth on her throat. Feel her pulse hammering against my lips.
I work my way down. Her collarbone. The curve of her breast above the lace. I pull the fabric down and take her nipple in my mouth, and she arches off the table with a sound that goes straight through me and makes my cock push hard against my pants. The ache is almost too much to bear.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her sleep pants and pull them down. She lifts her hips to help me, and I drag them off along with her underwear, dropping them somewhere on the floor.
She's bare on the table now. The table where Frank sat. Where I ended him.
I don't think about that.
I push her knees apart and lower my mouth to her.
She gasps. Her hand flies to my hair, gripping hard. I lick into her, tasting her, feeling her thighs tense on either side of my head. She's wet. So wet already.
I flatten my tongue against her clit, and she jerks against me.
"Oh God." Her voice is ragged. Broken.
I don't stop. I work her with my mouth, my tongue, learning what makes her hips buck and what makes her grip tighten in my hair. She's panting now, her back arching off the table, and I slide two fingers inside her while I keep my mouth on her clit.
She clenches around me. Tight. Hot.
"William." My name sounds like a prayer. Or a curse.
I curl my fingers and suck her clit into my mouth, and she shatters. Her whole body shakes, her thighs clamping around my head, her hand pulling my hair hard enough to sting. I work her through it, gentling my tongue as she comes down.
When I straighten up, she's staring at me. Chest heaving. Eyes dark.
I push my sleep pants down. Her gaze drops, watching as I pull my cock out. It's almost painful, the blood pounding through it. I give it a slow stroke and hiss through my teeth.
Precum gleams on the swollen head.
She's staring at it. Eyes wide. Something like awe on her face.
I stroke myself again. Twice more. Watching her watch me. Her lips part slightly. Her chest rises and falls.
I pull her to the edge of the table. Lean down and kiss her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth.
I position myself at her opening. Feel the heat of her against the tip.
Then I slam in.
She cries out. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her back arching off the table.
We both go still.
She's looking at me. Really looking, with those blue eyes that have seen every part of me I tried to hide. The addict. The failure. The man who killed his uncle in this very room. She's seen all of it.
And she's still here.
I start to move.
Slowly at first. Deliberate. Watching her face for every reaction, every shift in her expression. She's so tight around me it's hard to think.
"More." She grips my shoulders. Digs her nails in. "William, I need more."
I give her more.
I fuck her on the table, and I don't hold anything back. She meets me thrust for thrust, her heels digging into my lower back, her body rising to take everything I have.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet.
It's two people trying to survive.
I reach between us and find her clit. Circle it with my thumb while I drive into her harder. She cries out, her whole body tensing, and I feel her start to clench around me.
"That's it." My voice comes out rough. "Let go."
She does. She shatters against me, her body arching, her walls gripping me so tightly I can barely move. I thrust through it, prolonging it, watching her face as she falls apart.
Then I follow.
The release crashes through me. I bury myself deep and come so hard my vision whites out. Her name is the only thing in my head.
We stay like that. Connected. Breathing each other's air.
I don't move. Don't want to. The world outside this room can wait.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder. Her breathing slows. Mine matches it.
Then I see the tears.
Not sobbing. Just tears, sliding down her temples, catching what little light comes through the window. I brush one away with my thumb.
"Hey."
She doesn't answer. Just looks at me with those blue eyes, wet and tired and something else underneath.
I pull out of her slowly. She winces slightly.
I grab my t-shirt from the floor and bring it between her thighs, cleaning her gently. She watches me do it, something unreadable in her expression. When I'm done, I hold the balled-up shirt in my hand.
She slides off the table and pulls on her sleep shirt. I pull on my pants. We move in silence, and it's not awkward. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after something shifts between two people.
She leans back against the table. I stand in front of her, close enough to touch.
"I won't kill him."
She goes still.
"What?"
"Reilan." I hold her gaze. "I won't kill him. Not without proof. Not without giving you a chance to find another way."
Her eyes move across my face, searching.
"Why?"
I don't have a good answer. Don't have any answer except the one that's been building in my chest for days.
"Because you stayed." I step closer. "When you could have left. When you should have left. You stayed with me through the worst of it. That means something."
Her hand comes up. Touches my jaw.
"I'm staying sober for you," I say. The words feel raw. Exposed. "Every day I don't use is because you're here. Because I don't want you to see me like that again."
Something shifts in her expression. Softens.
"Stay sober for yourself." Her thumb traces my cheekbone. "I'll be here either way."
I don't know what to say to that.
So I don't say anything.
I lean down and press my forehead to hers. Close my eyes. Let the silence be enough.
My mind ticks away with what to do about Reilan. I'll feed him information. Something specific. Something I can track. I'll tell him about Viktor's meeting. About Friday night. About the warehouse.
And then I'll wait.
If the information reaches Viktor before we strike, there's only one way it could have gotten there.
If that happens, Reilan dies.
No hesitation. No mercy. No matter what it costs Aoife.