CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LIAM
“Graves!”
The belting of my name over the intercom system is courtesy of the infuriated Chief. I was anticipating it but hoped he’d hang on until the family meeting. Unfortunately for him, I won’t be answering. My priority is the sexy vixen before me, wrapped in a towel and falling apart.
“It’s just … I mean, I was kind of caught up in the moment, but now that it’s over …” She’s been rambling for the past ten minutes. As soon as I twisted the shower off, I flipped a damn switch in her too. “What the hell was I thinking? You had me drunk on orgasms and … my father—”
“Had no idea I was fucking you,” I finish, unable to mask my boastful grin.
It was a brazen move. A calculated risk. But I had a laundry list of reasons to do it that way. One vitally important reason being that she’d been hiding herself in the bathroom and sobbing after every fucking phone call with her family. All because of me, because she felt guilty for wanting this. That shit had to end. I needed to erase the burden of revealing we were together and show her I would go head-to-head with anyone for her. Even her family.
She’s a grown-ass woman, capable of choosing whatever damn life she wants. I just hope when the stakes are raised, she’ll still choose me. Either way, she’ll be mine. But I’d still like to see her all-in for us.
“That’s true,” she mutters, rubbing lotion on her cheeks and forehead in a frenzy. My girl is untethered in a way I’ve never seen. “I knew. But he didn’t.”
“Right, Ace. He didn’t.” I cup her face—so radiant and fresh—and tilt her chin up so she has to look at me. “You okay?”
Those big brown doe eyes teem with a storm of apprehension. “I’m sad.”
That’s the last thing I want. “Shit, baby. I—”
“Not because of what we did.” She shakes her head but keeps those coffee-colored gems trained on me. “Although that certainly makes me question my sanity. I honestly think I’m losing my mind.”
I sweep my thumb over her cheekbone. “I’ve been gone for you for a while now, Ace. It’s about time you caught up.” Her mouth blooms into a soft smile, but I don’t want to get sidetracked, so I probe again. “Why are you sad?”
A thick exhale escapes her as she glances away from me. “I want my parents to love you. I didn’t tell them that I wanted you because I couldn’t bear for them to … and now—”
My lips land on hers to clip off the rest of her thought. Her wanting them to accept me is enough, but I can’t deliver that right now. Maybe someday.
“I would’ve done it right,” I confess as I pull away to survey the hurt marring her features. “Not because I’m the ask-permission type. I’m certainly not.” That sounds like I’m referring to a proposal rather than a hostile takeover. Not opposed to making it official. That is absolutely happening, but Ace needs baby steps. “I would’ve introduced us being together in a more civilized way for you though. But your father had already said he didn’t want me with you.”
No sense in shying away from the bold truth. This is only one of the ways she’ll be tested, being with me. We need to face them head-on.
“What?” she gasps, clasping her hand over mine. “When?”
I stroke my forehead on a puffed breath, recalling the venom in Frank’s voice. “A month ago? I don’t know. Maybe less. It was a week or two before your date with Filmore. Wells and I were both on the call, but your dad didn’t know I was there.”
It’s not as though I hadn’t already known what the Carvers would think of me being with Celeste, but hearing it when I knew what they meant to her was a cutting I hadn’t expected.
“That’s why I backed off,” I explain, leaning against the bathroom counter and studying the myriad of emotions she seems to be processing. “I didn’t think you’d want me if he was against it, and I tried to …” My molars grind as I think of the stupidity of that move. Never should’ve backed off. “I don’t give a fuck, Celeste. They have this vision of what will make your life great. They’re wrong. I might not fit their mold, but I will give you a spectacular life.” I intend to give her everything, even the cravings she doesn’t realize she’s harboring. “I’m not giving you up.”
“I don’t want you to,” she whispers, threading our fingers together.
She said something along those lines at the restaurant before everything got fucked up. It shocked the hell out of me then. Not that she wanted us, but her admitting to it. My girl is growing in boldness concerning her own aspirations. I fucking love that.
“Good,” I say, kissing her forehead. “Wells is already pissed, and if I had to tie you to my bed to keep you here, it wouldn’t be pretty. The Chief would combust.”
She warbles her musical laugh as though I’m joking. I would not hesitate to lock her ass up, but I’m pretty sure she’d forgive me because she’s just as twisted as I am. Case in point, our steamy conference call with the fam. She could’ve dropped that ball at any damn second. She didn’t.
My kinky girl.
“Why is he mad?” she asks.
Same reason you’re freaking out.Probably shouldn’t share that.
My phone buzzes in my jeans, saving me from offering a response. I got dressed while Ace was turning in circles and sputtering nonsense, assuming a summoning was coming.
Wrenching it from my pocket, I flip the screen toward her to show the incoming call. “Speak of the devil. This should be good.”
Wells’s voice blares through the speaker the second I swipe the Answer button. “The fuck did you do, Graves?”
Maintaining my casual stature against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, phone to my ear, eyes on the most gorgeous creature in existence, I feign confusion. “I’ve got fifteen minutes, Chief. Meeting is at four. Check the schedule.”
“Frank Carver has been blowing up my goddamn phone. And when I finally fucking answered …” He’s probably pinching his nose, willing himself not to rage.
What’s it gonna be, candy or scotch?
“Hot. Yoga?” he finally grits out.
Ahh. Yeah. I bet he secretly sees the cleverness in my euphemism. And since that was part of the conversation, I’m guessing Frank may be wiser to my antics than I portrayed to the Carver princess.
But I’ve got a story, and I’m sticking to it. “Multitasking, Chief.”
“Fucking hell,” he growls as I step into the bedroom, waving a hand at the beauty still in the towel so she’ll hurry it up while I take my lashing. “Tell me that when you told him to piss out of his daughter’s life, you weren’t fucking her.”
“Is that what you want to hear?”
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “Motherfucker.” But then a crystal-clear huffed chuckle filters through the phone, so I stay quiet to see where he takes us. After a stretched-out beat, he finally regains his composure, swapping hats—the angered Chief for compassionate mentor. “You know I support you telling him to give up the politician bullshit and claiming her. She belongs here.”
Wells has unquestionably noticed her internal war. He doesn’t miss things. And now that he views Celeste as family, it’s surely pissed him off as well. That’s aside from the protectiveness he has regarding the way Frank spoke about his men. But my methods aren’t exactly his style, which is what lies between those words.
“I had my reasons,” I say. That’s what Wells wants to hear. If I apologized for the mess that he’s dealing with, he’d be livid. And disappointed.
“Fine. He said you informed him of her security team working for us in a follow-up text. Looks like everything is set in motion to move forward. See you in a few.” He hangs up, and I know that’s the last of the rebuking I’ll encounter for my steam-room mischief. We’ve got a long road ahead regardless. No sense in squabbling over tactics.
A few minutes later, Celeste saunters out of the bathroom in the same burnt-orange cashmere outfit she donned earlier, hair in a damp, messy bun, luscious lips matching her attire, and eyes bright. So damn pretty.
Taking her hand, I tow her downstairs for the family meeting. If we don’t get near people quickly, I’ll ravage her in the room like a starving savage. My cock is adamant that I’ll never get enough of her. Although even the nights holding her when she was healing—her tucked inside my arms, espresso hair fanned across my chest, wildflowers and honeysuckle enwrapping me—were more quenching than I’d ever imagined any moment could be. Enlightening.
Everyone, other than Natasha and Felicity, is gathered in the family room when we arrive, fire blazing in the hearth, drinks and snacks set out on the square coffee table, which sits in the center of three couches in a boxy U arrangement. I’m intrigued because Ivy seemed pissed earlier, but the warmth greeting us doesn’t read as an angry meeting.
Just in case, I start us off on the right foot when Celeste and I plop onto the empty couch. “Let’s get to the important stuff first, High Society. I saw you put Pictionary on the schedule for tonight.”
“Yes,” she says with absolute conviction. “We need game nights that don’t involve betting. Training for how these nights will be when Felicity is older.”
“That’s not the issue,” I say, offering Celeste the choice between a sports drink and water. She undoubtedly needs to hydrate. “I want veto power up-front. You, Ty, and Ace are not permitted to be on a team together,” I assert, to which Wells and Gage chuckle.
“Why the fuck not?” Ivy snarks.
My distraction methods are flawless. Wells shifts his gaze to me in respect. I’m guessing he was nervous about the meeting agenda as well. Ivy raging is treacherous for us all. Better she wastes her energy on trivial shit.
“You all speak that weird movie language,” I reason, hurling a finger at the three culprits. “It’s an unfair advantage.”
“That’s fucking valid,” Gage murmurs, arms crossed over his massive chest.
“You’d think Ivy being an artist would be the concern,” Celeste argues as she hides her amusement behind her Gatorade.
My clever girl. She enjoys instigating, just like me.
“Nah.” I kick my feet out, stretch my arm behind Celeste, and relax my stance. “You don’t need to draw well for the game. It’s all about reading people.”
Ivy’s face pinks, an enraged grimace seizing her lips. “You’re not going to derail me with this Pictionary shit, Liam. I can read all of you, so whomever I choose will be on the winning team.” She puffs a rogue ginger lock out of her face and pins us all with a battle-ready glower. “What the hell is going on with Carver Homes and the Skulls? And why the fuck wasn’t I told?”
Shit. Celeste stiffens beside me, so I massage her shoulder but watch the show to see where this takes us.
“Ivanna,” Wells growls, “you were—”
Ivy fists her hair while cutting him off. “If you are even considering finishing that sentence with me being pregnant, Gavin, I am going to lose it.”
He grunts through his declaration, “I made an executive decision for the protection of my family,” while filling a plate with fruit and cheese and pushing it into Ivy’s hands. So, he’s the ambassador of our cozy setting.
“Bullshit,” she snipes, shoving the snacks back at him with enough oomph that some berries flee the scene. “How long?”
Exchanging the plate for a glass of water for her, he grits out, “July,” accepting that his Little Storm is about to mow us all over. Even the Chief knows when to surrender.
“July,” Celeste mutters beside me before strengthening her tone. Her rage is far more controlled, but I’m guessing just as lethal. “I’d like to know what’s going on. Since it’s my family we’re talking about. Is my father in danger?”
I grip her thigh, bracing myself for the fallout. “Right now, they seem to be focused on you.”
“What?” she croaks while Ivy clenches her fists and spits out, “I fucking knew it.”
Remaining calm, I convey the honesty they both need even though I know it’s a dose of terror they’ll have to choke down. “Filmore was linked to the Skulls, which is an underground group that is bad news. He intended to hand you over.”
“Why me?” Celeste’s voice quavers, her drink vibrating in her hand until she abandons it. “What do they want?”
I palm the back of her head, keeping my other hand on her tense, shaky thigh. “It looks like you’re leverage to get what they’re really after.”
“Which is?” she pants, her brown eyes swirling with wariness, even as she maintains the poise she carries so naturally.
“We don’t know,” Wells admits. “But we think it could be some sort of black book of information.”
Her eyes float back to me, her jaw rigid. “That’s why you asked me about that after you did whatever you did to those guys.”
I wish I could get inside her head. Is she scared? Pissed? Disgusted by how we handle those who cross us? None of that makes a difference regarding her future. She’s in too deep. But I’d like to address it.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s why I asked you all those questions.”
We go on to explain it all. Well, almost all. I don’t get into Easton being alive because I think that will be too much for her to handle at once. I’ll tell her eventually, but until we know why he let Ben die and how he’s involved now, it will only serve to muddy the waters of this already-murky situation. We do tell her about the threats to Carver Homes I found last July, the break-in to her parents’ home last October, and the plan Filmore was in on to take her. I even explain some of the strange relations we’ve unveiled.
We feel confident that Oliver Jensen—the presidential candidate—is the one who issued the order to Scott Filmore to take Celeste, albeit in a tangled method. It’s doubtful it was a direct order. Nothing concrete has been linked between them as far as an exchange of favors, but Filmore’s father is well acquainted with Jensen. I’ll be happy when those two are shark food, like that other piece of shit. Fragments of the helicopter surfaced a few days after the attack, solidifying the media’s theory that Filmore crashed into the Gulf. I hope his father and Jensen are quaking with the realization of what really occurred.
We’re coming for you, assholes.
It’s not a leap, connecting Jensen. Turns out, his campaign manager’s estranged uncle is involved in some shady shit. We’re fairly certain he’s a member of the Skulls. It’s all conjecture at this point, but we’re getting there. Add in Jensen’s relation to the Lancasters, Easton faking his death, and Pruitt just happening to run into Celeste at La Lune Noire, and it’s no leap at all. Regardless, with the girls, we omit the tidbits about the Lancaster assholes.
“Holy shit,” Ivy hisses. “You need to name Lettie as an untouchable and get the word out.”
Bile lines my throat. This is one of the impossible choices wrecking me. “I intend to, but it warrants everyone weighing in on the timing.”
Ivy pops off the couch, hurling her arms out wide—the fighting Irish, fully ready to duke it out with any one of us for Celeste, and I fucking love her for it. “What’s to weigh in on? Do it now.”
Wells takes this because we’ve already discussed it at length. And he doesn’t know what the hell to do either. “Right now, no one knows who we are.” He directs his attention to Celeste because she’s the one with the least information here. “Ivy and I aren’t known descendants of the O’Reilly and Cabrini lines. People in our world only know what five organizations head KORT. Since our names are different, that anonymity has afforded some extra protection. Same with our seconds-in-command and our enforcer.” He gestures toward Ty, Gage, and me. “Our location is undisclosed—beyond Luca Cabrini and Daniel O’Reilly, who are retired and have every incentive to keep it hidden. We still have to be careful, but it isn’t common knowledge who we are. Someone would have to dig and be very serious about taking us out.”
“There are idle threats every day,” I add, “but to most of those people, the chairs are faceless.”
“It’s clear now; the Skulls have been watching Celeste,” Wells explains to his wife. It’s a plea of sorts because the idea of her location being revealed is his nightmare. It’s a nightmare none of us want to encounter, especially with the baby. “They’ve seen her with all of us. Naming her as an untouchable for KORT may protect her—”
“At the cost to all of you,” Celeste finishes in understanding. “No.”
The look of pride on Wells’s face for my girl pinches my chest, but it’s Ty’s further explanation that pulls my focus.
“It’s something we know will come out in time. We can’t hide forever, but we’ve been diligent about erasing any leads so far. And with the heightened threat level—”
“We don’t value one life over another,” Ivy snarls.
“You’re missing Ty’s fucking point,” Gage roars, never one to keep his cool in these disputes. He doesn’t tiptoe around feelings when it comes to safety. “It’s not about valuing one life over another. You’d all be in danger, including Celeste.”
He never includes himself in the threats because the man sees himself as invincible.
“There is one life we do value more,” Celeste says, her voice relaying a resolute strength that I’m surprised to see in this discussion. “Felicity comes first. It’s okay to prioritize your daughter over me, Ivy. She comes first for me too.”
Jesus, she’s a goddamn dream.
I knew that I was obsessed with this woman. That my world was orbiting around her. That I’d never fucking let her go.
But I can confidently say I’m irrevocably in love.
I wasn’t convinced when Wells said it because I wasn’t positive what that should feel like. I am now. She’s it.
Without a second thought, I drag her onto my lap, cradle her face, and crash my mouth to hers with a lifetime of pent-up need. Maybe she responded that way because of her love for Ivy or simply because Felicity is the most precious doll there’s ever been. I don’t give a shit what the reason is. She put my family first. Our family. I hope she gets that.
Breaking our kiss, I coil my arms around her and move my lips to her ear. “You’re a fucking fantasy, Carver. Everything. You hear me?”
She nods through a thick swallow, but doesn’t say anything. I’m sure the turmoil with her family is still weighing on her. I can’t do much about that. Some things about this life aren’t easy, but we have each other.
I want her to embrace that, so I add one more thing before returning to the group. “You’re mine. Ours. And we’re yoursnow, Ace. This is where you fit.”
“Yours,” she whispers back, filling me with relief that she’s on the same page.
Once Wells sees that our moment has concluded, he clears his throat. The Chief may be choked up. My girl just willingly chose his daughter over herself. If she wasn’t his family before, she sure as hell is now. The same goes for Ivy, who’s swiping tears from her cheeks, tucked into his side. And Ty and Gage, who both clearly have lumps in their throats. Maybe it’s good we finally got this mess out in the open, so we can face it together.
Celeste surveys them all and embarks on something totally unexpected. “If I’m going to belong here, I need a role. I can’t just be—”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Ty breaks in, unable to hold back his need to comfort Ivy or Celeste.
He rises, plants a kiss in Ivy’s hair, wipes one of her tears, and then collapses onto the couch beside me, pulling Celeste to rest between us. It’s an easy decision to let her slide off my lap. I’m aware that I stole something from her with that phone call earlier. It had to be done, but I know that loss stings. She needs to see what she’s gaining here.
“We’ve already talked about it,” he continues, setting his gaze on her. “If you’d be open to it, I’d like you to take over at the shelter for me. I’m spread so thin right now. It’s a big election year, so my KORT work is piling up. We’ll still handle the erasing end, and I’ll be involved. But when they come here for their interim placement, they need—”
“A friend,” she responds, voice wobbly.
“Yeah. Exactly,” he confirms. “Someone who can listen and view them as unbroken when they feel anything but. You’d be perfect, Lettie. We could even bring in some horses down the road.”
She fidgets in her seat with a staggered breath—a rarity for Ace. She’s generally so eloquent and collected. “I’d love that,” she croons, planting a kiss on Ty’s cheek and floating her gaze over the rest of us while clasping my hand. “Thank you.”
We all see you, baby girl.
“No need to thank us,” Wells says in his mentoring tone, soft eyes trained on Celeste. “All of us have our roles, and you’re one of us. Both Ty and Liam have shared how impressive your work is at the stables. We’re grateful for your expertise.”
Not one to dally too long on the heavy or emotional, Wells moves on, addressing the group as a whole. “So, we wait to announce Celeste until things calm down with the Skulls. In the meantime, we’ll continue to be diligent about enhanced safety measures when either of you girls leaves the property.”
“That’s the focus right now. Safety.” Gage must feel the need to emphasize things with my girl because he ends our meeting on the most vital note. “You’re part of this fucked-up family now, Celeste. Ours to protect. Ours forever.”
It’s been about two and a half weeks since the family meeting that felt like a bridge between Celeste viewing herself as a visitor and as part of us. She’s settling into her role at the shelter and certainly thriving, which has been as monumental for her as it is for Ty. He needs to be able to break away from that torment on occasion, and Celeste needs to know how adept she is and that her brilliance is valued. She’s also maintaining a relationship with Whispering Pines and her work there, so she’s able to indulge in the horses and photography.
There have been some brief communications with her family, none of which ran smoothly. They’ve backed off the pressure, but aren’t quite embracing her path. Maybe in time. I’m offering her the space to work through it with them. For now. My patience is already growing weary.
Aside from Ty and me accompanying Celeste to the stables with her security team, we also ate out one night at a restaurant for a late Valentine’s Day surprise, everyone except Gage and Dante, who stayed back with Felicity. Wells rented it for a couple of hours, so it was only the five of us with Natasha, Rex, Keith, and Arnold—not a sappy, romantic date, but Celeste was grateful. Plus, I made up for the lack of romance that evening with champagne, strawberries, and a naughty massage.
That’s how all our outings will be for the foreseeable future. Isolated. Preplanned. Heavily guarded. The girls both seem amenable to those measures. It trumps being housebound indefinitely.
Today, Wells and I surprised them with a private shopping trip. We rented out a designer’s shop they both like and invited Rena along for a girls’ outing. With Rex, Keith, Dante, Arnold, Wells, and me. So, there are twice as many men on the girls’ day, but we’re doing our best to blend into the background.
Natasha is heading back home in a few days, so we’re taking advantage of her being available to help with Felicity while we’re out. When we proposed the idea to her last week, she was thrilled for the girls and excited to have some extra time with her granddaughter. Ty and Gage and a few of the Noire brothers are at the house, too, awaiting our return. We’re bringing dinner back later.
The girls are in the dressing room, trying on clothes and giggling nonstop, while Wells and I lounge in the cushy waiting area up front. It’s been a couple of hours already. Celeste’s security guys are manning the doors outside, but they don’t seem to mind. They’ve been a welcome addition to our crew.
Rex was happy to tighten the reins under our command. After what happened on his watch, the guy has been beating himself up. So have Keith and Dante for that matter. All three have been on edge and eager to take whatever steps needed to make it up to her. That I understand. We’ve dealt with our own misses concerning Ivy, and I certainly shoulder the fault of the fiasco at the hotel with Celeste. But all we can do is move forward.
Unable to keep myself from Celeste, I quietly announce to Wells that I’m sneaking back to see my girl. He just smirks and shakes his head, fully aware of what my visit will entail. The personal shopper is in the dressing area, hanging up garments, so I hold my index finger to my lips and show her a picture of Ace. She knocks on the correct door, citing that she found something perfect for her, and when my girl opens, I slip inside.
She’s in a silky little black number. I like it, but I’d prefer it on the floor. It’s her smile that does me in though. Just as depraved as me.
My hand slips to her lower back as my lips move against her ear. “I missed you, Ace. Think you can be a good girl and stay quiet for me?”
She bites her lip and nods, so I flip her around to face the mirror, place her hands on it above her head, and ruck that dress up to her hips. Her heels keep her at the ideal height. I’ve got myself unleashed, her panties ripped off, and my steel cock lined up with her perfect pussy in another two seconds. I tarry at her entrance for a moment, relishing the sight of her wiggling her ass against me in anticipation.
“So wet, baby girl,” I whisper. Ivy and Rena are making enough ruckus to mask my words.
“For you,” she murmurs, brown eyes wanton, breathing shallow.
I slam into her from behind, one hand clutching her hip while the other massages her clit.
Pinch. Flick. Swirl.
Her head falls back against my shoulder, hair tickling my cheek. Releasing her magnificent tits so she’s only covered by this black dress over her midriff, ravenous want pouring off her, I am undone by the visual greeting me from our reflection.
Sexy as fuck. Christ Almighty.
“How’s that one working, Lettie?” Ivy asks from the other fitting room.
A smile blasts across my face, and my eyebrows dart up as I instruct my girl to answer while tweaking her nipple.
“A perfect fit,” she replies, the timbre of her voice hoarse with arousal.
“Get it, girl!” Rena shouts. “Gonna let us see?”
Celeste and I both almost lose it with that, but thankfully, the girls start chatting in hushed voices, granting a reprieve. Our eyes are locked in the mirror, a charge of electricity spiking through me everywhere I touch her silky-as-fuck skin. Jesus, I love making her mine in every damn place we go. Let the whole world know I’m claiming her, fading away until it’s just us.
Despite this divine unhinging, Celeste finally musters the strength to respond to Rena. “I think I’ll let this be something I save for a private showing.”
“Ahh. Slutty,” Rena quips, to which Ivy corrects, “Our mothers would say risqué.”
“I was raised by men who run a casino, a nightclub, and an exclusive sex club,” Rena counters. “Slutty is as demure as it gets, ladies.”
That girl always has something hilarious to add to the conversation.
They’re eventually quiet for long enough that I can really work Ace up to a state of madness, her teeth sinking into her parting lips, her hungry gaze dipping to where we’re joined, her eyes hooded. Her orgasm crests so violently that she clamps down on my cock, squeezing me like a damn vise and forcing me to follow her over the edge in a silent shattering. I bury my mouth in her collarbone, breathing in her cashmere fragrance and sucking on her skin to keep my groans at bay.
“Want some candy, Celeste?” Rena asks while I’m still emptying myself inside my girl. “If you’re into sucking, I’ve got Lemonheads. Or if you’re a spicy lover, I have Red Hots. Or …” On each word, her voice rises with excitement as I tuck myself away and straighten Celeste out, trying not to all-out guffaw from this ridiculous candy chitchat. “If you’d rather have the eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head experience, I’ve got a Dick Taylor chocolate bar.”
Ivy bursts out laughing. Clearly, they’ve been onto us for a while. “We know you’re in there, fucking her, Liam. You promised a girls’ day.”
I retrieve Celeste’s panties from the floor, hand them to her, and kiss her blushing cheek. “I think it was my girl’s day.”
She catches my lips in return, concluding with a nibble, leading to her beaming smile. “Definitely my day.”
I love that she’s not keeling over from embarrassment right now. Fucking made for me.
The savage beast in me is feral with the thought of my cum dripping out of her the rest of the day. “So gorgeous. And mine,” I tell her before swaggering out of the dressing room and gaping at the blue eyes peeking out at me. “How rude, High Society. I’m appalled. Isn’t there some etiquette rule about never freely admitting to the scandal you witnessed?” I tease. “Only in hushed corners.”
“Says the guy who announced to the room that Wells finally fucked his bride after the first time I ever had sex,” she shrieks, banging her door wide open to glare at me. “That was rude, but I still love you.”
I pull her into a hug and peck her temple. “Love you too, baby girl.”
“I’m so happy for you guys,” she whispers against my cheek. “You’re good for her.”
“Nah. I’m the lucky one. Ace is the jackpot.”
“That she is,” Ivy agrees.
I let her go and pound on Rena’s door. “Flawless execution with the candy offerings, Noire.”
She giggles, but keeps it shut. “I really do have most of those in my purse. Consolation candy. Not all of us are so fortunate to hump in a fitting room.”
That has all of us cackling, but I should let them get back to it. Even the personal shopper is slapping me with a scrutinizing scowl. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I strut back to the front chairs and drop beside Wells with a smirk.
“Do not even fucking think about sharing with me,” he hisses. “I heard enough. Glad the Little Storm called you out, motherfucker.”
I laugh. “Sounds like you need to relax, Chief. It’s only twenty paces to reach your wife. Why don’t you—”
A thundering eruption devours my words, throwing Wells and me from our chairs.
I fly backward as though I’ve been catapulted, crashing with a jolt.
Pain lashes through my limbs.
Ears ringing.
Everything tremors like an earthquake.
Glass shattering.
Walls crumbling.
Shrieking and screaming.
The scent of marzipan. And smoke.
A bomb.
My vision blackens and spots and fogs.
Shaking my head to get my bearings, I roll to my feet—gun drawn—and sprint through the wreckage to reach the girls. The whole building is caved in.
Rubble strewn in piles. Dust rising.
As I weasel my way through the destruction, it all decimates me at once.
Rena crawling toward me, disheveled and sobbing.
No sign of the other girls.
Shots firing in the distance.
The back entrance open.
A man’s body on the ground.
And Ivy’s screeched wail from somewhere outside. “Wells! Liam!”
I scoop up Rena and dart toward the back door, hoping to hand her off to Keith, who’s manning the rear of the building.
That’s not happening.
Keith is dead. Shot in the head.
Motherfucker.
I set her against the inside wall, not willing to take her outside into the open fire, hand her my spare gun, and instruct her to stay put, but to shoot anyone she doesn’t know.
Once I’m out of the building, it’s a war zone. Nine black unmarked vans. Several masked men on foot, heavily armed.
Two carry Celeste. Five others surround them like a wall.
Ivy dashes behind them. Wells and I are both running, shooting, taking out men, but there’s got to be at least forty, several between us and the girls. I hit one of the guys guarding Celeste right before they throw my girl in a van, wheels squealing.
Fuck me.
Wells and I both see the next moment before it even unfolds.
“Ivanna!” he bellows as Ivy races to the van, unloads her magazine on two men in front of her, tosses her gun, and flings herself inside a split second before the door slides shut.
They’re both gone.
My whole world is in that fucking van.