CHAPTER NINE
GAGE
B y the fucking balls. That’s the goddamn hold she has on me. And no matter what scheme I concoct, she outmaneuvers me. Like a witch.
Cockroaches and moving her in here like a prisoner? She prances around in itty-bitty pajamas, beads of shower water dotting her skin until my mouth is so parched that I need those droplets to survive.
Try to convince my family that she’s a villain? One by one, she wins them over. They aren’t outright admitting it, but it’s there. Ty is one thing—it’s no surprise that he’s wrapped around her finger. Liam is wooed by her snark. I suppose I should have seen that coming. Wells is impressed. He clearly respects her—the way she stands her ground.
But the girls? Ainsley doesn’t jibe well with other women, so her hanging out with them for Wine Wednesday—all of them hysterical about some audiobook that Liam claimed was blatant porn after listening in—was downright bizarre. Apparently, Ainsley mentioned she wasn’t a big reader, so they transitioned to audio to include her.
Just like that, she cast her spell on them.
And me. Because I’m not sure I hate her bonding with my family. And I should.
That’s not even the worst though. No, that was fucking her ferociously in an attempt to break her. To remind her what she had given up and that I was in control now. In return, she shattered me with a confession I don’t know whether to believe or not—that she only ever wanted me. Is she playing me?
That was a whole fucking thing—Dante watching, her begging for it to be harder, our slick bodies melding to one. Better than I’d remembered. Better than the decade-plus of fantasies I’d had of her. Better than any woman should feel.
And the bomb she dropped—that what she actually did was worse than I thought. What the hell does that mean?
Maybe the bigger question is, why am I conflicted about whether that even matters?
Every interaction, every touch, every breath of her tsunami scent has me salivating for more. Like my cells know that I’m only me in the presence of her, which is why she nearly ended me by calling me Gage. As though she wants me now—not the fictional coloring of what we once had. Not the charity case whose own mother sold him. Not her father’s lackey. Me.
It’s all I can think about. That and how I’m going to take immense pleasure in wrecking the motherfuckers messing with her. Anyone who has ever caused her pain.
Three fucking s’s .
Scorch. Stack. Salt.
So, yeah. By. The fucking. Balls.
Other than our interaction during the meeting yesterday, I’ve left her alone. She was struggling. Obviously panicked over that eerie warning blasted at her. And Ivy insisted that I give her some space.
But today, I need more. And Ainsley is once again in hiding.
Pushing open the pass-through door to her room, I find her at her desk.
For a moment, I don’t move a muscle. I simply watch her.
She’s breathtaking. So graceful in her movements. A quiet confidence that radiates off her, which is intimidating considering all she’s facing. Most would crumble. But not Ainsley.
She’s dressed in a ribbed tank top and boy-short panties. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun, wispy strands caressing her shimmery tan skin, which is littered with healing scratches and bite marks from our untethered fucking.
She’s so in the zone, lost in her task.
Puzzle pieces are scattered everywhere as she sifts through them. Everything in me wants to dash over there and help her find her missing piece. That was once my job. It was who I thought I was to her and definitely who she was to me.
There’s a picture of George on her desk and Scrabble tiles, spelling persevere . A motivational message to herself. And she works by the light of a soft yellow lamp, bathing the room in a golden glow.
The scene has my mind racing and my heart pounding, like a speed-of-light trip through time.
She finally senses me and spins in her chair, those glacial blues freezing with mixed emotion until she settles on which one to thaw.
“Well, fan-fucking-tastic,” she snarks. “I was just thinking about my soul-deep need to be a fucktoy.”
So, rage is the winner. I can work with that. Especially since my heart seems to be a damn sentimental pussy.
“Good, then get on your knees,” I order.
“Yes, master,” she mocks, biting her lip and batting her thick lashes. She bolts up, rips off her tank top to present me with the world’s most magnificent tits—globed and perky with proud nipples—and drops obediently to her knees, which nearly knocks me on my ass.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Wicked.” I gape unapologetically, dragging my hand across my jaw. “If beauty could kill—”
“Well, I’m not gonna lie.” Her eyebrows arch for the ceiling. “That would be a satisfying outcome.”
These are the small things that shout how unstable I am. Her desire to murder me has me panting like a bulldog eyeing bacon. The scabbed crescent moons she branded on my arm flare to life, reminding me how good it felt to bleed for her. Even the scars from the fork tines glint like a badge of honor. Unstable is an understatement.
“Such a brat.” I chuckle.
The briefest playful grin coasts up her cheeks, one that nearly swallows all the pain between us. “Then choke me with that monster cock, Big Guy, and teach me a lesson. I’ve got a puzzle to do.”
My brain is flashing a neon-red sign that I’m entering a danger zone. Plus, Wells is adamant that my primary focus should be getting answers from her. This is such a bad idea.
So, I do the only logical thing in this situation. Ignore the caution signs and move to stand before her. “You craving a taste of me, Ains? Want my cum?”
“So much.” She nods and licks her luscious lips while undoing my belt, those captivating blues floating up to me, and all I can think is that I never want them anywhere else.
“That’s it. Take me out,” I coach her, even though she’s well on her way to doing it on her own.
When she rolls my boxers down, my rock-hard, leaking dick salutes her, and her eyes glaze over in a way that is exceedingly kind to my ego. Her tongue darts out, sampling the precum with a sultry moan, as her palm grips the base of my shaft and begins to pump.
“You like that?” I ask, smoothing my knuckles over her cheek. “Wrap those pouty lips around my cock and let me hear you moan like a good girl, desperate and greedy.”
Her flinty scowl sears into me. “If you call me good girl again, I’ll bite your damn dick off. I might be on my knees, but I’m not the one on the leash.”
Truth.
There was a time praise was her thing. Seems like she needs it rough now. I mean, she always thrived with a bit of pain. Not that we had much opportunity to explore that in our stolen moments. It was hot and forbidden yet vanilla. But now, it seems like the praise hurts her. That flashes another alarm in my mind. Is that because of yesterday, our past, or something else?
Those questions ricochet through my brain, distracting me.
For fuck’s sake, who the hell cares? My dick is in her palm.
Unwrapping her messy bun, I twirl her silky hair around my fist, wrenching her neck back and pinning her with the stoniest stare I’ve got. “Quit mouthing off, and get to work. Show me how you’re my willing whore with all the power. Bring me to my knees.”
Those are the magic words.
She glides her tongue along the underside before circling the engorged head with a tease and finally sliding her mouth over my length, moving in time with her fist. In mere seconds, she escalates to a frothy, ravenous cadence—sloppy and savage—that has stars freckling my vision.
All the power is spot-on. I’m at her damn mercy. I’d cut my heart out and hand it to her if she asked me to right now.
Reaching down with my free hand, I tweak her nipple. Hard. She moans in delirium, the vibration rocketing through me. So, I squeeze her breast, delivering a bit more of the pain she craves, which only seems to inspire her. The hand not pumping my cock sweeps between my legs, fingers brushing over my taint and palm kneading my balls to send an electric frisson up my spine. All of it is nearly too much.
I would have thought this was safer—in her mouth. Filling her pussy out in the trees felt like utter destruction, losing my inner war because she was my home in every sense of the word out there. And I hated us both for that.
But this is no less decimating.
On her knees for me. Half naked. So aroused. I bet she’s fucking drenched. Sopping.
“You’re lethal, Wicked,” I growl as my legs begin to weaken. “A lifetime of dreams in the flesh. And I will be using every inch of you to fulfill them.”
When her eyes flit up to mine, I wonder if she reads everything in them. How she’s haunted those dreams, but was never a nightmare. No matter how much I wanted her to be. How I’ve carried her with me, waiting for the day I could truly let her go, only to draw the conclusion that she was embedded in my DNA. Loving her, hating her, craving her—when it’s all said and done, it still boils down to … her … her always being with me. Her always being everything.
Mine.
Driving my hips forward to brand the back of her throat, I force myself deeper, and my girl takes it like a champ.
“Keep those gorgeous eyes on me, baby. Let me see how greedy you are for my cock.”
She does, and they brim with tears and spill down her cheeks as she chokes and whimpers and gags, crooning the most salacious tune of pleasure while sucking me off. How could she not be emblazoned on my bones?
Her tits bounce, peaked nipples grazing my legs, her eager rhythm turning tenacious as drool trickles down her chin, coating my balls. It’s awe-inspiring. She wasn’t this experienced before.
My jaw clenches with that thought, but I banish it, intent on staying in the present.
And what a fucking present it is. She’s stunning and mine again. Mine to mark. Mine to make dirty.
The rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s only us.
“Christ, you look so pretty, stuffed with my cock. After I feast on that delectable pussy, I’m going to fill you everywhere—cunt, mouth, ass. Always dripping with me. My filthy slut.”
She hums in reverence to my words, the sensation of her shuddering tongue too fucking much. And just like her coconut-seaside scent, my orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, nearly knocking me over as the electric bolt surges through my abdomen and spine and limbs, down to my damn toes and up through my jaw.
“Fuck, Ains,” I breathe. “Hold my cum in your mouth. I need to see it.”
Her ardent tempo never falters as I empty into her. She massages my balls, works my shaft, and sucks the head until I’m out of my ever-loving mind.
“Show me,” I order as I pull away, clutching her chin. My voice is gravelly, filled with a longing I hardly recognize.
She sticks out her tongue to reveal a sea of white that has my chest puffing up, her wet face flushed with pride.
“So fucking beautiful,” I rasp, smoothing back her lion’s mane. “Swallow me down. Every drop.”
She does, but that’s when I catch a hint of ink peeking out from her panties, which have slipped off one side. Ink she didn’t have before. Ink that Nick saw when she fucked him.
And it all comes rushing back, heating my skin. She may have found a reason to kill the bastards in the end, but I was never enough to make her run. She sent me off … for what? And here I am, falling for the same shit all over again.
“Do you see what you ruined? This”—I flick my hand between us as she stands—“was something. It was everything .” My teeth grind so fiercely that I can hear the cracking as I bend to pull up my boxers and jeans. “And you destroyed it. For what? For him ? Because Nick could give you the cushy life I couldn’t? Or to please your dad? To be a Morelli boss? What? Tell me, Wicked. How much was I worth to you? ’Cause that’s what it boiled down to, right?” I throw my arm out, back to that goddamn board with the souvenirs of the women who threw me away like trash. “You sold me, just like she did.”
She swipes both hands over her face, attempting to clean herself up. Although the tears keep streaming and a derisive scoff jumps from her swollen lips. “I can’t do this with you. I get that it was a betrayal.” Her hand splays across her heart, and it’s as though I’m watching her shatter. “Believe me, I understood that, lived it, hated myself for it. But what you saw as a betrayal …”
She hesitates for a beat, and I remain still as a statue, waiting on bated breath for her to explain.
And when her watery gaze latches on to me, it’s no longer regretful. It’s teeming with fury, and her tone is chilling. “What you saw as betrayal, I lived as rape. Daily. Fucking. Rape. So, I’m sorry you’re hurt. That you’ve had it so rough with your cozy family. But I need you to get the fuck out.”
“Rape?” I howl, stammering through my shock. “What the fuck do you mean? You looked … They forced you to marry him? How? I gave you countless ways to contact me in an emergency. George too. You know I would’ve—”
“Save it.” She raises her palm to me, warning me to stay away. “I don’t have anything left. You need to go.”
Rage courses through my veins and muscles like a fucking beast tearing me apart. No one in that town will live to tell of its existence. But what has me rooted in place is how the tables have turned. I’m not sure what else she’s hiding, but it’s pretty clear—I’m the villain in this story.
“Don’t shut me out now, Ains. Talk to me.” Panic threads that plea because I can already see she’s closing herself off, and I don’t know how to change the fact that I’ve been such an asshole.
A sob racks through her chest as she grabs her tank top, averting her gaze from me as she shouts, “Now! Get out.”
Every fiber of my being wants to go to her, hold her, shake her until she tells me what the fuck went wrong. But it sounds as though she hasn’t had much control over anything, so I let her have this and leave.
After running in the midday summer sun until I nearly puke, I push myself further with log training and then go all in on the real punishment—the obstacle course. I detest the obstacle course because while I can crush a grown man with my bare hands, my body doesn’t bend so easily anymore. None of it numbs my cluttered mind or relieves my anxiety, so I towel off and go in search of the guys, stopping by Ty’s office first.
“I need to talk,” I say as I burst inside.
He chuckles, but must see how out of my mind I am when he takes me in and stops what he’s doing. “Shoot.”
I plop onto his leather love seat and hunch forward, elbows on my knees as a jagged breath stutters out of me. It takes a minute to gather my words because there is a boulder lodged in my throat. “She said … Ainsley … I was yelling at her about Nick, and she said what I saw as betrayal, she lived as rape.”
My head flicks up, and I find him nodding, his eyes instantly glossy, so I forge ahead.
“I’m so fucking pissed. I’m glad she got the satisfaction of putting a bullet in his head, but I wish I could’ve ripped that motherfucking coward apart limb by limb. And I will be sure there is nothing left that ever breathed the same oxygen as him, not a fucking blade of grass.”
If it were anyone else, I might be embarrassed by the way my voice cracks through the next part, but not with Ty. Still, I drop my focus to the floor again. “But if I’ve spent all these years hating her, only to find out that motherfucker was hurting her and I … I fucking left her there—I just can’t …”
He doesn’t respond for so long that I eventually look up to verify that he’s still with me. He is. And it isn’t pity or judgment lining his features. It’s empathy. He would understand this more than anyone.
“I can imagine how broken and enraged you feel,” he begins, clearing his throat. “I would too. But you didn’t just leave her there. You did what she’d asked, followed direct government orders, and still followed up. We all saw the pictures—months of candid shots. She looked happy.”
She did. Nothing quite adds up.
“If it was fake, I should’ve known. I should’ve seen past it.”
“They were still shots.” He exhales, and it’s evident that he’s harboring some guilt for missing it too. “And we were fed a narrative that those confirmed.”
“I fucked her in the trees, in front of Dante,” I admit, right as Wells and Liam stroll inside.
“Okay,” Ty says, silently instructing them to take a seat while bobbing his head and peering at me as though I’m teetering on a precarious ledge. “We kind of knew that.”
“Rough,” I add.
“What the fuck kind of kinky convo did we interrupt?” Liam laughs as he whips out his Zippo.
Wells backhands his shoulder. “Jesus Christ. Read the room and shut your suck, Graves.”
Ty smirks at them but returns his gaze to me. “Still not news. We all noticed the scratches, mud, and bite marks. Where is this going?”
“Without a condom,” I provide, spilling more of what is grating on me.
His brows furrow. “Was it nonconsensual?”
“Fuck no,” I bark.
“Then it sounds like the lack of a condom was a choice on both sides,” Wells says, patently confused since he missed the beginning of the discussion. “Is she upset?”
“Not about that,” I answer before Ty gains my approval and fills them in.
Once they’re caught up, Wells leans forward, worry divot between his eyes. “So, your concern about what happened outside is that she views it the same way?”
“I told her she’d be my fucktoy—”
“She might have thought that was hot,” Liam interrupts, snicking his flame. “She clearly gets off on the savage push-pull between you two.”
“Maybe,” I concede because degradation certainly awakens something inside her, but my pulse throbs in my temples. “I just wonder if she felt like she couldn’t …”
“You’re jumping to conclusions there,” Ty insists. “I don’t think she feels coerced into anything with you.”
“How the fuck could you know that?” I snap. “She doesn’t tell anyone what she’s fucking feeling.”
“She’d come to me if she did. We’ve built a rapport. She might not share her feelings, but she knows I’d protect her. Aside from that, she pushes back with you.” He points at Liam, expanding on his point. “That’s not a product of fear. That’s a product of trust, like Liam said the other day.”
I scrub both hands over my face, throwing myself back into the leather cushions with a groan. “How do I fix it? She won’t talk to me. And I’m over that shit. She says she did something worse than I thought she did, which has me completely at a loss.”
“Let’s veer to something else,” Wells suggests, and his cautious tone has my heart stopping.
“What now?” I ask.
He unrolls his candy bag, mining for his reds and yellows. “We’ve found a slew of scripted media bits, produced by that anonymous conglomerate. Many of them are regarding politics, which is a direct hit against the O’Reillys and KORT. They’ve fabricated a few scandals during campaigns, but the coverage is so vast that even when those are proven false, the politicians’ polls tank.”
“That’s a power that could get out of hand quickly,” I respond so he knows I grasp the gravity of what he’s detailing.
“Exactly,” he sighs. “And the only lead we have as to whoever the hell is behind it is this nine thirty-two bullshit with Ainsley.”
That has my lungs emptying because I see where this is going. “Don’t fucking say it.”
“We have to inform them,” he contends. “We can’t sit on this. Keeping this lead from the other KORT chairs is a direct violation of the bylaws. And there’s no explaining how we know it relates to the Morellis or Vittoris without admitting that we have her. Besides that, this group is a wild card. We still aren’t certain that your identity isn’t out there. Can you imagine how bad things would get if there was a media blitz with all our shit?”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “So, I left her to be abused for years, and now I’m going to what, drag her in front of KORT so they can put her through hell?”
“We need answers from her first,” he says calmly, “so we can anticipate how that will go.”
I scoff. “Well, good luck with that.”
Liam tilts his head, considering something, “I think the girls got somewhere with her last night.”
“Where?” Wells demands.
Liam shrugs. “That I don’t fucking know, but Celeste said Ainsley had warmed up to Ivy before they hung out, and in my experience—”
“That means Ivy gained her trust and got something,” Wells mutters.
Ty chuckles, rocking in his chair. “If Ainsley told Ivy something in confidence, it’s going to stay a secret.”
“Only if it was personal,” Wells argues, brushing the sugar crystals off his hands. “If it was about Glines or anything like that, she’d tell me.”
So, it was personal. Maybe it was the same as what she divulged to me then. Or maybe it’s whatever she’s refusing to tell me.
“As far as KORT goes,” Ty starts, “maybe we can control the meeting. We know we can trust her.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask, although I tend to agree. She’s too focused on survival to try to double-cross us right now.
Ty leans forward, taking the three of us in. “The day we moved her into the house, I told Rena to put the schedule with the Cabrini call on it in front of Ainsley. She didn’t even hide that she saw it, but when I asked if she knew the family, she only claimed that the name seemed familiar. She’s had every opportunity to use it to stir up trouble or as a bargaining device to win her freedom. She hasn’t.”
“And that meeting would have been the ideal time,” Wells muses. “At the very least, she could’ve alluded to what she knew to try to get more information on who we were.”
“She was panicked and still didn’t,” Liam chimes in.
That’s true. And based on what she knows, she’d assume it could take me down.
My mind flashes to my Ricci days—the final ones, when Wells, Liam, and Ty were Chief Folsom, Jason Petrovsky, and Andrew Michaels, respectively.
I’ve been serving with these men for years. I’m probably going to die beside them. Chief Folsom and I are in the pit, in utter darkness. That’s where they keep us when we aren’t the ones being slashed and beaten and burned. Michaels and Petrovsky are hanging out to dry right now, both passed out while chained to the ceiling. Swollen, bruised, and bloody. But still breathing.
There’s a small hole—about the size of a penny—that I can glimpse them through. A sliver of light streams in on their faces. It’s enough—enough to keep me going. There’s another small hole we’ve created between the two pit walls. It serves as a way to communicate when the guards leave us alone.
And tonight, I need to clear my damn conscience.
“Chief,” I whisper, lying down so my voice carries through the hole between the pits. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
The assholes realized that the easiest way to torment the Chief is to beat the shit out of the three of us while he watches. Aside from that, they’re only giving him enough food and water to ensure his heart is pumping and keeping him in the dark unless it’s torture time. He’s fighting though. Always fighting. For us.
“I need to tell you something,” I begin, and when he grunts, I continue, “My girl … the one I showed you the picture of … her father orchestrated a bunch of shit, all so I could be under your command.”
He chuckles. “The fuck? You having a damn fever dream, Ricci?”
“It’s fucked up, but true. It’s what I had to do to earn the right to marry her. Because you’re a Cabrini.”
A quiet hum coasts my way before he finds his words. “That’s why you asked me so many goddamn questions about Mafia bullshit.”
“Well, it wasn’t because I’m a Godfather superfan,” I quip.
That has him laughing with a morsel of strength to it. “Did you get what you came for?”
“No idea,” I answer honestly while applying pressure to a stomach gash that won’t stop bleeding. “I reported back that you didn’t know your connected family, and I was told to stay the course. To get close enough to encourage you to mend those relationships so you can be the in for the Morellis. But I’m assuming they’d have you take the head-of-family role, and they’d become your administration, so they could kill you and take over.”
He’s silent for a while, probably deciding whether or not he should torture me himself when I get chained up out there. But then, like so often, he shocks the hell out of me. “If this is a goddamn deathbed confession, you can fuck right off. You do not give up on me. You understand?”
“Roger that,” I reply, baffled by a man encouraging me to fight after that admission. “And if we make it outta here?”
“Oh, we’re getting the hell out of here,” he grits out. “You’re gonna need to get your girl. ’Cause I’m going to massacre her fucking family.”
The we part of that response is the most gripping aspect. He’s always impressed me, shown more integrity than anyone I’ve ever known while also being a ruthless machine. But I essentially divulged that I was a traitor, and all he heard was that I did what was necessary for my girl, which is the truth. As is the part about me needing to get her—or essentially save her. After all this time, being kept away from her, unable to even communicate, despite the fact that I’ve been doing what her father asked, I’ve realized I was right all along. Her family is scum, and even if she doesn’t grasp it, she deserves so much more.
That and knowing she’s waiting for me, that she believes in me, is what’s keeping me alive.
So, my line of thinking is the same.
Scorch. Stack. Salt.
“I’m in, Chief.”
“I think you need to decide what you want first,” Wells says, pulling me back to the present.
My eyes flick to his. I’m not entirely certain what he’s getting at since I drifted to the past. “Meaning?”
“If we’re going to reveal to KORT that we have her, you need to be crystal clear with me about what things look like for the two of you, so I can get ahead of it.”
I scoff, not sure how to even answer that. “At the moment, it looks like she despises me. Which is why I asked you all how to fix it, and you made it a fuck ton more complicated. So, thanks for that.” A defeated huff flees from my constricted lungs. “Regardless, I’m keeping her. Until the end of time. So, do with that what you need to.”
Liam kicks out his legs and flashes his mischievous smile. “I think you were on the right track when you fucked her like a rabid animal in the rain, Big Guy.”
“Orr”—Ty waves a dismissive hand at him before refocusing on me—“you could try being less combative and see what comes of it. You know, since the poor girl is scared to death.”
“Scared but feisty,” Liam counters, waggling his brows. “It was like two racoons beating the shit out of each other. Front-row seats to Animal Planet.”
I’m convinced his primary purpose in life is determining what it will take for one of us to punch him.
Wells shakes his head, amused and irritated at once. “I don’t give a fuck what you do. Gain her trust. Get her to talk. Help her settle in with us. We don’t have much time.”
“Gaining her full trust is going to be a long road.” Ty blows out a weighty exhale, his face twisted in his own anguish. “She’s a fighter, but years of enduring … It will take a while for any sense of safety to take root. For her to believe it.”
I feel that and know a long road isn’t within reach, which is why I turn back to Wells. “How long do I have before I have to shatter whatever trust we build?”
He’s empathetic, but his hands are tied nonetheless. “Days. I can give you a couple of days.”