Chapter 8
KIT
The way War stared at me should’ve been illegal. Something about his eyes made it hard to think, like they were pulling my thoughts apart one by one. His broad shoulders felt extra huge in this room, but when he shifted to strip off his shirt, he seemed even bigger. How was that possible?
Swallowing hurt. My mouth filled with drool, yet it was also dry. I didn’t know how it could be two things at once, but it was, and if I died right now, I’d be the happiest man on Earth.
The moment War’s hairy chest came into view, my knees wobbled.
I’d fantasized about this for years, but what I’d envisioned was nothing compared to the real thing.
His pecs were huge, dark hair fanning across their width.
His light brown nipples were peaked, and his abs were dense and ridged, each muscle sitting heavy under his sun-kissed skin.
The scars that he’d been ashamed of were thin strips of puckered skin.
Holy shit on a cracker.
What would he say if I dropped to my knees right now and buried my face against his stomach to breathe him in?
But he wasn’t finished. No. The sexy asshole enjoyed torturing me.
He brushed his palm over his abs and down to his pants, flicking the button with an effortless grace that was like watching a magic trick. The zipper’s sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and my heart hammered against my ribs until I swore I heard them crack.
My gaze tracked south, finding his fingers yanking the zipper tag to the bottom. The moments that passed between us stretched in slow motion, even though I was sure everything was also happening at hyperspeed—or maybe that was just my pulse.
As soon as the button popped, he tugged down his pants. The jeans fell around his ankles, and my gaze shot to his crotch. He had on a pair of tight blue boxer briefs, the fabric straining against the hard outline beneath.
He stepped out of the denim, kicking it aside, and caught my chin in his hand. “See something you want?”
I didn’t answer. I reached out and hooked my thumbs under the waistband, pulling them down slowly.
The elastic caught and released. He hissed through his teeth as I freed him by shoving the material down to his ankles, before my palm was sliding against hot, velvet skin.
He stepped out of the briefs, while his hand fisted my hair.
He didn’t pull the strands, but using his grip to anchor himself as I stroked him once, then twice, learning the weight and shape of him.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Your hands are cold.”
“Warm them up, then.”
He groaned and pushed me back onto the bed. Following me down, his mouth found mine with a hunger that made my head spin. His thigh pressed between my legs, and I arched up, seeking friction. I was already aching. He broke the kiss and sat back, giving me a moment to appreciate him.
His chest was a topography of scars—a long jagged ridge sliced from his left shoulder toward his sternum, the raised pale tissue of a burn branded his ribs, and a constellation of smaller marks were scattered like stars across his pecs.
His back, when he turned to look at the door to make sure it was locked, was no better.
A web of silvery lines caught the lamplight, and the healed wounds were a legacy of a whip or a blade or something worse.
He caught me staring and went rigid, his arms half-raised as if to cover himself.
“Don’t,” he said, rough and warning, but his eyes held something afraid. He was waiting for rejection, as if that was an option. It wasn’t.
I sat up and placed my palm flat against the worst of it—the burn over his ribs. His skin jumped beneath my touch. “I see you.” I leaned in to press my mouth to the scar on his shoulder.
War shuddered and gripped my waist hard enough to bruise while making a sound like something inside him had cracked open. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I flipped us over so he was lying on his back and I was on my knees.
I kissed my way down his chest, tasting salt and soap and feeling the faint texture of healed wounds beneath my lips. I didn’t hesitate. I took him into my mouth, and his head fell back, the muscles of his scarred abdomen tightening as he groaned my name.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and I didn’t know if he was begging me to stop or to continue, so I kept going until his thighs trembled and his fingers threaded through my hair with desperate reverence.
He pulled me up eventually and laid me back against the pillows. His hands shook as he undressed me, his knuckles brushing my skin with tenderness that made my chest ache.
“We need lube,” he muttered, irritation slicing through his voice. “Damn it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t know the Lords too well, but I think they’d have some wild parties. Check in there.” I nodded at the wooden nightstand.
He yanked open the top drawer and made a sound of triumph, presenting me with his find.
I snickered, but my amusement quickly disappeared as he prepped me.
He was gentler than I’d expected, and I appreciated it.
The stretch burned, and even though I used a dildo on the regular, my hole didn’t have the experience of a very human dick.
When War finally pushed inside me, he did it while watching my face. His scarred chest heaved and his eyes turned dark and endless. He moved like a man who had survived something terrible and couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—allowed to be soft and wanted.
The stretch was a slow, aching revelation—not pain, exactly, but an insistent pressure that unraveled something tight inside me.
I wanted to memorize every ridge, every pulse, and the way he filled the hollow spaces I hadn’t known were empty.
The burn lingered, sweet and terrible, until I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the wanting began.
I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him deeper.
The expression on his face was caught somewhere between hungry and awed.
He moved like a man who was precise in his thrusts.
He knew exactly how to angle his hips to hammer my prostate, and it was the kind of sensation that sent me to heaven.
Words didn’t have meaning when I could feel this.
His dick worked magic, and I was his enraptured audience. He moved like he was memorizing me, his hands lingering where I gasped, his mouth finding spots that made my toes curl. I hadn’t expected to feel this seen or wanted. It wasn’t just my first time, this moment was ours.
When he came, he buried his face in my neck and shook apart, every scar pressed against my heart. I wasn’t far behind. When I finally touched my hand to my dick, the world around me splintered in the most delicious way. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids and my dick exploded. I cried out.
It was perfect and exactly how I wanted my first time to go. I'd told him I wanted it hard and fast and rough, but War had given me something else. Something deep and gentle. He'd known better than I did what I really needed.
He pulled out of me gently, with careful consideration, and grabbed his shirt.
He used the material to clean us up, wiping at the cum and lube, and I waited eagerly, desperate for his attention.
He didn’t give me what I wanted. His attitude screamed escape and I didn’t want him to go.
When he shifted to get off the bed, I snatched his elbow. He gave me a long look.
“Don’t ignore me,” I pleaded.
Did I sound clingy? I hoped not. Guys back in high school laughed about insecure girls, but vulnerability had taken me into its jaws and it would eat me whole if War walked away.
To my relief, he settled onto the bed. He didn’t hug me or pull me close.
He stayed rigid on his back, like he was afraid to touch me in case he had another nightmare.
I didn’t reach for him. The bruises from earlier had claimed me as his, but there was a chance he might not be able to stop the next time.
Sleep evaded me. My eyes refused to close. War had finally passed out beside me, his breathing deep and even. I didn’t want him to leave. If staying meant risking another one of his episodes, I’d take it. My life felt cheap compared to this moment.
He was handsome in his sleep, the lines of concern smoothed from his brow and his mouth soft.
How long would he remain peaceful before his nightmares returned?
It didn’t matter. I was prepared. Nothing would make me run from him.
Not even his trauma. He’d protected me, and now I wanted to return the favor.
I traced my thumb over his cheekbone, taking in the sharpness of his facial features. He was warworn, but made of reinforced stone—a man who’d been tested under the most difficult conditions and endured.
He was a survivor. He might not see it, but I did. No matter what he said, no matter how broken he thought he was, I saw him for what he’d always been. Resilient. That was the most attractive quality about him.
Yet, he worked for my father, a man I’d always thought was nothing more than a humble businessman.
I supposed he was that, too, minus the humble part, but he was also a criminal.
How far did he go? Did he order people to die?
Of course he did. No one got to the top of the food chain without hurting and murdering people on the way up.
And the photo already proved he’d killed.
The thought had my stomach churning. I’d trusted my dad, and he’d lied to me. I understood why he’d kept his activities a secret when I was a child, but now I was an adult. I deserved to know the truth. Did Mom know? What about Sky?
Damn it. A memory of Sky surfaced—last Christmas after he came home for the holidays, in Dad’s study. I’d walked in on them, their voices low and sharp. The argument had stopped cold. Sky had flinched, a flicker of guilt in his eyes, while Dad’s glare could’ve frozen fire.
When I’d asked what was wrong, Sky had merely muttered, “Dad’s being Dad,” and steered me out of the room.
The tension hadn’t made sense then, but now it clicked into place with sickening clarity.
Were they arguing about the business? The thought made it all worse.
My younger brother knew. He’d carried the reality of this while I’d studied it in textbooks.
I groaned quietly and hid my face in my pillow. I’d really spent my whole life with my head buried in the sand. If Sky figured it out, why hadn’t I? I was the one who’d studied criminal justice.
“Mm. What are you thinking about?” War murmured, startling me.
How long had I stared at the ceiling, stuck in my mind?
I studied his drowsy brown eyes, fogged with sleep and gentler than I’d ever seen them. There was something special about him waking up beside me, and I was going to commit this image to my memory.
“How long has my father been in business?” I asked, voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
War stilled. Silence spread between us. For a moment, I didn’t expect an answer, but finally, he shook his head.
“I’m not sure. My first job for him was his bodyguard.
But there are men who’ve been with him from the very beginning.
I think he started before you were born, but he didn’t get to the top until later down the track. ”
“Can you tell me everything he does?”
“No.” This time, War didn’t hesitate. He sat up in bed, and I followed, watching his expressions carefully. He’d reverted to his impassiveness, and while I missed the softness of a freshly roused War, I loved—no, liked, every version of him.
“Why not?”
“You know why.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I shouldn’t have told you anything. Your dad won’t be happy.”
“He was the one who lied to me,” I snapped. “And I think Sky knows. Doesn’t he?”
War pursed his lips into a thin line. “He might suspect. I’m not sure. Your dad never told me, but he and Sky argued a lot.”
“Yeah.” I’d always thought their fights were just two stubborn assholes refusing to lose. But what if it was more? “I need to see him.”
War’s gaze shot to me. “Who?”
“Sky.” The answer felt like the only solid thing in a world of lies.
St. Loren, Louisiana. He was there. Dad’s extraction team was coming, and they’d drag me back to New Gothenburg, back into the cage I’d just escaped.
No. I wasn’t returning until I had answers from my brother.
My hands fisted in the sheets. “I’m going to St. Loren. ”
“No, Kit.” War’s jaw tensed, a tick starting beside his eye. “You can’t—”
“Watch me.” I threw back the blankets and got out of bed, grabbing my underwear. My heart hammered, but my voice was steady. “I have my credit card. I’m getting a plane ticket. You can wait here for Dad’s man, or you can come with me. Your choice.”
I hoped he’d come along. Not only would it be nice to have someone to protect me, but we’d connected tonight. We’d had sex, and now I was even more captivated by him. I didn’t want our time together to end.
War’s nostrils flared, and finally, he moved out of bed. He started getting dressed, and while he didn’t say anything, I knew his answer. War was coming to St. Loren with me.
We dressed and packed quickly, the silence charged with unspoken urgency.
Downstairs, the party was still loud, but a bulky Lord stood guard at the front door, arms crossed.
He watched our approach, his expression unreadable.
When we reached him, he didn’t move to stop us.
He just jerked his chin toward the door.
War paused, his body tense. “What’s this?”
The biker smirked. “Payment cleared an hour ago. Where you go now ain’t Odin’s problem. But your dad’s ride is coming. Better be gone when it gets here.”
War grunted, a low sound of resignation. As we stepped out into the night, I heard him mutter, “Derek’s gonna kill me.”