Chapter 17
CINDY
The Mustang purrs as I pull through the compound gates at dawn, Mac sprawled across the passenger seat like he owns it. I’m frustrated. Pissed. And beyond disappointed.
Anna and Drew had vanished.
I should have known she would hide from me.
Cowards.
I park in the garage and sit for a moment, letting the engine tick as it cools. My night out solved nothing.
Mac stretches and yawns, giving me a look that clearly says he's ready for breakfast and his bed. I scratch behind his ears before we both climb out.
The compound feels different in the early morning light. Quieter. I make my way through the halls. Part of me expected Luka to be waiting by the door, demanding answers I don't have. Instead, the sound of rhythmic impacts guides me toward the gym.
I find him there, shirtless and gleaming with sweat. He’s absolutely destroying a heavy bag with his bare fists. Each punch lands with the kind of force that could shatter bones. His knuckles are raw and bleeding, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.
He senses my presence before I make a sound. His body stilling mid-strike. When he turns, our eyes lock across the space between us. The air turns molten.
He looks genuinely surprised to see me standing here. Like he had convinced himself I wouldn't come back at all.
"You're back," he says, his voice rough with exertion and something that sounds suspiciously like relief.
"I told you I would be."
He reaches for a towel, wiping the sweat from his face and chest, but his eyes never leave mine. "Find them?"
"Gone. Vanished." I step further into the gym, drawn by the magnetic pull that always exists between us. "Their apartment was cleaned out, the garage too. Like they were never there."
He nods, not looking surprised. "Cowards always run when cornered."
"You knew they would."
"I hoped they would." He drops the towel and moves toward me, each step deliberate and predatory. "Makes this easier."
"Easier how?"
Instead of answering, he backs me against the wall, his hands bracing on either side of my head. The heat radiating from his body is intoxicating, mixing with the scent of his sweat and that something indefinably him that makes my pulse race.
"I don't want to be without you," he says quietly, like the words cost him something precious.
The admission steals my breath. This dangerous man, who commands fear and respect from killers and criminals, just told me he needs me. Not wants—needs.
I don't give him a chance to take it back or hide behind that mask of control he wears so well. I kiss him first. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I would make it back.
Desperation and fire fuel the passion between us. He tastes like salt and violence and something that's become as essential as breathing.
I could never leave this man.
He groans against my mouth, his control snapping like a broken chain. His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, gripping my hips, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I thought you might not come back," he admits against my throat.
"I'm here."
"Why?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not sure I'm ready to voice. Because of Leo. Because this has become home in ways that terrify me. Because I'm carrying his child and haven't found the courage to tell him yet.
"Because I choose to be."
Something shifts in his expression, going soft and vulnerable for just a heartbeat before the predator takes over again. His hand slides up my body. It’s rough over my tender breasts, and then he’s wrapping it around my throat.
My chin goes up as I stare at him.
I’m not afraid.
Not anymore.
This man won’t hurt me.
But he will fuck me until I see stars.
He stares into my eyes. I stare right back at him. He doesn’t have to say it. I can see it. Feel it.
"Mine," he growls, the word vibrating through my bones.
"Yours," I breathe, because it's true and we both know it.
His mouth slams against mine.
The kiss is violent, desperate, all teeth and tongue and barely controlled hunger.
I taste copper where his teeth scrape my lip, but I don't care.
I bite him back, harder, marking him the way he's marking me.
His grip on my throat tightens just enough to make me gasp.
He swallows the sound like he's starving for it.
He walks me backward until I hit a table covered with bottles of water and tape. The edge of the table digs into my lower back, but the slight pain only adds to the fire building in my veins.
"I should punish you," he growls against my mouth, his free hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "For leaving. For scaring me."
"Do it," I challenge, my voice hoarse from his grip on my throat. "Punish me."
His eyes flash with something feral and dangerous. The hand around my throat slides down to grip the front of my shirt. He rips it open with one violent motion.
"Luka," I gasp, but it's not a protest. It's encouragement.
He lifts me easily, setting me on a table with my legs spread around his waist. All I can focus on is the way he's looking at me—like I'm something he wants to devour completely.
I grip his shoulders as he reaches for the clasp of my bra. My breasts spill free. He makes a sound that's part growl, part prayer. His mouth finds my nipple and clamps down with his teeth. I arch into him, my head falling back as pleasure shoots through me like lightning.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs against my skin.
I push at the waistband of his shorts. I’m desperate to feel him. To have him inside me. But he catches my wrists, pinning them behind my back with one large hand.
"Not yet," he says, his voice rough with control. "You ran from me. Now you wait."
The denial makes me whimper, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. He likes having this power over me. He loves watching me fall apart at his touch while he maintains that iron discipline.
His free hand slides down my body, over my ribs, and across my stomach. I tense slightly when his palm rests there, wondering if somehow he can sense the secret I'm carrying. But he doesn't pause, just continues his torturous exploration until his fingers find the waistband of my jeans.
"Please," I breathe, and I hate how desperate I sound.
"Please, what?" His thumb traces circles on my hip, so close to where I need him, but not close enough.
"Touch me."
"I am touching you."
I want to scream at his smugness.
He’s still holding my wrists, but I have my mouth. I kiss him, taking his tongue into my mouth and showing him what I want.
I feel the control slip.
He drops my wrists and yanks me off the table. My jeans are gone seconds later.
He spins me around and without warning, he’s driving inside me.
I cry out. The invasion was painful in the best way.
His hand fists in my hair as his body pumps into mine.
I can barely catch my breath as he sets the brutal pace. Each thrust drives me higher on my toes, forcing me to grip the table for stability. The edge bites into my palms, but the pain only adds to the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him.
"This is what happens when you leave me," he growls against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "When you make me think I might lose you."
His words are punctuated by deep, punishing strokes that reach places inside me I didn't know existed. My body responds despite the roughness—or maybe because of it. The coil of pleasure builds impossibly tight in my core.
"I came back," I gasp, barely able to form words.
"Not fast enough."
His hand slides around to find my clit. I nearly scream at the contact. The combination of his fingers and his relentless rhythm pushes me toward the edge faster than I can process. My legs shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice dark with possession. "Show me who you belong to."
The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave. I bite down on my own arm to muffle the cry that tears from my throat, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure destroys any coherent thought.
He follows me over with a low roar, his grip on my hips tightening as he empties himself inside me. His forehead drops to my shoulder as he sucks in ragged breaths.
"I was afraid," he admits against my shoulder, his voice barely audible.
"Of what?"
"That I pushed you too far. That you'd finally had enough."
I reach back to touch his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palm. "Not going anywhere."
He slowly pulls away and turns me to face him. He grimaces as he looks at me.
“Hold on.”
He grabs one of the bottles of water and a towel. I watch as he opens it and pours water on the towel. He gently cleans my face and then lower.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." I catch his damaged hands in mine, pressing kisses to his raw knuckles. "But you hurt yourself."
He shrugs like it doesn't matter. This man, who faces down armed enemies without flinching, is undone by gentle touches.
"Come on," I say, tugging him toward the door. "Let me clean those up."
He steps away and picks up his discarded t-shirt. I put it on without a word while he pulls on his shorts.
When we step out of the gym, I spot two guards. They, of course, pretend they don’t see us. Luka leads us to his room and closes the door behind us.
In his bathroom, I make him sit on the edge of the tub while I tend to his knuckles with antiseptic and bandages. The cuts aren't deep, but they're angry and swollen. He watches me while I work.
"You're different," he says suddenly.
My hands still on the bandage that I'm wrapping around his left hand. "Different how?"
"I don't know. Just... different."
Panic flickers in my chest. Can he tell? Is it obvious somehow? I've been so careful, but my body has been changing in small ways. My breasts are fuller and more sensitive. My waist is still the same, but there's a softness to my stomach that wasn't there before.
"Different bad or different good?" I try to keep my voice light.
"Different beautiful."
The words hit me unexpectedly, making my throat tight with emotion. I finish with his bandages and step back, but he catches my wrist before I can move too far away.
"Cindy."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For coming back."
"Thank you for letting me go."
We look at each other for a long moment, both of us aware that something fundamental has shifted between us. The dynamic has changed from captor and prisoner to something else entirely. Something that feels suspiciously like a choice made by both of us.
"I should check on Leo," I say finally.
"He's still sleeping. It's early."
"Then I should shower."
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "I like the way you smell. You smell like mine."
“I smell like you.” I grin. “You’re all sweaty. You should shower too. And then maybe we can get a couple hours of sleep.”
Without a word, he stands and goes to the walk-in shower. He sets the water temp on the digital thermostat and takes off his shorts. He disappears into the steam.
I pull off his shirt and catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. My reflection stops me cold. There's something different about my face. A fullness that wasn't there before. When I turn to the side, I can see the barely-there curve of my stomach that definitely wasn't there a month ago.
He doesn’t know. I’ll tell him.
Just not now.
I step into the shower behind him. He turns and pulls me into his arms.
The hot water cascades over both of us. I groan with sheer pleasure. I don’t know if I could ever go back to a basic shower. There's a reverence in his touch that makes my heart ache. He's washing my hair with careful fingers, massaging my scalp in a way that's almost meditative.
This isn't the Luka who just fucked me against a table in his gym. This is someone else entirely—someone tender and careful and so gentle it makes me want to cry.
"You're being awfully sweet," I murmur, tipping my head back as he rinses the shampoo from my hair.
"Is that a problem?"
"No, it's just... not very you."
His resume their gentle ministrations. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
But I do know him. I know he's capable of violence that would make most people sick. I know he's killed men with his bare hands and slept peacefully afterward. I also know he reads bedtime stories and makes pancakes shaped like dinosaurs on Saturday mornings.
The gentleness now, though—this feels different. Like I'm something precious that needs protecting.
Does he know?
Maybe he's figured it out. Maybe all those little changes I thought I was hiding so well are more obvious than I realized.
I have to tell him.
Soon.