Chapter Two #3
I glance between them. Their faces. The resemblance. My eyes narrow.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” “Yes.”
They answer in unison. Of course they do.
And then another woman steps out, this one younger, with an aura that screams trouble wrapped in lipstick.
“Hi, you must be Wyck,” she says, sliding between them like she owns the place. “Now’s not a good time.” She links her arm with mine like she’s earned the right to touch me.
I look at it. At her.
I’m two seconds from snapping her wrist and letting her wear it like a bracelet.
“Gaia.” Athens’s voice is a blade.
Gaia freezes. Lets go. Smart girl.
“You’ve both kept secrets from me,” Athens says, voice thick, full of fury and grief. “I’m not ready to process it. I need to leave.”
“I won’t argue with you,” the older woman says gently. “You’re a grown woman. But please… don’t go.”
Athens doesn’t answer. She just grabs my hand like I’m her escape route. And I fucking am.
Still, I pull her aside.
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” I say. “If you need time, take it. But I had to see you.”
She sighs. That sigh of hers, that fragile, exasperated thing, makes me want to pull her into my lap and not let her up until she’s smiling again.
“You’re right. I just… it’s too much. What I saw. What they told me.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s too much.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Honest. Blunt.
So fucking her.
“Fair enough,” I murmur. “I came here for two reasons.”
Her gaze flickers, dangerous and soft all at once.
“Not that,” I say, when I catch her thinking it. That pout. I want to bite it.
“Then what?” she huffs. “How do you know about this house?”
I lift a single finger. “I’ll give you one guess.”
Her expression shifts, like lightning cracking across her face.
From sorrow to mischief.
And just like that, the air between us thickens with all the things we haven’t said. The things we will do.
And I already know tonight, I’m not walking away clean.
Not when I’ve got a Little Fox to catch.
She plays with fire. Just like me.
The second her fingers drum against her chin and her eyes light up with realization, I know exactly where this is going.
“Karter?” she asks, already smiling like she’s caught me in a trap I walked into willingly.
I nod. “The one and only. I needed you, bad. He was the only one I trusted to track you down without asking questions.”
We walk toward the swing at the edge of the porch while the two women behind us stare like they’re watching a slow-motion car crash.
Athens glances back, voice dipped in venom. “You two can go now. I’ll be just fine.”
Translation, fuck off.
They hesitate, but eventually disappear inside. Smart. I would’ve buried them in the backyard if they hadn’t.
The second she and I drop onto that bench and our knees touch, the air shifts.
Her body still hums with tension, anger, grief, something unspoken, but the moment I reach out and cup her face, I feel her soften. Her breath hitches. Her lashes flutter.
"Wyck," she sighs.
I groan low in my throat, thumb brushing across her cheek. “I know. Believe me, I know.” My voice is strained with restraint. “It’s killing me not to drag you inside and fuck you against the nearest wall, but we’ve got bigger shit to deal with first.”
Her body sags, disappointment written across every curve. “Okay.”
No argument. No games. Just submission in the form I crave most: trust.
“I need to know something, Little Fox,” I murmur. “That I can trust you. Depend on you. That you’re still mine.”
The last part comes out quiet. Raw. Dangerous.
She leans in, brushing her lips against my thumb. “You know I am. You’ve always known. I’ve been yours longer than you realize.”
Fuck.
She could kill me with that voice.
“And what made you ask?” she adds.
“Because there’s something I need you to do. For me. For all of us.” I drag in a breath, staring at her like she’s the last clean thing in a dirty world. “I’m handing you a piece of our war, Athens. You don’t give that to just anyone.”
The silence stretches. Comfortable. Heavy.
Right now, there’s no empire. No father. No masks or betrayal. Just her. Me. And the need clawing its way through my chest.
Two people falling in love in a city that deserves neither of us.
Then, her voice breaks the stillness, and shatters me in the process.
“I can’t fight us anymore. I haven’t been in love with your father for a while… I’m not even sure I ever was.”
She swallows hard.
“I fell in love with a Devil three years ago. And now that I know it was you… Nothing can keep me away.”
That’s it. That’s my breaking point.
I don’t let her finish.
I crash my mouth to hers like I’m taking back every fucking second we lost. It’s violent, messy, tongues clashing, teeth grazing, saliva mixing in a kiss that says:
You’re mine. Always were. Always will be.
I pull back only to trail kisses across her face, her jaw, her throat. She’s trembling in my lap, and I’m not far from snapping.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that from you,” I whisper between kisses. “You’re my everything. And still more than that. Words don’t cut it. They never will.”
She laughs, and fuck me, it’s sunlight in hell.
Then her hand slips down, over my chest, lower, until her palm cups my hard-on through my jeans.
I nearly growl.
“I have an idea,” she rasps, squeezing.
“Dirty girl,” I murmur, dragging her into my lap, her thighs straddling me like she was built for it.
I slap her ass, firm, possessive, and grip her hair. “You really want that punishment? Right here on the porch for the neighbors to see?”
“I’m developing a thing for being watched.” She winks.
Fuck.
I blush.
Me.
Wyck Vaughn, blushing like some virgin schoolboy.
I tug her nose. “Karter was right, you’re a fucking brat.” I don’t want to ruin the mood, but it has to be said. “You’re leaving my father,” I say, dead serious. “You’re moving in with me.”
She stills.
“Whhaat?” she drags the word, blinking like she just misheard me. “You’re serious?”
I nod. “Dead serious. He’s a manipulative old bastard, and you’re done with him. You said it yourself, you never loved him. You belong with me. With us.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “The Devils stick together.”
Her expression shifts, sharp, curious. “Wait… are you saying there’s a female version of the Devils of Cliffside?”
“No. Not yet. But we’re rewriting the rules. The old ones died with our fathers.”
The guilt hits me like a truck.
I turn away. It’s hard, letting her see this side. But if I want her in my world, she needs the truth.
“The Devils meant nothing. They were just masks. Control. A lie.” I meet her eyes again, pride blooming in my chest despite the ache.
“But we’re done with that. I’m done with that.
The city was built on the bones of better men.
It’s time we bury the ones still standing.
Everything that’s coming? It’ll rip this place apart. Anyone in the way will be leveled.”
She stares at me, stunned. I give her the nod, permission to speak. “So… some of the students know who you actually are? Without the masks?”
I nod.
“Wow,” she whispers. “So what you’re really saying is… You want me to move in and become your female Devil?”
Her mouth curves. Skips right over the part about my father. Good. She’s already mentally erased him.
“I have no intention of letting you go,” I growl. “And Karter’s right, you’re perfect for HR.”
“HR?” she laughs. “What kind of operation needs HR?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get to that.”
She leans in, lips brushing my jaw. “I trust you, Wyck. I’m done fighting. I’ll do whatever you want.”
She wraps her arms around me, thighs squeezing my waist, and I almost lose it.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warn, grinding against her, breath hot against her neck.
“Hush. I’m not.”
I slam my mouth onto hers again, tongue slipping past her lips in a dance that says fuck tomorrow . I haven’t said the words yet, but I’ll show her what she means to me.
Then she moans my name.
“Wyck…”
And I swear it hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.
I want to take her right here. In my truck. Against the house. On top of those pristine porch steps. But I pull back.
Not yet.
“No. You need to go back inside and finish what was started.”
She looks past me, toward the door. Her expression dims. “I was going to run,” she confesses.
I stiffen.
“Run? From what, me? Us?”
“I couldn’t handle it. Everything they said. It felt like too much.”
I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Nothing is too broken to fix.”
I kiss her forehead, gentle for once, then hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
She fishes it out from between her tits.
“The password is nine-nine-two-five,” she murmurs.
I freeze mid-tap. My name.
That’s my fucking name.
“You made your password my name?” I ask, stunned.
“Yes.”
I stare at her. Stupidly. Completely gone for this girl who used to belong to my father and now fucking belongs to me.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t almost throw her over my shoulder and take her right back to the truck.
But I don’t.
Because for once, I’m thinking with the right head. And the war hasn’t even started yet.
“Athens.”
She pauses, turns toward me. “Yes?”
I should say something. Anything. But the words lock in my throat like they're afraid of being heard.
So instead, I take her phone, still warm from where it rested against her skin, and type in my name and number. I hit save, hand it back.
“Here.”
She smirks, eyes gleaming as she slides the phone right back into her bra like it belongs there. Everything about her says mine , and it does something vicious to my self-control.
“Thank you. I don’t know why it took us so long to do that,” she murmurs, teasing.
I tilt my head, grin slow and dark. “That’s what happens when you’re too busy fucking to talk. Nothing else matters.”
She laughs. God, that sound.
It cuts through the chaos in my head like a goddamn balm. But I keep it together.
Barely.
“We’ll talk soon. But text me for anything, and I do mean anything .” There’s an edge in my tone, one that says if she so much as thinks of danger or doubt, she better reach for me first.
“I will,” she promises, then raises a brow. “But don’t you want to save my number in your phone?”
It’s the way she says it, subtle, flirty, sweet. A girl who knows exactly how dangerous it is to be soft with me. And does it anyway.
“That’s why I said text me,” I say, brushing my thumb along her lower lip. “I’ll know it’s you.”
I kiss her once, slow and possessive. A reminder. A claim.
Then I rise to my feet and head back toward the truck. Right before I climb in, I glance over my shoulder and toss it out, low and casual:
“My password’s your name, too.”
The grin that splits her face is wicked and wide. And her storm-gray eyes glow like the moon just lit them up for me.
I slide behind the wheel, shut the door, and grip the steering wheel like it’s her fucking throat, because if I don’t touch her again soon, I might lose what little control I have left.