Chapter Seven
Wyck
Watching her undress should’ve satisfied the hunger still coiling low in my gut.
It didn’t.
Not even close.
My cock pulses again, thick, heavy, already demanding round two like she didn’t just suck the soul out of me ten fucking minutes ago.
Control. I repeat the word like a prayer I don’t believe in. Because truth is, I don’t have any when it comes to her.
Athens.
Dripping wet and radiant like sin baptized in fire.
She tricked me, weaponized her mouth and my weakness like a good little brat, and I let her. I let her win. But I won’t fall for it again.
At least, that’s the lie I’m telling myself.
Because everything about her, the way her skin glows under steam, how the water carves its path down the swell of her breasts, the way her smile tugs at the corners of her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing, is killing me slowly. And I want to burn for it.
But her well-being? That comes first. Even before my own damn pleasure.
For now.
I tear my gaze away, pretending like I’m not fucked in the head over the way she stands there, mine, and turn toward the bed where Karter’s little “gift” of an outfit is sprawled like bait.
And fuck me sideways… He really wants to get us all killed tonight.
The skirt’s black, high-waisted, and slit so far up both sides it might as well not exist. The halter top’s thin enough to show everything, everything, and there’s a black strapless bra and modesty petals that scream “Karter felt guilty halfway through jerking off while picking this.”
But what kills me?
No panties.
None.
That smug bastard did it on purpose. And the worst part? I’d have done the same damn thing.
I grit my teeth as flashes of her in that outfit strut across my mind, her legs bare, her hips teasing, every man in that club wishing they could fuck her, taste her, claim her. Like hell they will.
Storming to my closet, I yank clothes around until I find what I need, nothing flashy. Black slacks. Fitted black tee. Clean Armani shoes. Classic Devil uniform.
But tonight’s different.
Tonight, I want blood and power to bleed from my skin.
At my dresser, I slip in my diamond studs, wrap the gold Fossil watch around my wrist, and fasten the custom bracelets that never leave my side, one says “Athens.” The other? “Devil of Cliffside.”
A creed and a curse.
I’m so lost in the quiet ritual of dressing for war, I almost don’t hear the creak of the bathroom door behind me.
But when I turn around?
The world stops spinning.
She steps into the room wrapped in nothing but a towel and divinity.
And fuck, she’s a vision.
Dripping curls frame her face. Her skin gleams like it was forged from bronze and honey. Her eyes, those storm-colored eyes, search mine like she doesn’t already know she owns me.
“Is it okay if I get dressed in here?”
She says it soft, almost shy, like I haven’t tasted every inch of her before.
I smirk, voice low. “Only if I get to watch.”
Color floods her cheeks as she fumbles with the knot.
The towel hits the floor.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning, because she’s making it real fucking hard not to throw her down and claim her all over again.
She moves to the bed, dressing slowly, intentionally, putting on each item like a siren baiting a monster. And I’m the fucking monster.
When she slides that skirt up those bare legs?
“Where are your panties?” I already know, but I want to hear her say it.
She looks at me over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with sin. “Karter said it would be best if I didn’t wear any.” Then bends, bends, and puts on her shoes.
I clench my fists.
“Stop playing games with me, Athens.”
“I’m not playing with you, Wyck.” Her voice is sugar-laced venom.
She’s going to be the death of me.
She doesn’t even flinch when I move behind her. Doesn’t stop me from lifting her skirt and palming her ass.
She even moans for me.
Thinks this is for her.
Wrong.
I pull my hand back and let it crack across her bare ass.
She yelps, startled.
“You want to play games?” I hiss against her ear. “Then you better get used to getting burned.”
I bend down, kiss the skin I just reddened, and then bite down. Hard.
“Wyck!”
Before she can turn, I’m already gone. Slipping from the room like a ghost who just marked his grave.
Smirking to myself, I stalk toward the stairs… until a voice calls out.
“Wyck.”
Karter.
Of course.
I turn to face him, jaw already ticking.
He jogs up, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to start another fight.
“I won’t apologize for fucking her.” His eyes meet mine. “She doesn’t belong to just you anymore.”
I see red. I want to knock his fucking teeth in again.
He smirks anyway.
“I can see you want to hit me. Go ahead. But you’ll have to hit us all, because she’s ours.”
Ours.
He walks off.
And I stand there… haunted by a truth I’m not sure I can live with.
I fucking hate that I agreed to share her.
I’ve done it once before. Ended in blood. Screams. A woman buried and two Devils scarred for life. But I can’t blame what happened on the sharing, not entirely. That woman wasn’t Athens.
She’s something else. Something carved for all of us.
When I told the others they could pursue her, I thought I was doing it for her sake. Thought I was playing the long game, calculating, strategic, merciful.
Bullshit.
Truth is, I was just trying to keep the peace between the Devils and my own possessive fucking madness. Because the tension between her and Karter, her and Wells… it’s a slow burn begging to ignite.
And deep down? I know what she craves. What she needs.
To be ours.
To be claimed by all of us. Owned. Branded. Worshipped. Ruined.
And I want it.
We all do.
But even if she belongs to the Devils, she sleeps in my bed, unless I say otherwise. That’s the rule. That’s the line.
Letting Karter have time to cool off and clear the hallway, I head back upstairs. Snag my keys, my wallet… then detour to the arsenal.
Just in case tonight goes sideways, and something tells me it fucking will.
The weapon room is dim, metal gleaming under the flickering red light. I strap a blade to my thigh, holster my favorite piece, and tuck a few toys into my coat pocket. We’ve been stirring too many shadows lately to show up soft.
On my way down, I pass Gage loitering near the stairwell, phone in hand.
“Coming out tonight?” I ask, twirling my keys on one finger like a fuse ready to light.
He raises a brow. “Didn’t know we were allowed.”
I grin. “You’re a Devil now. Which means you reap what we sow. Grab whoever wants in. We roll deep tonight. The Obsidian Devil. ”
“Bet.” His grin matches mine, feral, ready for war.
“See you there,” I nod, cutting toward the kitchen. I’ve got one more thing to handle before we head out.
Maeve.
I round the corner and find her elbows-deep in another casserole or whatever the hell smells like sin and butter. She cooks like she’s feeding an army, and half the time she is.
“That smells… dangerously good,” I offer, trying to soften the blow before I say what I came to say.
She spins on her heel, wooden spoon in hand, apron smeared with something spicy. One hip cocked. Top lip curled.
I know that look.
The “I’ll skin you alive with love and a ladle” look.
“’Course it does. Anything I make could resurrect a corpse and convince him to stay,” she snaps, eyes narrowing.
I smirk, shaking off the memory of kneeling on rice for hours after mouthing off as a kid. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For earlier.”
She sets the spoon down. Wipes her hands. Stares me down like she’s measuring my soul.
“No apology needed,” she says. “I know why you did it.”
That gets my attention. “Oh yeah? What do you think you know?”
“You’re in love with the lass,” she says like it’s already carved into stone.
I scoff. “No, I’m not.”
Her hand snatches a spatula off the counter.
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” she threatens. “Unless you want me to tan your hide like I used to.”
I step back, hands raised. “Lie? I’d never.”
“That makes two,” she growls, rounding the island with the speed of a goddamn predator.
“Fine, fine! I love her. Happy?”
She lowers her weapon with a huff. “Then act like it. You look like a kicked dog.”
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s hard. Sharing her. She was mine first.”
Maeve narrows her eyes, voice dropping. “Don’t act like a spoiled brat. You gave her to them. Don’t rip her back like she’s a bone.”
“She’s not a bone.”
“No,” she says, softening, “she’s a blade. And she’ll cut through all of you if you don’t hold her right.”
I stare at her. At this woman who raised me, beat the Devil into me, and still looks like she’d slap the soul out of me if I disrespected the girl I love.
“You’re scary, you know that?” I mutter, backing toward the hallway.
“Not scary enough, apparently.” She grins, wicked. “And I’ll poison that pie before I let you have a slice tonight.”
“Love you too, old bag,” I call over my shoulder, dodging a flying spoon.
I hit the garage and slide into the green Porsche. The seat’s cool against my back, leather kissing places Maeve would’ve scorched if she’d gotten that spatula on me.
Fingers grip the wheel.
Tonight’s about release. About sending a message. About drowning in sin until the world shuts the fuck up.
And after tonight? It’s time to move forward. Reinhold Banking is ready. I've got plans to secure us a new fortress, one that bleeds legacy and screams power. One fit for Devils.
I’ll meet with them next week. Lock it down. Elevate us.
Because I’m not just a man who shares the girl.
I’m the Devil who leads them all.
And I never, ever lose what’s mine.
Fred: Did you motherfuckers forget about me?
Wells: …
Karter: Already gone. Don’t wait up.
Dash: New phone. Who the fuck is this?
Onyx: I’d offer, but I’m otherwise occupied… with someone’s daughter.
Fred: Wow. Just raw dogged abandonment. You all deserve to choke.
Athens: I’ll pick her up.
Me: …The fuck? How did you get in this thread?