Chapter 12
Declan
I’m pacing the floor in my living room, wearing a groove into the hardwood beneath my boots.
I told Lena to leave the club and meet me here.
What the hell was I thinking?
I’ve lost my fucking mind.
But even now, with my hands clenched into fists at my sides and my pulse pounding like a war drum, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Because the second I saw her in that club tonight, it was over for me.
I tried to keep my distance. Sat back at the bar, surrounded by my brothers, a drink in my hand and a hundred distractions to pull me away from her. But none of it worked. Not a single fucking thing. Because she was there.
Moving like she didn’t know she was the most captivating thing in the room. Laughing like the world hadn’t broken her heart a hundred times over. Eyes scanning the crowd and somehow always finding mine.
And that body, Jesus Christ.
The way she danced, like she had no clue how dangerous it was. Like she wasn’t already living under my skin.
Every sway of her hips, every toss of her hair, every time her lips curved into a smile, it chipped away at the control I’ve been holding onto for years. Thin, fraying threads that snapped one by one until all I was left with was need.
The kind that doesn’t go away.
The kind that eats you alive.
So I told her to come here. Sent her off like it wasn’t the worst idea I’ve had in a long time.
Because it is.
It’s a bad fucking idea.
Because I don’t trust myself around her tonight.
I’m angry.
At her.
At me.
At all the time we’ve wasted pretending like we’re not inevitable.
But I’m also hard as a fucking rock, strung so tight with want it hurts to breathe.
She does that to me. Has always done that to me. It’s like my body recognizes her before my brain can shut it down.
I drag a hand over my jaw, my breath coming faster now. I’m not just pacing, I’m spiraling.
If she walks through that door.
If she gives me even the slightest hint that she wants this, too.
I don't know if I can stop myself.
And I'm not sure I even want to.
Before I can convince myself of anything else, the door swings open.
And there she is.
Lena walks in like she fucking belongs here and damnit, I like it more than I should. Like some part of me has been waiting to see her here, in my space, where I don’t have to share her with anyone else.
“Declan?” Her voice is soft, unsure. She sees me, standing in the center of the room like I’ve been waiting for her all my life, but she doesn’t know what to do now that she’s actually here.
Neither do I.
I take a few steps toward her, heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.
Our eyes lock, and I swear I feel something ignite under my skin. Fire, pure and unrelenting, racing through my veins like gasoline just found a match.
“Why the fuck did you go to Twisted Souls tonight?” I demand, the words slipping out before I can rein them in.
She flinches. Just slightly. Like she wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing out of my mouth. But just as fast, she recovers, her spine straightening, her eyes narrowing into sharp, defiant slits.
“I was invited,” she fires back, chin tilted, daring me to push further.
I step in closer, my jaw tight, fists clenched at my sides. “You never fucking listen to me,” I growl, heat rising in my chest. “I told you I wanted to make sure it was safe before you went anywhere. Yet there you were smiling, dancing, like it was just another night out.”
Her breaths grow quicker, matching mine beat for beat, and then she steps toward me.
"What was I supposed to do, Declan?" she snaps. "Tell Wesley that you didn’t want me to go? That I should stay home because you said so?”
Her voice trembles, but not from fear. From fire. From the same frustration that’s been eating me alive. Her anger, her passion. It wrecks me. It undoes every thread of discipline I’ve tried to stitch into place over the years.
And then I break.
Before I can stop myself, I press her back against the wall, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. My body cages hers in, chest heaving, heart thundering.
And then my lips crash into hers.
There’s no hesitation. No soft lead-in or question of permission.
Just need.
Raw and brutal and years in the making.
Her lips part beneath mine instantly, and when our tongues meet, it’s like the fucking world disappears.
The room vanishes. Time stops.
My nerves, my breath, my goddamn heart, all of it, pauses in that single moment.
Her taste consumes me. Sweet and sinful and addicting. Her body melts against mine, and I feel everything I’ve tried to deny for so long burn its way to the surface.
But then reality comes crashing back in.
Like a slap to the face.
Like cold water on skin that was just on fire.
I tear my mouth from hers, breathing hard, my forehead dropping against hers for a second before I pull back entirely. My hands let go of her wrists like they burned me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, backing away from her, dragging a hand down my face. “This was a mistake.”
She looks up at me, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like mine, and I hate the way I’ve put that look in her eyes, part confusion, part heartbreak.
I step back again, needing space, needing air. The guilt hits fast and mercilessly. It always does.
“I shouldn’t have—” My voice catches. “I told myself I wouldn’t do that. That I couldn’t. And I just…”
I shake my head, turning away from her completely.
Because if I look at her one more second, I’ll forget why I ever stopped.
And I can’t afford that.
Not with her.
I turn my back on her, dragging a hand through my hair like that’s gonna help me get a grip. My heart’s still pounding. My lips still feel her on them. My body’s screaming for more, but my conscience is louder now.
Wesley.
His name cuts through the haze of lust and rage like a blade.
I shouldn’t have touched her. I knew better. But watching her in that club, watching every man’s eyes track her like she was something they had the right to want and fuck, I lost it.
And now I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
“Declan.” Her voice is soft, but unsure.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s still standing by the wall, still breathing hard, eyes locked on mine like she’s waiting for me to come back to her.
And that’s the worst part.
Because I want to.
“I never should’ve told you to come here,” I say, my voice rough. “I never should’ve kissed you.”
She flinches at that. Just a little. But it kills me all the same.
“Then why did you?” she asks. “Because you’re angry? Because you saw me at the club and got jealous?”
“I am angry,” I growl, turning back toward her. “But not just at you. I’m angry at myself. Angry that I let it go this far. Angry that I couldn’t fucking stop.”
“Stop what?” she whispers.
“This.” I motion between us, like that’s enough to capture the chaos of what just happened. “This thing between us that I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.”
Her eyes soften, just a little, like maybe she understands.
But she doesn’t. She can’t.
“Do you know what this would do to him?” I ask, the words ripping out of me before I can stop them. “To Wesley?”
She stiffens.
There it is.
The one truth that matters more than anything else.
“I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me,” I say, pacing now because if I stop moving, I’m going to touch her again, and I can’t. “I’ve watched him fight for you. Care about you. Trust me around you.”
She’s quiet. Too quiet. And it makes everything worse.
“I can’t betray him like that. I can’t be the reason he looks at me differently. Loses faith in me. I won’t do that to him.”
“But what about you?” she asks, her voice cracking. “What about what you feel? What I feel?”
My hands ball into fists at my sides.
“I’ve dreamed about kissing you,” I say through clenched teeth. “Every night, for years. I’ve imagined what your skin would feel like under my hands. I’ve hated myself for wanting what I can’t have.”
Tears well in her eyes, and fuck, that undoes something in me.
“But I can’t do this to him, Lena,” I say, voice low and gutted. “No matter how badly I want you, I can’t cross that line.”
I brace myself for her to turn away, to walk out and leave me standing here, wrecked. But she doesn’t. Of course, she doesn’t.
She takes a few slow steps toward me, her heels clicking softly against the floor, like each one is a deliberate choice. Her eyes are soft but steady and lock onto mine, and I swear it’s harder to breathe with every inch she closes between us.
“I’ve pushed my feelings down for years,” she says, her voice quiet but fierce. “Not because I was afraid of crossing a line or disappointing my brother, but because I didn’t think you felt the same.”
She’s close enough now that I can feel the heat of her body. My fists are clenched at my sides. I should back up. I should say something. But I don’t. I stand there like I’m waiting for her to rip my soul out.
And maybe I am.
“Hearing that you feel the same want, the same need,” she continues, her voice growing more confident, more sure, “it’s like I can finally breathe again. Like I’m not insane for feeling this way.”
She steps directly in front of me now, so close I can smell her, warm and sweet with the faintest trace of something wild underneath. Her fingers touch my chest, and even through the layers of fabric, it’s like a brand searing into my skin.
“And now you’re saying,” she says, her tone sharper now, “because of your friendship with my brother, I’m supposed to go on pretending? Pretending we didn’t just share the most intense, incredible kiss of my entire damn life?”
I force a breath out, my chest tight, throat dry. “Yes,” I whisper, even though it feels like it’s killing me to say it.
She shakes her head slowly, that infuriating, sexy little smirk tugging at her lips. Then she slides her arms around my neck like she’s been doing it her whole life. Her body presses to mine, fitting perfectly like she belongs there.
“Fuck that,” she murmurs, looking up at me with fire in her eyes. “I keep my relationships a secret anyway.”
That’s the last straw.
I growl, low and raw in my throat, the sound primal. My hands fly to her waist, yanking her against me. My lips crush hers in a kiss that’s nothing short of savage.
This isn’t gentle. It’s years of restraint unraveling in a heartbeat.
Her mouth opens for me without hesitation, and my tongue dives in, claiming her like I’ve been starving for the taste. Her fingers twist into my hair as she moans into me, and I swear to God I’ve never heard anything hotter.
I press her back against the wall, our bodies flush, no space left between us. Her legs brush mine, her hips arch into me, and I’m lost. My hands roam her sides, her back, her hips, desperate to touch every inch I’ve only dreamed of.
There’s no going slow. No thinking. Just fire and friction and the kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name.
I know I should stop.
I know this changes everything.
But I can’t stop kissing her.
Not now.
Not when she feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.
This kiss it’s only the beginning.