Chapter 24
Raine
I lose myself in the work because it’s the only place I still have control left.
The garage has that familiar scent that always soothes me, reminding me of my dad and the times I still had a smile on my face without forcing it. My body relaxes even while my brain keeps going.
I’ve got a bike up on the lift with a socket wrench clicking in a steady rhythm that should keep my focus. It usually does, but today it barely keeps the noise in my head down.
I didn’t tell them about Bash.
That thought keeps slipping in, no matter how many times I shove it back out.
I didn’t tell them that Bash kissed me. Didn’t tell them how he grabbed me and leaned in like it was his right to claim my mouth. I didn’t tell them about the way my fist connected with his cheek or how he smiled after, slow and pleased, like I’d just proven something he’d been hoping for.
I tell myself it was nothing. That it didn’t mean anything. That telling them would only drag them in further and give Bash exactly what he wants.
But it sits wrong in my chest anyway.
The wrench slips and my knuckles hit against the frame. I hiss, shaking my hand out, then tighten my grip and keep going.
I don’t have time to spiral.
I don’t have time to feel guilty or shaken or anything else that might slow me down.
I need to work because I need the money.
I need to keep them out of this.
Jax got me out of my head yesterday, whether he meant to or not.
I showed up at his place half-feral, still tasting Bash’s cologne and my own anger, and he didn’t ask a single fucking question.
Just took one look at me and pulled me in like that was the only answer that mattered.
He gave me something loud and reckless and physical enough to drown everything else out.
And then I slept.
Hard.
So hard I didn’t wake up until he came home at four in the fucking morning. I don’t remember the last time I slept like that, without dreaming or jolting awake. Just darkness and his arm around my waist like a barricade.
I hated myself for it when I realized how late it was.
How I’d wasted a day. A whole day I could’ve been working, earning, scraping together something useful instead of curled up in his bed like I don’t have a clock ticking over my head.
I don’t care how good it felt, or how badly my body needed it.
I don’t get to check out. Not now.
They don’t know what Bash did, what he implied, and I’m not sure I’m ever going to tell them. If I do, they’ll step closer. They’ll square their shoulders and decide this is theirs to fix, and Bash will see it clear as day. He’ll know exactly where to hit to make it hurt, to get to me.
I won’t let that happen.
I tighten the last bolt, lower the bike, and wipe my hands on a rag, clenching my teeth without noticing until my jaw aches.
I don’t get to fall apart.
I don’t get to rest.
I get to work.
The bell jingles over the door, clicking shut behind me before I turn to look.
“Hey, I”ll be—” I start, but stop when I notice it’s Elias.
He doesn’t say anything, locking the door behind him instead.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he crosses the garage with a purposeful stride, determined. His shoulders are squared like he came here for something specific and isn’t leaving without it.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying for casual, trying not to read into the way he doesn’t look at me yet.
He reaches the shutters first, pulling them down one by one.
The sound of metal rattles as the light narrows and my heart hammers with something new.
I’m not sure what he’s up to, and it’s honestly freaking me out a bit.
He goes for the roll-up door next, dragging it closed with a slow, controlled motion that sends a shiver down my spine for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.
“Elias,” I say, sharper now. “You’re freaking me out.”
He turns then, really looking at me.
“You know you’re worth living in the darkest corners of the earth for, right?”
It’s like he’s stating a fact, something he believes deep in his bones, and it throws me way the fuck off.
“What?” I scoff, heat flaring in my chest. “No. That’s dramatic, and also wrong.”
His brow lifts just slightly. “No, it's not.”
I open my mouth to snap back, but he’s already moving closer, steady steps that eat the distance between us. The garage feels smaller with every single one.
“Elias—”
“Raine.” My name in his mouth is low, calm, unyielding. He stops just in front of me, close enough that I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. Those brown eyes are locked on mine, serious and warm and absolutely refusing to let me look away. “You’re going to listen to me today.”
I laugh, short and defiant. “Am I?”
“Yes.” His hand lifts, slow enough that I could move, but I don’t. His fingers brush my jaw, thumb settling under my chin, tilting it up. Not forcing, just guiding. “You’re going to let me show you what you’re worth. No arguing. No pushing me away.”
My pulse kicks hard against his thumb. “I don’t need—”
“You do.” He steps in, crowding me back until my hips hit the edge of the workbench, causing the tools to clatter softly behind me. “You need to hear it. You need to feel it. And I need to give it to you.”
The caretaker in him is right there, steady and protective, but underneath it, something darker coils—quiet command that makes my breath catch.
“I’m not fragile.” I lift my chin even as my back arches a little toward him.
“No,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes to my mouth. “You’re not. You’re strong as hell. And you’re still worth everything.”
His hand slides to the nape of my neck, threading his fingers into my hair with a firm but gentle grip. He pulls just enough to tip my head back further, exposing my throat.
“Tell me to stop.” His breath is warm against my skin. “Say the word and I’ll walk away right now.”
I should.
I should shove him back, tell him I’ve got this, that I don’t need anyone deciding what I’m worth. But I don’t say a word.
His mouth finds the pulse point under my jaw, soft at first, then firmer, grazing his teeth against my skin just enough to make me gasp. My hands fist in his jacket without permission.
He pulls back just enough to look at me again, eyes searching. “Take the coveralls off.”
It’s not a request.
My fingers hesitate on the zipper, defiance flickering because I’m not usually one to just do as I’m told. But his gaze doesn’t waver, all patient, expectant, and absolute. It kills my defiance rather fast.
I pull the zipper down, letting the heavy fabric slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet. I step out, left in a thin tank and work pants, with grease streaks on my forearms and my hair messy from the day. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the clothes I just took off.
Elias’ eyes roam over me like he’s memorizing every inch, every bruise from the ring, and every scar from my past.
“Beautiful.” His voice is rough. “Every fucking part of you.”
Fuck. Stop, Elias.
I can’t take hearing that right now.
He moves in again, hands sliding under my tank, palms warm against my ribs. He lifts it over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Then he works my bra—fingers deft at the clasp, unhooking it with such ease, I wonder if he takes it off faster than I do.
Cool air hits my skin and my nipples tighten instantly. His gaze drops to them, darkening with need.
“Hands on the bench,” he orders softly. “Behind you.”
I obey before I can think, laying my palms flat on the cool metal and leaning back slightly. The position arches my chest toward him.
He steps between my legs, settling his hands on my hips, tracing the waistband of my pants with his thumbs. “You’ve been carrying the world alone for too long, my killer queen.” His voice is low, steady. “With me, you don’t have to carry anything. You get to just feel.”
He sinks to his knees, and my breath stutters in my throat.
“Elias—”
“Daddy,” he corrects gently, looking up at me. “Right now, you call me Daddy. And you let me take care of you.”
The word sticks in my throat, but the way he’s looking at me—like I’m precious and powerful all at once—loosens it. I thought I would hate being the girl to say Daddy, but in this moment, with him, it just feels right.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
His eyes flare. “Good girl.”
He unbuttons my pants, sliding them down with my panties in one slow drag, lifting my feet one at a time to free me. Then his hands spread my thighs wider, guiding my hips to the edge of the bench.
I’m bare to him, open, and trembling just slightly.
He doesn’t rush, pressing soft kisses to the inside of my knee, then higher, tracing faint bruises from last week’s fight with his mouth like he’s erasing them. Every touch is deliberate, like he’s worshiping me.
When his tongue finally finds my clit, I jolt, fingers gripping the bench hard enough to creak.
He hums against me, pleased, and does it again—a slow, flat lick that makes my hips roll. His hands pin my thighs open when I try to close them, holding me exactly where he wants me.
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze over the line of my body. He’s watching me like I’m the only thing in the world, tongue circling slow and perfect.
“You taste like mine,” he growls. “And you’re going to come in my mouth because you deserve it.”
He slides two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right. My back arches again, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
“That’s it,” he praises, pumping slow and deep. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
He works me relentlessly—tongue hungry on my clit, stroking his fingers on that spot inside until pleasure coils tight and unbearable. I’m panting, my thighs shaking in his grip.
“Come for Daddy,” he commands, voice rough with want.
Fuck me. Why does that turn me on so much?