Chapter 16
ROAN
I shouldn’t have done that.
It’s midday now, a full twelve hours since I had Katie pressed against that wall with my fingers buried inside her, and I’ve barely touched any of the work in front of me. Every time I try to focus, my mind drags me right back to her.
The concern on her face when she saw me last night—or more specifically, the blood on my clothes. The way her eyes went wide with horror and she ran towards me without hesitation, without caring what the blood meant. What I’d initially dismissed as an act, just another layer of her deception.
But her flinch when I questioned whether she was acting… that had been real. So was the hurt that flashed across her face before anger took over. I have no doubt about that now.
Beyond my sister, no woman has ever had a reason to worry about me.
I’ve only ever used them for quick fucks here and there.
But that concern on Katie, my supposed enemy showing genuine fear for my wellbeing, sent a forbidden thrill down my spine and made my cock stiffen so fast the room actually tilted.
In that moment, I couldn’t resist. I had to taste her. Had to steal a kiss.
And the second my mouth hit hers, she floored me. Melted into me like she’d been holding herself back for days. After that, it only escalated.
The way she reacted to my touch. Always so goddamn responsive, so honest in her desire even when everything else about her is a lie.
Kissing me back so eagerly and deeply. Her hot, tight cunt strangling my fingers like she never wanted to let go.
Fuck.
My fingers tap an agitated rhythm against my desk as the memory slams through me again, and the semi I woke up with kicks into a full, throbbing erection.
I shift in my chair, trying to ease the pressure in my too-tight pants, but it’s useless.
She’s still in my mind, exactly where she’s been all damn day.
I can’t believe how wet she was, how close she was to coming apart.
I shake my head sharply, forcing myself out of it—right as a short, brisk knock sounds on my door. It swings open before I can say a word, and in strides Lorik with a manila folder in his hand.
I tug at my collar, ignoring the persistent throbbing of my cock as I watch him approach. “This is a surprise.” He rarely ever comes to the estate anymore, choosing to send his reports virtually so he can spend more time in the field.
He shrugs, running a hand through the dusting of dark hair on his head. I’ve never understood his obsession with cutting it so close to his scalp—the asshole’s never even been in the military.
“I had to come meet this incredible woman in person.” He smirks as he tosses the folder onto my desk and drops into the chair across from me. “But seeing your ugly mug isn’t an inconvenience.”
My gaze narrows, my cock slowly softening as annoyance floods my veins. Thank God. “You wish you had this mug.”
He kisses his teeth but wisely backs down from that line of argument; he knows he won’t win. “Where’s that bastard, Dhimiter? He’s usually attached to your hip.”
“He’s at the docks overseeing a shipment that came in and checking on another that should have arrived days ago.” I glance down at the folder, my heart rate kicking up when I see the label: K.P.
“This is on Katie.” I realize aloud. His earlier words about meeting some woman in person suddenly make sense, and possessive anger flares hot in my chest. I scowl at him and drag the folder closer, practically snatching it off the desk. “You’re not going to meet her.”
The asshole leans forward with a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Oh yeah? And why’s that, exactly?”
I deepen my scowl, making my expression as forbidding as possible. “How about you fuck off out of here. I have work to do, and you aren’t paid to interfere with it.”
Lorik chuckles as he springs to his feet. “Whatever you say, boss. I wasn’t exactly excited for your company anyway. I guess if Dhimiter isn’t around, I’ll have to go bug Afrim instead. He still cheating at chess?”
“I guess you're about to find out,” I mutter to his retreating back as he heads for the door.
Once he’s gone, I inhale deeply and flip open the folder, ready to dive into what Katie’s life has been like, eager to discover everything about her.
Halfway through the damn report, I understand why she’s the way she is.
Her life's been a mess of bad breaks and harsh survival. And she was just eleven when it all started. A baby.
Her parents took her and her younger sister on vacation to some no-name Mexican hotel, the kind of cheap, run-down place families go when they can’t afford better but desperately need a break from their daily life—a place on the wrong side of the tracks.
They’d been there for a week-long vacation that seemed to have gone well, but on their last night, a fight broke out in the room next door.
Her parents—probably trying to do the right thing like some stupid, na?ve do-gooders—stepped out to see what was happening and got shot in the head for their troubles.
Just like that, they were gone, rendering their kids orphans in a foreign country.
How could they just leave their children alone to interfere in a fight that had nothing to do with them? Stupid fuckers. My grip tightens on the folder until my knuckles go white, irrational anger at the dead couple coursing through my veins.
According to the report, Katie and her sister Kayla heard the shots.
They heard their parents die. Katie went to peek out the door—just a little girl trying to understand what the loud noises meant—and saw her parents’ bodies on the floor, their heads splattered across the floor, blood pooling around them.
Instead of panicking and screaming or crying like any normal kid would, she grabbed her five-year-old sister and shoved them both into an air vent right before their parents’ killers could break into their room.
I try to picture it—two little girls crawling through darkness and dust, terrified but quiet, desperate to escape without being seen. The folder crinkles in my hands, and I force myself to relax my grip as I flip to the next page.
When they finally made it out of the building, Katie took her sister straight to the police station, walked right up to a couple of grown men, and looked them dead in the eye while she told them what happened.
She was so fucking brave.
The cops shipped the girls back to the States. But the bodies stayed behind in Mexico, locked up as evidence in some half-assed investigation that never went anywhere and probably never will.
Then, once they were back on American soil, the system did what it always does to vulnerable orphaned children—it split them up. Different foster homes, no regard whatsoever for what they’d been through together or the fact that they only had each other left in the world.
Katie fought them on it. Fought hard, according to the notes.
She finally broke down in tantrums and tears, even threw out a few threats about being uncooperative with her foster parents, about running away, about making everyone’s lives hell.
But at the end of the day, she was only eleven, so her wishes didn’t matter. The adults had already separated them.
Kayla was gone, placed somewhere else, and Katie spent years trying to find her.
A desperate, fruitless search that eventually led to her being recruited by Stacey Rodriguez as soon as she aged out of the foster system.
And Stacey, that manipulative bitch, then spent the next few years controlling Katie by holding Kayla over her head.
A strange, uncomfortable pressure settles in my chest, and my fingers tighten around the edges of the folder until the thin sheets inside crinkle under my grip again.
I can see it so clearly now—the direct line connecting that stoic eleven-year-old girl who must have felt so utterly alone in the world to the twenty-six-year-old woman I know now, the one who stares me down with that same unwavering fire, who refuses to break even when she should.
She’s still fighting. Probably still searching for her sister after all these years.
Damn it.
She’s my problem.
A threat to my family.
I shouldn’t forget that.
But knowing all this makes it nearly impossible to keep my anger at her sharp and focused, to see her as just another enemy that needs to be eliminated.
It doesn't change what I know I might have to do if her actions ever put Elira or Afrim in danger, but hell if it doesn’t make me respect her more. And soften towards her—just a little.
I close the manila folder and shove it deep into my desk drawer, feeling like something fundamental has shifted inside me. Like I’m a different man I was an hour ago.
Then I try again to banish Katie Pierce from my mind. A hard task when she was just the hot enemy I wanted to fuck. Damn near impossible now that I know the girl she was, the crucible of trauma and survival that forged her into the woman she is today.
When I’m finally able to immerse myself in work without my thoughts straying to Katie for longer than a few seconds, my office door is suddenly jerked open without so much as a courtesy knock. I glance up with a scowl, irritation flaring hot at yet another interruption.
“What is it?” I growl at Dhimiter, who appears undeterred by my obvious annoyance.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” He lifts a hand before I can formulate an appropriately scathing response. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“What. Do you. Want?”
“I have good news and bad news.” He forms fists with both hands and raises each one as he speaks, like he’s weighing them on an invisible scale. “Which do you want first?”
“The bad news first.”
“How predictable of you, Roan. I knew you’d pick that.” He smirks infuriatingly.
I inhale deeply and give up on accomplishing any work right now. When Dhimiter gets like this, it’s impossible to rush him—the bastard enjoys drawing things out way too much.
“Just get on with it, asshole.”
He sobers up somewhat as he sinks into a chair across from me. “The bad news is that there seems to be… a hiccup with the alcohol shipment that should have arrived two days ago.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” If it didn’t arrive when it was supposed to, there’s obviously a hiccup. “When will the shipment actually arrive?”
He winces visibly. “I don’t know yet, but—”
“You don’t know?” My palms sting as I slam them flat on my desk.
“But the weapons shipment did come in this morning,” he continues in a rush. “I received them myself and personally checked every crate, so we’re on track with delivering the agreed-upon amount to the Nightshades.”
My temper cools marginally at that news.
That is really good news, especially considering Rafael only put in the order for those weapons a few days ago.
Swift, reliable delivery is something men in our line of business appreciate above almost everything else, and it builds the kind of trust that translates directly into repeat business and long-term partnerships.
“What sort of hiccup is delaying the drinks?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain level.
Dhimiter grimaces, and I can tell I’m not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next.
“Apparently, Fabian got in touch with the supplier and has been adding and removing items from our original order. Multiple times. Which means the supplier has no idea what they’re actually supposed to be shipping us. ”
My hands ball into fists as I push to my feet, running an agitated hand through my hair before remembering that the strands are currently held back by an elastic tie.
I yank it off in frustration and my hair falls down in riotous waves to my neck, the curls already tangling around my fingers as I dig them into my scalp. “He’s getting bolder.”
“Yes, he is. We have to do something, and soon.” Dhimiter leans forward intently. “Do you think we should go back to Long Island and insist on a face-to-face meeting with him?”
That’s a great idea. But going to Long Island…
Reluctance tugs at my chest. It would mean being gone for at least two days, possibly longer if Fabian decides to make himself scarce again.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind the short break from the estate.
But now I have a complication—a problem in the form of a woman with piercing blue eyes who I find myself looking forward to seeing far more than I should.
Fuck.
“Maybe that can be a last resort,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll arrange a conference call with him first. Give him one chance to explain himself and get back in line. If he doesn’t honor it… well, then he’ll be seeing me in person.”
And that won’t be pleasant for him.
Dhimiter nods slowly, considering the plan.
“That’s not a bad approach. The conference call will serve as an official warning meeting.
If he doesn’t respond or refuses to heed your order, then you’ll be justified in going over there.
Even the other leaders on Long Island will have no way of defending Fabian or claiming you overstepped.
” He grins suddenly, rubbing his hands together with barely contained glee.
“Honestly, I hope he doesn’t answer. I’d love an excuse to go over there. ”
“Bloodthirsty,” I mutter as I settle back into my seat, glad we at least have a concrete plan in the works now. “Reach out to Janick. Tell him to arrange the meeting with Fabian as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if he can manage it.”
Janick is Fabian’s second-in-command and the best way to reach a man who isn’t exactly tech-savvy. Or who pretends not to be when it’s convenient.
Dhimiter already has his phone out as I speak, his fingers flying across the screen as he types out the message.