17. Micah
Tiia Hale is a brave woman. Challenging and demanding, even when it’s not necessarily safe to be those things. She’s stared into my eyes from the moment we met and stood up under threat. I’ve handled her physically. Spoken to her with words I would never use with someone I care about. I’ve threatened her life. Broken into her apartment. Infringed on her workplace.
I’ve been a prick from the moment we crossed paths and her existence and mine collided.
Yet, she clings to my hand, threading her fingers through mine and walks by my side as we wander my home and head toward the dining room.
“I didn’t realize you were a twin.” I keep her close, looking down into her eyes when she glances up. “A whole twin? That’s not a small deal.”
“He’s my brother,” she shrugs. “Fraternal. We’re as normal as any other sibling group.”
“But you’re twins! Same time. Same womb.”
“Different eggs. Different placentas. We just so happened to be growing at the same time. Biologically, our relationship is no different than yours and Felix’s.”
“That’s not actually true.” Felix, of course, swings through the dining room door and inserts himself into a discussion he wasn’t invited to. “The only thing Micah and I shared was the sperm our father donated. Other than that, we have different mothers. We grew in different wombs. Different times. We were born in different years, and by all accounts, we were both of our mothers’ only children. You were one of three that traveled your mother’s vagina track.”
Vagina track?
Tiia’s eyes swing to mine, her nose wrinkling in distaste. She’s about to find an exit and leave this shit—leave me—in her past. So I tighten my hand around hers, and chuckle. “He’s gonna say increasingly annoying and stupid stuff until he gets a reaction out of you. I’ve practiced the art of dissociation over the years.”
Felix rolls his eyes, then rolls his body away from the door as Bastard gallops through and makes a beeline for Christabelle.
“Well… just so we’re all on the same page,” Tiia murmurs, warily observing my brother sniff his girl. “Ya know, about my mother’s vaginal track?—”
I choke out a snort, that turns to a cough when Felix’s wild stare swings our way.
“My brother and I were born via caesarian. We started life being difficult. It’s our thing.”
“She’s stepping up.” Felix pulls out a chair beside Christabelle and sits. No manners. No waiting for Tiia. There are no formalities inside this home when it’s just a family meal. “A difficult woman from birth. Why am I not surprised?”
Tiia stops in front of a chair when I lead her there, glancing over her shoulder when I come up behind and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. Then she lowers.
Our exchange is elegant. Almost practiced, though I know neither of us have experienced this exact moment, in these exact circumstances.
Finally, I help push her in until she’s situated in front of a glistening plate and shining silverware.
Mary prepared the table for us. Felix grilled the steak. Someone made a salad—might’ve been Christabelle—and now here we are… about to share a family fucking meal unlike any other I’ve attended.
“So, do your other brothers visit often?” Tiia glances across and smiles, small and soft, as I pull out the chair beside hers and sit down. “There are five of you. Three have crossed the country. I bet you miss them.”
“No, we?—”
“Miss them like I’d miss my own heart if it was ripped out of my body,” Felix answers. “Micah’s not gonna tell you the real stuff on that subject, Ms. Hale. He doesn’t discuss feelings, and sixteen years without Arch and Tim has left him chronically and unhealthily independent of them. That’s not to suggest he doesn’t love them. It’s a defense mechanism, I suppose. He would kill for them. But he won’t admit to missing them.”
“It’s great that you’re discussing my private business at dinner.” A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as I reach across the table and select a steak for Tiia. “Though, I’d rather speak for myself.”
“But you won’t,” he taunts. “You’ll just grunt and change the subject.” He looks at Tiia. “We do miss them. But New York is not a safe city to live in when your last name is Malone. It’s okay.” He sits back in his chair and slings his arm over Christabelle’s shoulder. “We can address the elephant in the room.”
“The… elephant,” Tiia’s voice crackles, “being that you’re the, uh… mafia?”
Felix laughs, loud and startling enough to make her jump. “I typically say I’m a businessman. That business just so happens to make people angry sometimes. Tim and Archer leaving was the best thing they could have done for themselves. Cato following was the best thing we could do for him. If I could convince Micah to leave, I’d do that, too.”
Curiously, she glances around and looks up at the side of my face. But like I’m not ready to discuss feelings, I’m also not volunteering my thoughts on the idea of abandoning my brother. So I plop a steak onto her plate and grab the salad bowl.
“You would live in New York alone?” Giving up on me, she looks back at Felix. “You’d send them all away and stay here without them?”
“In an instant.” He grabs a bottle of wine from the middle of the table and slowly fills the crystal glass in front of an unusually silent Christabelle. “Our father made a lot of enemies in his time. He besmirched a name that was once something to be proud of, and he made five sons, all of whom he expected would follow in his footsteps. Now there are men like Joseph Wilkes storming the city, hoping to hurt everyone I care about. And we haven’t even met the dude.” He finishes pouring, then moves to his own glass. “Literally, we’ve never sat down and talked with the guy. But he’s decided he wants money and power, and he’s willing to kill those I love to get it.” He stops and smirks. “So if I could pack my brothers up and place them in a box, then place that box somewhere completely and absolutely safe?” He nods. “I’d do that.”
“Would you put yourself in that same box?” Shyly, Tiia looks down at the plate I’m loading up for her.
Like Christabelle, I remain silent. I allow the two louder members of our party to duke shit out and discuss things that really shouldn’t be discussed with anyone who isn’t actually one of us.
“If you could give up New York,” she clarifies, “be with your brothers somewhere else, and just… be a normal family. Would you?”
“No.” He sets the bottle down, surprising her with how certain his word is. Then glancing up, he meets her eyes. “I will always remain here as the face of the family and the guard at the door. I would protect that box with my life. And since you’re sitting at my table, holding my brother’s hand—the first woman who has ever sat at this, or any table, holding his hand—then I expect you would do the same.”
I set the salad bowl down with a snap. “Lix!”
“I hope you would shield him just as passionately as he’ll shield you, Ms. Hale. We have no room for weak women in our lives.”
“Hey!” I smack the table and draw my brother’s smiling gaze. Because fuck him. My heart pounds with nerves. With anxiety. With the sickening thought of Tiia standing between me and my enemies. “This conversation is over.”
“Fine with me.” Completely unbothered, he settles back and presses a kiss to Christabelle’s temple. “What else did you find out about Renee today, Darling?”
“Renee?” Tiia looks from my brother to me. Curious. But not probing. Her cheeks are still flushed from the topic before this one. “Who is Renee?”
“Nobo—”
“His mother,” Felix inserts, oh so fucking helpfully. But then he adds, “Probably. We’re still working on finding out who birthed us.”
Of course Tiia’s cheeks pale as her eyes swing back to me. “You don’t know who your mother is?” Then to Felix. “None of you know?”
“For fuck’s sake.” I sit back and exhale. Because bringing a woman, any woman, around Felix Malone is always, and will forever be, a mistake. “When will it end?”
“That’s why you came to me early.”
After dinner. After dessert. After Felix finished discussing private shit and grilling the woman he had no right to grill, I lead Tiia away from the dining room and through the only home I’ve ever known.
It’s more peaceful here these days. More comfortable. Now that our father is dead—and with him, his poisonous ways—this place brings me calm.
It’s a far cry from the prison I once considered it to be.
Soldiers remain scattered throughout the house, guarding the doors in silence, and swapping out with their compatriots when it’s time for a change in scenery. More are in the yard, watching the entrances and keeping us safe.
Their loyalties are bought. But the price is good enough to ensure they stay.
“Micah?” Tiia wraps her hand around my arm when I turn us toward the stairs instead of the front door.
I could lead us outside, put her in a car and send her home. That could be the end of our night and the start of me placing space between us.
I’m not blind to the fact we don’t fit. She’s not the one I’ll keep forever. She doesn’t deserve to drown in my world, and I can’t escape to be with her outside of it. There’s no compromise here for us. Which means, for her safety, and for my sanity, the smart thing to do would be to place her in a car and force her to leave. Remove her from my life by choice, which is a significantly better option than her being removed by enemy force.
But I’m not ready yet.
Not today. Not tonight.
Instead, I lift my arm over her shoulders and pull her in until she walks against my side. Until our feet tangle with every step, and her breath races out to bathe my skin.
I’ll keep her for tonight.
Then tomorrow, I’ll send her back to the real world.
That’s the way it has to be.
“You’re pulling away from me.” She’s observant. Intuitive. She places her free hand on my ribs and squeezes just tight enough to remind me that I had stitches there not all that long ago. “You invited me to dinner. You wanted to bring me into your life. And now you’re not even talking to me. What the hell is that?”
“Privacy.” My heart thuds in the depths of my chest. Nerves swirl in my blood. I miss her already, which is entirely fucking ridiculous. “Until we’re in my room,” I explain, “we don’t have privacy.”
“So you’ll talk to me then?” She quickens her steps. “Okay?”
She doesn’t make a show of aloofness now. And she’s not the type to be coy. She wants to get where we’re going so she can have the things she wants.
And right now, she wants me.
Jesus. What happened in her life to make her so brazen?
We have to climb four flights of stairs to get from the dining room to my room. Tiia Hale fucking drags me up all of them, past twelve guards and countless guns, because her patience is non-existent.
“This one.” I slow our steps outside my door, knowing she’d blow right past if I let her. Then I set my hand on the knob, brutally aware that a few of my truths will be exposed purely by letting her enter. Secrets I’ve yet to share with her. Solitude I cling so desperately to, removed once I allow this woman into my space.
Inhaling and filling my chest until bursting, I exhale again and turn the handle.
I already smell the change in the air. I feel how my room is cooler than everywhere else, purely because of how I decorate it.
Pushing the door open, I release it and simply… wait. I swallow the nerves in my throat, and watch as Tiia takes in the scene laid out in front of her.
“It’s like a jungle.” Awed, she lets go of my hand and steps ahead of me, turning in a circle to study the ivy climbing my walls.
Fronds spray from a large planter bursting with a palm. Pots with draping spider plants hang from the ceiling, creating a curtain-like effect of green and white.
“Holy shit, Micah.” She runs the tips of her fingers along anything she can touch. Philodendrons. Fig leaves. A rubber plant, and colorful displays of succulents. She ducks under a cascading string of hearts, and grins when Bastard charges into the room before I get a chance to close the door.
He gets twenty seconds to explore. Then he’s leaving and I’m closing us in.
From now until forever.
From now until we’re over.
“Is that my pothos?” She cuts a line through my room toward the very pot I stole from her shop not all that long ago. Her eye for detail is sharp, considering there are countless others that look the same in this room, all climbing the walls and flirting with the lights in the ceiling. “It looks…” She stops in front of the plant and smiles. “Alive.”
“I moved it from the greenhouse earlier today and put it up here. Damn near impossible to kill a pothos.” I follow her and stop only when my chest touches her back. My hands go to her hips and my lips, to the side of her neck. “The fact you did says you’re kind of special.”
“And you’re kind of a jackass.” She laughs, but she doesn’t pull away from my touch. She doesn’t mind that my cock rests against the small of her back. Or that my breath bathes her flesh. “It wasn’t my fault the pothos was dying. It belonged to Jakeline. I was just the waterer when I remembered.”
“You remembered too often.” I slide my hand around to her belly, splaying my fingers wide. “You were suffocating the poor thing with love.”
“The tragedy.” I don’t see her face, so I can’t know for sure, but I’d bet my entire family and our fortune that she rolls her eyes. “Where’s my monstera?”
“Still in the greenhouse.”
“You don’t like it as much? It’s been relegated to outside?”
“Consider my room where patients go for recovery.” I nip at the back of her neck, pleased when she jumps. “The greenhouse is where I send those who need the ICU.”
She sniggers. “Ass.”
“Honest.”
“Yeah?” She deserts the pothos, not yet noticing the two-hundred-thousand-dollar pirate’s desk just feet from where we stand, and turns in my arms until we’re face to face. Chest to chest. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and fingers the hair at the back of my head. Searching my eyes, she nibbles on her plump bottom lip. “Honest? So you’ll tell me now why you’re so sad.”
“I’m not sad.” I lean closer and feather my lips against her warm neck. “I’m horny.”
“You’re crude and unkind when you’re feeling threatened.” She fists my hair and pulls me back again. “Your mom? Joseph Wilkes?”
“Two very separate subjects. They have never, and will never, connect. One is dead, and the other will probably die before the year is out.”
“You intend to kill him?”
I shake my head in short, disinterested turns of my head. “I doubt I’ll have to. He’s a messy dude who enjoys pissing off powerful men. He’s hungry for notoriety, no matter the cost. I doubt he’ll survive to see Christmas.”
“He’s threatened your family.”
“A lot of people threaten my family.” I pinch her chin between my thumb and finger and draw her to her toes. “It’s the way of life as a Malone.”
“You thought I was a danger to your family.”
My lips curl, finally, something to smile about. “My mistake. Do you want to go home?” I press a kiss to her lips. “I could get you a ride into the city at any time. You just say the word.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she counters smoothly. “Not interested anymore?”
Too fucking interested. That’s the problem.
But Bastard sniffs at my overgrown potted aglaonema, lifting his front paw in preparation to dig, and I release Tiia’s supple body and head to him instead.
“Time to get out, mutt.” I move to the door and swing it wide. Then I whistle one, sharp command that has the dog’s head snapping to attention. “Go.” I point to the hall and nod when he does as he’s told. “Get out.”
“You’re mean to animals, too?” Tiia tut tut tuts as I slam the door shut and hit the locks to keep out unwanted visitors. “Red flag city over here, Micah Malone.”
“If you think that’s my red flag,” I chuckle, lacing my hands together and massaging my palm with the opposite thumb to relieve the itch rolling from my missing digit, “I fear you may be a little blind in addition to being partly deaf. We both know the flags are bigger, redder, and more dangerous in other aspects of my life.”
While I remain by the door, a guard, perhaps, to keep her from leaving, she turns to explore my room.
Running the tips of her fingers along the back of the sofa I keep but rarely use, she spies the coffee table in front of it. And close by, the Mongolian chest she wishes was hers. “You’re issuing a warning, then? Are you suggesting you might harm me if I stick around for too long?”
“I’m suggesting you’ll probably get hurt.” Giving up on the fire that rages in my palm, I drop my hands into my pockets and simply watch her. Seeing her in a little dress, exploring my room and beaming amidst the fresh air of plants I propagated and grew on my own—all but that one—feels better than any massage I could give myself. “I’ll protect you,” I promise. “But that doesn’t mean danger won’t come looking, purely because people want to hurt me.”
“Wilkes?”
I snap my teeth closed, gritting my jaw. Then I nod. “Yes. Men like him. He’s not the only one, though. There are countless others who would enjoy taking a chunk out of this family.”
“Which is why you’re happy your other brothers live in Copeland.”
“Keeps them out of the firing line.”
I hate that my stomach twists, equal parts fear and hunger. I want her, but I want to keep her safe. It’s an impossible situation.
One that Felix and Archer have decided to brave.
They would rather die protecting their women than live without them.
“My father made too many enemies in his life.” I lick my dry lips, and hold my breath when she turns and freezes.
Her eyes widen and take in the desk of walnut and leather. The serpentine drawers.
“This is…” Releasing all thoughts of my family’s crimes and enemies, Tiia stalks toward the desk instead and crouches to study the iron handles on the drawers. Her thighs fire up, her calves flex to hold her weight and balance her stance on wedge heels. Then she presses her fingertips to the drawer handle, pulling it open to reveal what I know to be the maker’s seal inside. “How did you…” Frowning, she peeks over her shoulder and searches my eyes. “Mr. Harrison bought this desk.”
“For me.” I play with the knife I keep in my pocket. Not a threat. Just something to touch. Something to expend my nervous energy on as I wander, slowly, closer. “He was purchasing on my behalf.”
“A spy? You sent that man to keep an eye on me?”
“Yes.” I come to a stop just two feet from where she squats. “You tripped my instincts, Tiia. There’s always been something a little off about you.”
“Off?”
“I was wrong about your intentions. But that doesn’t make you any less dangerous in my eyes.” Maybe you’re not here to destroy my family, I want to say out loud. But that doesn’t mean you don’t possess the power to destroy me. “I wanted to see who you were when I wasn’t in the room.”
“So you sent in a spy.” She pushes the drawer back in and straightens her legs. Then turning, she gently leans against the desk, half sitting, half standing. But she meets my eyes, defiant and daring. “What exactly did you discover? Was I the monster you were so sure I was?”
“Obviously not.” I step closer, stopping only when our legs touch. She keeps hers in place, a boundary she’s put between us. But I grab her knees anyway and shove them apart to make room for me.
My cock hardens in response to her gasp of surprise. My stomach flipping when her eyes widen and her pupils darken. I stop only when my chest touches hers, and bring my hands up to cup her face. Then I smirk. “Harrison told me the story of the desk that came across the ocean. The pirate thieves, and the Queen’s intentions.” Leaning closer, I drag her chin up until she can’t stretch any further. Then I take her bottom lip between mine and nibble. “He told me about the Mongolian chest, too.”
Her cheeks color, caught out and guilty.
“I knew of the warrior’s story before you tried to feed me some other shit.”
“You pissed me off.”
A soft, singular chuckle rolls along my throat and out to flutter her hair. “I suspect I piss you off a lot. Which is funny, considering the feeling is often mutual.”
“Not a great foundation.” Her words come out husky, while her eyes flicker between mine. “Perhaps it would be best if I leave. Since we so obviously cannot get along.”
“I don’t want you to leave.” I lower into a crouch and carefully push the delicate fabric of her dress along her thighs. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps that race all the way to her core. “But I’ll take you home if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want to leave either.” She combs her fingers through my hair and tugs me back just enough to draw my eyes. Her lips tremble. The movement is subtle and small, but the nerves are there. It doesn’t take a blind man to miss them. “Can I stay the night, Micah?”
I press a kiss to her firm thigh and nod. “You can stay a thousand of them, if you want.”
“Just one.” She whimpers when I trace the tips of my fingers along her leg. “Will you protect me?”
“With my dying breath.” I hook a finger in her panties and gently pull them away. Already, she’s wet. Fiery. Needy. “I will protect you forever, Tiia Hale. I promise.” I dip my tongue into her soaked pussy, and groan when her hand tightens in my hair.
“Micah…” Her breath comes out on a shudder. Her thighs, squeezing around my shoulders. “Shit.”
“I’m gonna fuck you on this very expensive, extremely old, historical artifact.” I slip two fingers in and clamp down on my own need when she cries out. “The desk I know you wish belonged to you.”
“There’s something wrong with you.” And yet, she drops back and pants, lifting her legs to give me room to work. To allow me the perfect view. “This desk deserves more respect. It deserves to be in a museum, not to become your cum tray.”
I pump my fingers and snort. “Once we’re done fucking, I’m gonna take you to my bed and seduce you.” I unzip my pants with my free hand and unbuckle my belt with deft movements. The action sends bolts of pain through my palm and up into my wrist, but the promise of what’s to come steals that pain away just as quickly as it started. “Then maybe I’ll try making love to you.”
Her fluttering eyes flash open, and panic lances through her expression. Her entire body, languid and relaxed a moment ago, turns impossibly taut. “Micah…”
“Don’t overthink it.” I shove my pants down and free my cock, the purpling end swollen and desperate. Pre-cum dripping from the tip as the thick veins spread across and announce how ready I am. “Just enjoy it with me, Tiia. If you overthink it, I’ll overthink it. And for right now,” I remove my fingers from her tight pussy and line my cock up instead.
No rubber.
No question.
No discussion.
Just her cry of pleasure and pain when I steal my touch and replace it with more. With what we both want.
“Right now,” I repeat, “I’m enjoying the way being around you feels. I’ve never experienced this before.” I reach along her body and set my palm across her throat. Threatening, but not. I wrap my fingers across one side and my thumb on the other. Then, when she freezes—her eyes searching, her entire body stilling—I slam inside her cunt and revel in the way she throws her head back and screams.
“Swallow me up, Tiia.” I pull back to the tip, then barrel forward again to create a rhythm. “Good girl.”