Chapter 43
RANSOM
I sing along under my breath to the music I have playing in the shop, tightening a nut before stepping back to give the whole thing a once-over.
“Looks good,” I mutter to myself, reaching for the rag tucked through my belt loop and wiping grease off my hands.
It’s good to be working again.
Business has been a bit light since we pissed off Ethan Donovan and his gang.
Well… since Malice pissed them off. But that’s the thing about being a family.
A unit. We’re all in this shit together, and Vic and I have his back no matter what.
Besides, he did exactly what all of us wanted to do in that moment, when we saw Donovan’s lackey pawing at her.
Still, we’re gonna have to figure out what the fuck to do about Donovan scaring potential customers away, and we need to do it soon.
It’s probably too late to fix things enough to make a deal with Ethan, and I can’t even picture Malice going along with that anyway.
It’s not like he’s going to apologize, and realistically, he shouldn’t have to.
They’re the ones who fucked up first.
That means we’re going to have to hunt down other business.
And if Ethan decides to fuck with us more, we’ll have to take him on more aggressively. Malice did have a point when he said we can’t afford to show weakness. Looking weak invites people to go right for the fucking jugular.
So that’s on the list of shit we need to take care of too. Sometimes it seems like as soon as we cross one thing off, another thing gets added, but that’s just how it is. We handle shit as it comes to us and try to get ahead of it when we can.
I toss my rag into the pile in the corner, making a mental note to get those washed before Vic comes down and has a fucking conniption about the mess.
I head out of the garage and into the part of the warehouse we live in, smiling a little as I think about how I started this day.
Willow was so warm and pliable this morning in bed, and then so open and soft in that bath we took. She felt so damn perfect in my arms, and if she hadn’t been so sore, I would have fucked her right there in the bathtub.
Now that I’ve been inside her, I want to fuck her over and over again.
I can tell I’m getting addicted already, but I don’t think anyone could blame me for that.
Not even Malice and Vic could, considering they’re as deep in this as I am.
I wasn’t lying when I told her that my brothers and I have already been wrecked by her.
When I walk into the kitchen, Willow is there, sitting at the table peeling an orange. I just spent a good bit of the morning soaking with her in the bath, but I smile at her like I haven’t seen her in weeks, then lean down to kiss the top of her head, lingering for a bit.
It’s a possessive gesture, kissing her like this because I can. Because I want to, and I know she likes it.
“Hey.” She looks up at me with those radiant brown eyes when I pull back.
“Hey, yourself.”
She offers me a segment of her orange, and I take it, biting into the sweet citrus with a grin. Then I lean in and kiss her on the lips, tasting the orange on her mouth.
“Mm, tastes better like that,” I tease. “Oranges are alright, but you’re my favorite flavor.”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, and she fumbles with the next segment of the orange, popping it into her mouth and looking away from me.
I chuckle, finding her shyness fucking adorable—especially after everything we did last night.
She was shy then too, although it was definitely a lot more than a kiss and some teasing then.
But that’s one of the appealing things about Willow.
Even after all that, and every other thing that’s happened to her, she hasn’t lost her sweet innocence. Maybe she never will.
Heavy footfalls announce Malice’s arrival before he strides into the kitchen, and he stops short when he sees Willow.
She glances up at him, their gazes locking, and I swear I almost expect a bolt of lightning to crack through the kitchen.
Clearly fucking her last night didn’t get her out of his system, and I’d guess the same is true for Willow.
Hell, I can relate to that.
“How do you feel?” he asks gruffly.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, the flush on her cheeks that was beginning to fade deepening instead. “Just, you know, sore.”
He nods, his eyes narrowing a little as he sweeps his gaze over her, as if searching for any signs that she’s lying to him.
I watch them in silence, a little amused to see the hint of concern in his gaze.
I doubt he ever asked any of the dozens of women he’s brought home over the years if they were okay afterward—probably didn’t even speak more than two words to them once he finished fucking them.
But none of them were Willow.
“It’ll wear off,” he tells her, that same gruff tone in his voice. Clearly satisfied that she’s alright, he crosses the kitchen to open the fridge, pulling out stuff to start making a sandwich.
“You must be used to pain.” Willow chews on her full bottom lip, her eyes flicking over him. “With all the tattoos you have and everything.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. If you spend your life being afraid of pain, you’ll never do shit.”
Willow hesitates, and it looks like there’s something else she wants to ask him. When she speaks again, the next words come out in a rush. “When you got your cock tattooed, did it hurt?”
I smirk, both at the question and the fact that she rushed out the word ‘cock’ like that. Last night, she was begging for it, but that was a very different vibe than right now in the kitchen.
“Yeah, it did,” Malice answers. “It was one of the most painful things I’ve ever been through. And that’s saying something.”
“Then why did you get it?” Willow furrows her brows. “If it hurt so bad?”
He turns to look at her, the butter knife he was using to spread mustard on his bread in his hand. “To prove I could.”
She blinks. “That’s it? You just… wanted to prove something?”
“I wanted to know how much pain I could handle,” he grunts. “Plus, it sends a message.”
“What kind of message?”
“It shows anyone who wants to fuck with me how strong I am. That’s important. They have to know you’re not some fucking weakling, or they’ll figure out where you hurt the most and try to take advantage of it.”
Willow looks like she’s considering that. Then something wicked glints in her rich chocolate eyes, and she tilts her head to one side.
“So… do you just whip your dick out anytime you’re negotiating with an enemy? So they can see your tattoo and realize how badass you are?” Her lips tug to one side. “Huh. That’s an interesting intimidation tactic.”
Malice’s expression darkens, and I choke on a laugh.
She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Not many people would have the balls to tease Mal behind his back, let alone to his face.
But this beautiful, bright girl doesn’t seem afraid of him at all in this moment.
There was a time where she barely spoke in his presence, when him slamming doors and being all…
him would have had her flinching and trying to find a place to hide from his mood. But not anymore.
A hell of a lot has changed since the night she first got here.
“Yeah, Mal,” I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe you should’ve tried that when Ethan and his boys came over to negotiate. It could’ve really turned things around for us.”
He jabs the butter knife in my direction, scowling. “Fuck you.”
Willow makes a little noise like she’s holding back a laugh, and I smirk at her as Malice turns back to making his sandwich.
A moment later, she gets up from the chair she’s perched on and pads over to the counter, putting half her orange onto the plate Malice got out.
He looks down at it and then back up at her, lifting an eyebrow.
“It’s a peace offering,” she says, biting her lower lip and actually managing to look contrite.
“I don’t want your fucking orange.”
Her face falls a little. “Oh.”
With a swift yank, Malice tugs her closer to him.
His large hand frames her jaw as he angles her head and presses his lips to hers in a hard kiss.
She whimpers, her body arching against his as he devours her mouth for a long moment.
When they break apart, she wobbles a little, looking like she might collapse.
“That’s a peace offering,” Mal tells her, his voice dropping. “And I accept.”
Leaving her blinking dazedly in the middle of the kitchen, Malice takes his plate over to the table, jerks out a chair, and drops into it, tearing into his food.
A moment later, Vic comes walking in. He glances around at all of us in the kitchen, and although his expression is shuttered, the vibe in the room changes yet again. When he briefly locks eyes with Willow, I know he’s got to be thinking about last night, just like the rest of us are.
It was a big fucking deal for him, and I’m not sure I should’ve pushed him like that at the end, even though it needed to happen. As far as I know, Vic hasn’t ever really done anything with a woman before, but I’m glad he was there last night.
It needed to be all of us.
My older brother pulls his gaze away from Willow after a moment, and I can practically see him snap back into business mode.
“I’ve got a lead,” he says. “On where Ilya is. It’s a possible spot where he’s been staying.”
“How possible?” Malice asks, leaning forward.
“Very. He’s been seen there multiple times, coming and going. He’s likely using it as a base or a hideout while he gathers information.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I say. “I can go try to take him out.”
“I’m going with you,” Malice tells me shortly, then lifts his chin at Vic. “We’ll handle that. You’ve got other shit to take care of today, yeah?”
Vic nods. “I do. I’ll start working on that this afternoon.”
Willow’s eyes widen. “You’re going after Ilya today?”
“We have to.” Malice shoves back from the table, picking up his plate. “We can’t afford to waste time.”