32
Broadway
N o one speaks. No one reacts to my “Enjoy the evening” as I spin on the sole of my shoe, marching back the way I came. Violet’s openly staring when I take the wheel, throwing the car into drive, and pull away from the curb.
There was a time in my life when my hands would’ve shaken like crazy after a kill. At first it was the novelty. A mixture of fear and adrenaline. Later, it was a simple thought at the back of my head: will I get caught?
Recently, my hands have been steady, but my heart’s rammed in my chest, coming down from the high.
Tonight there’s nothing. Not the slightest tremor. Not so much as a stutter in my chest. And I realize I was the fucking same with Cassio, Henry, Timothy, and when I was shooting men left and right at Blaze’s auction, shattering bones and disconnecting brains.
There was no fear, no adrenaline, no weird thoughts, just a sense of accomplishment.
“You—” Violet stutters, her voice barely above a whisper. “You killed him.”
I bob my head, driving round the club to park at the back. “He won’t hurt you ever again.”
Her breathing hiccups and with the corner of my eye I study her reaction. I expect her to wrench open the door and run for her life. I expect tears, fear, screams... but none of it happens.
If anything, she looks... hot. Her cheeks are red, lips slightly parted. Violet’s eyes trace every inch of my face as I kill the engine.
As soon as I turn toward her, she leans out, pressing those rosy lips to the corner of my mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispers, warm breath fanning my cheek.
I stay perfectly still, watching her, waiting for a change of heart, but she doesn’t falter and the awe in her eyes is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever witnessed...
It gives me permission to do this again without consequences. Well, without meaningful consequences.
Carter won’t be pleased.
Whatever.
He’ll get over himself. So he didn’t get the chance to green-light it, who cares? All I care about is that the beast inside me didn’t make Violet flee. I can handle everything else with a smile on my face.
I raise my hand slowly, giving her ample time to retreat. My fingers ghost the side of her face, the feel of her skin kickstarting my heart.
She holds my gaze, perfectly still, and I grow bolder, cupping her face and sinking the tips of my fingers into her silky hair. Her breath comes out in little pants, and her eyes drop to my mouth. She leans out, pressing her lips to mine. Both her hands find my face, thumbs brushing the soft skin under my eyes.
“Violet—”
“Shh...” The hush vibrates against my lips and brings the sweetness of her mouth with it. “Kiss me.”
My lips feel numb against hers but when she pleads with me again, her words ghosting across my tongue, I give her exactly what she wants.
What we both want.
I catch the back of her neck, my fingers drawing small circles at her nape as my tongue sweeps her bottom lip and I sink deeper, tasting her over and over again.
A shudder shakes me, followed by a shivering breath.
My head’s spinning and veins fill with pure bliss when she scoots closer. She follows my lead, feeding off the hunger I can’t control and fueling the fire when the softest, most content sigh escapes her.
I drape the other hand around her back, pulling her in. She barely flinches anymore when I touch her, so, in the fever of the kiss, I maneuver her to straddle me. My arms wrap tightly around her, holding her close, chest to chest because she’s almost going slack against me.
“Violet,” I breathe, nipping her lower lip when she drags her nails down the back of my head. “Baby... fuck .”
She moves her hands to graze my cheeks, then weaves them back into my hair. She’s panting softly, her hand now fisting my jacket, and she breaks away. It takes all the strength I have not to follow and catch her lips again. My eyes remain shut, and relief like no other rattles through me when she drops her forehead onto mine.
I just killed a man with my bare hands and she didn’t run.
“Do you want to go home?”
“No. I think we could both use a drink,” she whispers, a hint of awe coating her words.
My eyes pop open, finding her violet stare, pupils blown, a clear hint of desire. I cradle her head, moving my hand back to her cheek, thumb swiping her lower lip.
“Are you okay?”
She nods, her lips curling into the most beautiful, genuine smile. It tears my chest wide open, and my heart leaps toward her as if it could rip free of its prison.
“You need to stop treating me like glass, Broadway. I’m not so easily broken.”
I smooth her hair, combing it back over her ears. She can say it a thousand times... fuck, she’s already said it more than once and, even though I know she’s more resilient than I give her credit for, that protective streak burning through me will never stop.
Not after everything she’s been through.
Not after the nightmares and tears I witnessed.
I do my best not to treat her like a wounded animal, because she’s capable and fucking strong, but there’ll always be a part of me that wants to shield her from the world. Hide her in my arms where she’s safest and never let another tear fall from those breathtaking eyes.
It’s intense, that feeling. As intense as it was the first time I saw her with Cassio. The need to protect her is so potent it steals my breath and turns my muscles to concrete.
“You’re stronger than I am,” I admit, still tracing her lower lip. “But that won’t stop me worrying about you.”
That earns me another smile. It’s barely there but it brightens the blackness of my mind like sheet lightning, bleaching everything in stark white.
“I know you worry, but I’m doing well. Not that long ago, I had no hope, and then you barged into that auction and... you saved me.” She stamps a kiss on my forehead. “And you keep saving me little by little every day.” Her eyes flutter closed and her forehead drops back to mine. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I know it’s wrong but... I feel so much lighter knowing he’s gone.”
So do I. I’d never let him get close to her again, but knowing I murdered another of the demons plaguing her dreams brings a sense of weightlessness.
Tom mentioned nine, but what if she only told him about the men from the auction, not the ones Hailey told me about, from the ballroom?
I don’t want to miss one just because I didn’t ask.
“How many were there?” I ask.
She’s still on me, her bent legs bracketing mine, hands clutching fistfuls of my jacket, but that mellow quality dissipates in a flash.
I drag one hand up her back until I catch her nape, pressing small circles with my thumb and ring finger to ease her tense muscles.
“Nine,” she finally says, a crease marring her forehead.
I kiss it away until the frown recedes. “Including Noretto’s men? The ones from the...” I let the rest of the sentence hang in the air. I shouldn’t bring it up. She doesn’t know I know what happened and I don’t want to lose this newfound trust.
“Ballroom? I know Hailey told you about that.”
I should have guessed.
“They’re all dead. You killed them when you came for Hailey, and they never pushed me under that rug again, so nine. Well... I guess eight now.”
“It’s five.”
Her eyes pop open as she arches back, still holding on to me, but no longer melting into my chest. “Five? How? Did you...? Who else?”
“Timothy.” I move my hands to her knees, dragging them up and down a mere two inches. She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she relaxes back into my touch. “Henry. This fucker just now, and... Cassio.”
“Cassio,” she echoes, incredulous. “When?”
“The night of the auction. I found Henry a few weeks ago, and Timothy stopped breathing the night Carter’s phone call interrupted our make-out session in the living room.”
She holds my gaze, processing my confession. Out of all the fuckers who hurt her, Cassio was probably the one she’d least want killed.
“I’ll find the others, baby. Ryder’s working on it. It would be faster if you gave me their names.” I brush her hair over her ears. “I promise they’ll never touch you again.”
She’s back on me in a flash, sealing the promise with her lips, the kiss soft, slow, lazy. “Carter will be furious,” she guesses, resting her face in the crook of my neck.
She’s right, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Don’t worry about Carter. That phone call was to let me know Timothy showed up. He gave him to me. He understands.”
Because he’d do the same thing for Hailey. He wouldn’t stop until every man who hurt his girl had bitten the dust.
With one last kiss to my jaw, Violet moves away, slumping back into the passenger seat. She pulls the visor down, checking her reflection and adjusting her hair. The alluring swell of her lips and their—now natural—rosy tint is a dead giveaway we just made out, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she runs her fingertips around her mouth.
“We should go.”
That’s the last thing on my mind.
I’d much rather stay in the moment, but I nod, adjusting my rumpled clothes as I step out of the car. Ryder’s holding the elevator open, a hint of amusement clouding his features.
Looks like our three-minute pause was enough for news of my stunt outside to make it around the club.
“Carter wants you in his office,” he tells me, eyes swinging to Violet then down to where I’m holding her hand. “So Koby wasn’t exaggerating. Alright. I’ll keep your girl company while you’re getting schooled.”