Chapter Eighteen #2
I come hard. Ropes hit the tiles with wet slaps. Body shudders, muscles spasming. I brace both palms on the wall, head bowed, steam swirling. Breath ragged. Trying to claw back control.
It doesn’t work. Not even close.
My cock is still throbbing as I put on my suit. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders.
I open the door, stepping into the hallway. Kaden’s already waiting outside.
“Wait.”
Her voice cuts through the walls, soft but loud enough to halt me. I exhale hard, shove my fists into my pockets, trying to keep them there instead of around her waist, pinning her to the nearest wall.
She stops behind me. I turn—
This little devil’s barefoot, wrapped in my shirt again. Hair pulled high, strands loose around her face like she’s posing for a fucking punishment.
“What, Autumn?” My voice is low, flat. I don’t have the energy for this game, not now.
“My orders should arrive today. And I’m guessing…” She motions toward the suit. “You’re leaving?”
I nod once.
“So?”
Her brows lift, attitude showing.
“One of the security team will bring it up when it gets here.” I turn, already walking.
“Can you tell them not to open it?” she calls after me. “It’s my underwear. And all that.”
“They won’t,” I answer without turning. I’d cut their fucking hands off if they did.
Kaden stares at me as I go down the stairs and lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, shit.”
“Don’t, Kaden.” I head to the bike, grab the helmet.
“Not saying a word, boss.” He smirks darkly.
The bikes roar to life, engines snarling against the quiet night. We tear down the driveway and shoot into the open road, wind slicing past, headlights carving through the dark. The air’s cold and dry. The sea mist won’t fuck with visibility tonight.
City lights fall away behind us, replaced by shadows and the low rumble of the coastline. The hotel appears like a fortress, dark glass, quiet guards, and the weight of old money in its bones.
We slow at the entrance. Christian Keeffe’s already there, standing straight in his tailored suit, hands clasped like a man trying not to sweat. He nods as we kill the engines.
Inside, the elevator groans as it takes us to the top floor. The suites where our guests will sleep, if they sleep at all.
Christian hands me the confirmed list.
I flick through it as we step into the main bedroom, Kaden reading over my shoulder.
“Rurik Vostrikov,” Kaden reads aloud.
“The eldest,” I confirm. “The real voice of the Bratva. Step one word out of line with him, and you’re choking on your own teeth.”
“Stepan’s the middle one. Mila’s the youngest,” Christian adds, pulling out the layout of the floor.
“Rurik’s bringing his wife. So is Stepan. Mila stays alone.” He taps the paper, showing room numbers inked next to names.
I grunt. “Kian might get lucky.”
Christian huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Declan would fucking kill him.”
I smirk, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Rurik takes the King’s Suite, wife in tow. Two guards posted outside. Stepan’s in K12, Mila next door. The other four rooms go to their men, eight total.”
Kaden frowns. “Which means triple that somewhere close, off-record.”
I glance at him. Smart. He’s right.
Rurik Vostrikov doesn’t show up with just eight bodies. That’d be suicide. Which means either he’s stupid—
Or he wants us to think he is.
I move to the window, look down at the dark sea clawing at the edge of the cliffs. “Let’s hope we don’t need to find out how many they really brought.”
“You checked all the cameras?” I turn to Christian.
“Yes, all of them, including the hidden ones.” He points to the ones they won’t see.
“Good, we need eyes on them at all times.” I already know they will demand for the cameras to be turned off.
We take another walk through the hotel to double-check everything before riding back home.
The gates open, and one of the guards approaches, chuckling.
“Her packages arrived,” he says, grinning. “She took them inside… giggling.”
That can’t be good.
We enter the house. Kaden heads towards my office while I take the stairs. It’s too quiet.
Too fucking quiet.
I stop at her door; there is no sound, no movement.
I should open it, but I need to send the floor plans to Declan first and finalise what else needs prepping.
I head down to the office.
As soon as I walk in, something feels… off.
There’s a scent in the air; it’s sweet, floral, something unfamiliar clinging to the room like a trap. I step inside, pour a drink and turn to see Kaden’s already grinning.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He jerks his chin at my glass.
I lift it.
You got this, Bestie.
What the actual fuck?
I blink at it.
Did she—?
I let out a slow breath, jaw clenching.
Mental note: make her see exactly what kind of bestie I can be.
“She’s taunting you,” Kaden says, smirking.
“I know.” I drop into my chair and pull the keyboard toward me, and that’s when I see it. My mouse pad with an image of a fucking fairy riding a unicorn.
“I’m going to kill her,” I mutter.
Kaden loses it, full-on laughing, head thrown back, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Well, that would solve some problems,” he chokes out.
I rip the mouse pad off the desk and stand, looking around.
That’s when I see the rest of it, the tiny fairy wings tucked into the books on the shelf behind Kaden; a fuzzy pink troll doll by the filing cabinet.
Two scented candles flickering softly and a little ceramic fountain trickling smoke from burning incense.
She turned my office into a fucking fairy garden.
I throw the door open, my voice a snarl.
“Autumn!”
I storm into the hallway, steps like thunder, and I catch the sound of feet sprinting in the opposite direction on the top floor, far wing of the mansion.
A slow, wolfish grin spreads across my face.
Oh, trouble, you just declared war, and I do love a good hunt.