Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
evangeline
The clubhouse is exactly what I remember. Leather couches, a well-stocked bar, motorcycle memorabilia covering the walls. But there's also a fully equipped kitchen, clean bedrooms upstairs, and a warmth that speaks to genuine brotherhood rather than just criminal enterprise.
The kids are settled in the guest rooms, finally asleep after hours of questions about why we had to leave Hades' house and come here. I told them it was an adventure, a sleepover at Uncle Hades' work. They bought it, mostly because they trust me to keep them safe.
I wish I had that same certainty.
I'm standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the night sky, when Hades finds me. He's been in meetings all evening, coordinating with his brothers about whatever they're planning to do to Ethan.
"Can't sleep?" he asks quietly.
"Too much adrenaline."
He moves closer, and I can feel the heat of him even before he touches me. "You should try. Tonight’s going to be complicated."
"Tonight, you're going to kill someone."
The blunt statement hangs between us. He doesn't deny it, doesn't try to soften the truth.
"Yeah. I am."
I turn to face him, studying his expression in the dim light. "And you're okay with that? With becoming a murderer?"
"I'm okay with protecting my family. Whatever it takes."
"Even if it changes who you are?"
"Angel, I've always been this person. You're just seeing it clearly for the first time."
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. He's right. The capacity for violence has always been there, lurking beneath the surface. I just chose not to see it because it was easier to pretend he was just the helpful uncle who fixed broken things.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"Of me?"
"Of everything. Of Ethan, of what might happen to you tomorrow, of how much I want you when I should be thinking about what's best for the kids."
"What do you want, Evangeline?"
The way he says my full name, serious and intense, makes something hot coil low in my belly.
"I want to stop being afraid. I want one night where I don't think about danger or responsibility or what might go wrong."
"And what do you want instead?"
"You."
The word comes out barely more than a whisper, but it lands between us like a bomb. His dark eyes go even darker, pupils dilating with want.
"You sure about that?"
"No. But I'm done letting fear control my choices."
I close the distance between us, rising on my toes to press my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, tentative, like I'm testing whether this is really what I want.
It takes about three seconds to realize it absolutely is.
Hades groans into my mouth, his hands coming up to frame my face as he deepens the kiss. This isn't like the almost-kisses we've shared before, weighted with hesitation and interrupted by reality. This is permission granted, walls dropped, everything we've been holding back finally released.
"Angel," he breathes against my lips. "If we do this, there's no taking it back."
"Good. I don't want to take it back."
His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this. Wants me. The knowledge makes me bold in a way I've never been before.
I'm the one who tugs his shirt free from his jeans. I'm the one who runs my hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling muscles jump under my touch. I'm the one who leads us toward his private room at the back of the clubhouse.
"The kids," I whisper as he backs me toward his bed.
"Are sound asleep three doors away with Tempest standing guard. We're alone, Angel."
His mouth finds mine again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. This is years of wanting, months of dancing around each other, days of almosts that never quite happened.
This is everything.
The door clicks shut behind us and something in me gives way. It’s quiet, but it’s not peaceful. It’s charged. I feel his eyes on me, tracking every breath, every movement, like he’s waiting for the moment I’ll change my mind.
I don’t.
I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him again, rougher this time.
No hesitation, no room for doubt. His mouth opens under mine with a low groan, his hands finding my waist and pulling me tight against him.
I can feel how hard he is already, pressed firm to my stomach, and it hits me all over again—I’m doing this. We’re doing this.
My shirt comes off fast. He helps, but it’s my hands that tug it over my head, arms up, skin flushed. His eyes go to my chest like he’s starving, and then his hands are there, thumbs grazing over my bra just long enough to make me gasp before he’s slipping the straps down and freeing me completely.
“Fuck,” he breathes, dragging his mouth down my neck, lips open, teeth catching skin. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
I don't say anything. I just reach for his belt, fingers working the buckle while he kisses along my collarbone. He hisses when I pop the button on his jeans, voice rough against my skin.
“Angel.”
That name again, wrecked and reverent. It goes straight to my core. I shove his jeans down and he kicks them off. I touch him through his boxers and he jerks in my hand, one sharp breath sucked between his teeth.
“You sure?” he asks again, voice tight, like he’s hanging by a thread.
“Completely.”
That’s all it takes. His hands are back on me, sliding down to my thighs.
He grabs the backs of them and lifts me, just enough to get me on the bed behind him, and he follows without pause, crawling over me like I belong to him already.
He peels my jeans down slow, kissing every inch he exposes, and I swear I feel myself shaking.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
When I’m down to nothing but panties, he trails one hand up my inner thigh, breath hot against my stomach.
“I’ve thought about this so many fucking times.”
I arch up to meet him. “Then stop thinking.”
He chuckles, low and rough, then hooks his fingers in my panties and pulls them down. The air hits me and I don’t care. I want him to see. His eyes darken and he brings his mouth to me; no warning, just one slow stroke of his tongue that makes my hips jump.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, gripping the sheets.
He holds me open with his hands and keeps going, tongue firm and steady. Every flick, every circle, makes me shake harder. I try to close my legs but he growls and digs his fingers into my thighs, keeping me spread. He knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what I need.
“Hades, please—”
His mouth pulls back just long enough for him to speak. “Not yet.”
Then he sinks two fingers inside me, slow and deep. I cry out, loud, shameless, hips bucking. He watches my face while he fucks me with his hand, curling his fingers just right until I’m gasping for every breath.
“Come for me, Angel.”
It happens fast. My whole body tightens and then breaks apart, pleasure snapping through me like lightning. I cry out again, clutching his wrist, hips jerking as I ride the waves out.
He kisses me through it, slow and soft now, tongue sweeping into my mouth while his fingers slip free. I taste myself on him and it only makes me want more.
“Your turn,” I murmur, flipping him onto his back.
He doesn’t stop me as I climb on top, straddling his hips, reaching between us to guide him to me. I rub the head of his cock against myself, slick and ready. He groans, deep and raw, grabbing my hips hard.
“Fuck, Evangeline—”
I sink down on him, inch by inch. He fills me completely, thick and perfect. We both go still, breathing hard. His eyes are locked on mine, wild and reverent.
“You feel... so good,” he manages.
I roll my hips and his jaw clenches. I do it again, finding a rhythm, riding him slow and deep, grinding against him with every stroke. His hands move up my body, grabbing my breasts, my waist, whatever he can reach. I can feel how close he is already.
“You’re killing me,” he says, voice broken.
I lean down and kiss him, hard. “Then die with me.”
He flips us suddenly, driving into me with one powerful thrust that knocks the air from my lungs.
“Fuck, yes—”
I lock my legs around his waist as he starts to move, hard and fast now, no more patience. Every thrust hits deep, his mouth open against my throat, hands gripping my hips tight.
The headboard knocks the wall. I can’t stop moaning. Every sound, every word, spills out without thinking.
“Right there. Don’t stop. Oh god—”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Come with me.”
I nod, unable to speak because I’m already there. My body tenses and shatters again, and he follows, hips jerking, groaning my name as he comes inside me, long and deep.
Silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels full, like the room is holding its breath right along with us. I let my cheek rest against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. Steady. Anchoring.
He brushes a hand through my hair gently. "You good?"
I nod before the words catch up. "Yeah. Actually... I feel like I can breathe again."
He tilts my chin so I’ll look at him, and there’s something raw in his eyes. Not uncertainty, just the weight of everything we didn’t say before now.
"I love you, so much, I can’t lose you," I say softly.
Something in him cracks, quiet and visible. He smiles like it hurts a little. "I’ll never tire of hearing you say that. I’ve been waiting a long time to hear that."
"How long?"
He exhales through his nose, eyes scanning mine like he’s reliving the whole damn timeline. "Since that backyard party Calla threw. You wore that ridiculous yellow dress and argued with Marcus about hot sauce like your life depended on it. I knew right then I was screwed."
I laugh, low and real. "That dress was not ridiculous."
"It made it hard to breathe," he says. "Still does."
The confession makes my throat tight with emotion. All this time, all these years, he's been carrying this.
"Why didn't you say anything?"