23. Twenty-Two
Xander's slept curled against my chest. My fingers traced the mark I'd left high on their throat last night. It was a deliberate display of possession that had made Roche's eyes gleam with interest at the club.
But somehow, one mark didn't feel like enough. Not with Roche's predatory gaze still burning in my memory. Not with the knowledge of what awaited us at tonight's private showing.
I shifted closer, studying the contrast of my hand against his pale skin. The memory of Misha's vacant stare haunted me. He'd swayed against Roche like a puppet with cut strings. The designer collected beautiful things, preserved them in glass and poison until nothing remained but the shell. The thought of Xander ending up like that, empty-eyed and hollow...
"You're thinking too loud," Xander mumbled against my chest, though his eyes remained closed. "I can feel you brooding."
Instead of answering, I rolled them beneath me, pinning their wrists above their head. The movement made them gasp, eyes finally fluttering open. My mouth found his throat, teeth scraping over the single mark I'd left there before latching on, sucking hard enough to make him gasp. The need to claim, to mark, to possess overwhelmed every other thought.
"Daddy," he whimpered, but I was already moving to the unmarked skin beside that first bruise, desperate to cover every inch of him in my claim.
I started at his throat, just below where the first mark stood dark against his skin. My mouth worked carefully, sucking blood to the surface while he writhed beneath me. Each new bruise was placed with deliberate precision, high enough to be visible, dark enough to be unmistakable.
"Mine," I growled, moving to the sensitive spot behind his ear that always made him gasp. His whole body shuddered as I marked him there, hands clenching where I still pinned them above his head.
"Please," he whimpered as I worked my way down his neck, leaving a trail of claiming marks. "Need more."
I took my time, mapping his body with my mouth, marking every spot that made him shake. The hollow of his throat. The sharp line of his collarbone. The sensitive skin over his racing pulse. Each bruise I left on his pretty skin was a brand, a warning to anyone who to dared think they could touch what was mine.
"They look so perfect on you," I praised, releasing his wrists to grab his hips.
His hands found my shoulders, nails digging in as I sucked another mark just below his collarbone. The sound he made was pure need, back arching to offer more of himself to my claiming mouth.
Each mark I left made me crave more. The darkness I'd inherited from my father, the need to possess completely, rose up like a tide I couldn't fight anymore. Didn't want to fight. My teeth found the spot where his shoulder met his neck and bit down hard enough to taste copper. Instead of flinching away, Xander arched into the pain with a broken sound that was pure need, his cock twitching where it pressed against my stomach. His hands clawed down my back, not trying to escape, but pulling me closer, begging for more without words.
His phone buzzed from the nightstand. Probably Xavier again. Xander had mentioned he’d been calling a lot. But the sound only made me bite harder, grip tighter, need more. Mine. No one else got to worry about him. No one else got to claim any part of him.
"Fuck," Xander gasped as I sucked another bruise high on his throat, right where everyone would see it. His hips bucked against me, cock hard and leaking between us. "Please!"
I silenced him with another bite, letting that darkness I'd spent decades caging finally break free. Twenty years of hunting monsters had taught me exactly how to hurt someone, how to mark them permanently. Now I could use that knowledge to claim what was mine.
The phone buzzed again. I grabbed it without looking away from the marks blooming across Xander's skin, shutting it off completely before throwing it aside. Nothing else existed but this need to possess, to hurt, to claim.
"Show me," Xander breathed, eyes dark with a hunger that matched my own. "Show me what you really are."
The trust in their expression made something fierce and protective surge in my chest. Xander might play with presentation, might shift between sharp angles and soft curves depending on their mood, but here, like this, they were simply themselves, stripped of all performance and pretense.
My fingers traced one of his nipples, making him arch into the touch. "I want to mark you permanently," I growled against his throat. "Want to put my claim somewhere no one else will ever see. Somewhere that makes you feel me with every movement."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, pupils blown wide with need. "How?"
I rolled his nipple between my fingers, watching his reaction. "You should get your nipples pierced. Both of them. Pretty little rings that I can play with, tug on when you need reminding who you belong to." My grip tightened possessively. "And that pretty cock, too. Make sure you can't ever get hard without thinking about who owns you."
His whole body shuddered at that, but I wasn't finished. "You won't be able to come for weeks after that one," I purred, watching his pupils dilate further. "But I'll still use you whenever I want. Keep you desperate and aching while you heal. Make you take my cock, knowing you can't get any relief."
"Fuck," he gasped, grinding up against me despite the threat of extended denial, or maybe because of it. "Yes. I want that."
"Yeah?" I bit down on his throat again, harder this time.
The desperate sound he made was answer enough. His nails raked down my back as he tried to pull me closer, harder, deeper into his skin. "Please, I need you to fuck me."
"I was planning on it," I promised darkly, already reaching for the lube.
I slid my fingers inside him without warning, reveling in how his body opened for me. His breath hitched at the burn of the stretch, thighs trembling as I pressed deeper.
"More," he demanded, voice already wrecked. "Fucking hurt me."
The raw need in his voice made my cock throb. "You sure about that?" I twisted my fingers deliberately, watching his face contort. "You won't be able to sit right at that party."
"Good." His nails raked down my back, breaking skin. "I want it to fucking hurt when I have to play bait for that psychopath."
I gritted my teeth at the reminder of tonight's mission. Of Roche's predatory gaze following him across the club. I added another finger just to watch him arch off the bed, caught between pain and pleasure.
"Fuck," I growled, latching onto his throat. The copper taste of broken capillaries flooded my mouth as I sucked hard enough to leave deep bruises. "Let them all know what happens if they touch what's mine."
"Fuck, yes," he gasped, grinding down on my hand. "Like that. Want it to hurt. Want to feel owned."
I withdrew my fingers, ignoring his protest as I flipped him onto his stomach. The position put his ass on display, still red from last night's claiming. Perfect. My hand came down hard across one cheek, the sharp crack of skin on skin echoing through the room.
"This what you need?" Another slap, harder this time. "Need me to mark you up? Make you feel it?"
"Yes," he hissed, pushing back for more. "Please, fuck, just—hurt me. Make me yours."
I lined up and pushed in without further prep, the burn of the stretch drawing a broken sound from his throat. His body resisted for just a moment before yielding completely, taking me to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
"Jesus fuck," he choked out. His fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking dare stop."
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back as I set a punishing pace. Each thrust drove him further into the mattress, drew those desperate sounds from his throat that went straight to my cock. His body clenched around me with every pull of his hair, every bite I left on his shoulders.
“You’re gonna feel me for days," I promised roughly, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. "Every time you move. Every time you breathe."
His only response was a broken moan as I hit that spot inside him that made his whole body shake. I reached around to find his cock rock hard and leaking, proving how much he needed this. Needed the pain. Needed to be claimed.
"Touch yourself," I ordered, maintaining my brutal pace. "Show me how much you love being owned like this."
His hand flew to his cock, jerking it roughly in time with my thrusts. The desperate edge to his movements told me he was close. Good.
"Fuck," he gasped, body starting to shake. "I'm gonna—"
He came with a strangled cry, body convulsing around me as his release painted the sheets. The rhythmic clenching of his muscles dragged me over the edge with him. I ground deep as I filled him, marking him from the inside just like he'd begged for.
We collapsed in a heap of sweat and claiming marks, both trembling with aftershocks. His phone buzzed again from somewhere on the floor. I reached down and shut it off completely before pulling him against my chest.
"You good?" I murmured against his hair, cataloging the marks I'd left. Bruises bloomed across his throat, bite marks decorated his shoulders, and fingerprint bruises wrapped around his hips. He'd definitely be feeling this at the party tonight.
"Perfect," he slurred, already half-asleep. "Exactly what I needed."
I traced one particularly dark mark on his throat, satisfaction curling in my gut at how visible it would be. Let Roche see. Let them all see what happened when someone tried to take what was mine.
We had hours before we needed to start getting ready for tonight. Hours I intended to spend marking every inch of him. After all, if we were going to play bait for a killer, might as well make sure everyone knew exactly who he belonged to.
Starting with him.
The pounding on our hotel room door had me reaching for my gun before I was fully awake. Twenty years of field experience kicked in as I assessed potential threats, already mapping exit routes even as Xander stirred beside me.
"Xander Laskin, I swear to god if you don't open this door—"
"Fuck." Xander bolted upright, scrambling for his phone. The sudden movement made him wince, and possessive satisfaction curled in my gut at the reminder of how thoroughly I'd marked him. "Shit shit shit."
The phone lit up with a barrage of notifications as he turned it on. The stream of missed calls and messages from Xavier scrolled endlessly.
"Wait." Something clicked in my brain. "Is that... is that actually Xavier's voice?"
"No way," Xander muttered, pressing his ear to the door. "He's in Ohio. He can't be—"
"I can still hear you, asshole," Xavier called out. "And yes, I flew six thousand miles because my sibling can’t pick up his damn phone. Now open the damn door before I break it down!"
“You FLEW TO PARIS?” Xander's voice cracked on the last word. They grabbed my discarded shirt from the floor, the fabric doing little to hide the constellation of marks I'd left across their skin. “Are you insane?”
"What part of 'open the door' are you not understanding?" Xavier demanded.
Xander grabbed my discarded shirt from the floor, the fabric doing little to hide the constellation of marks I'd left across his skin. He shot me a panicked look as we both started yanking on rumpled clothes. "He actually flew to fucking Paris. Papa is going to kill me."
"Check the peephole first," I ordered, though at this point there was no doubt who was on the other side of that door.
Xander had barely cracked the door open before Xavier shouldered his way in. I assessed him automatically—unarmed, rumpled clothes that spoke of a long flight, the slightly manic look of someone running on nothing but caffeine and determination.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Xander demanded. "You can't just… Wait, did you seriously get on an international flight just because I wasn't answering my phone?"
Xavier opened his mouth to respond, then actually looked at his sibling for the first time. His eyes went wide as he cataloged the obvious marks on Xander's throat. "Jesus CHRIST! What the fuck happened to your neck? You look like you got mauled by a vampire! "
"How did you even find us?" Xander sputtered. "And why would you—"
"Twenty hours," Xavier cut him off. "Twenty hours of you ignoring my calls and—" He broke off, really looking at the bruises now. "Seriously, what the actual fuck? I count at least eight visible marks, and those are just the ones above the collar."
"You flew to Paris," Xander said again, like he still couldn't quite process it. "You got on a plane and flew to Paris because I didn't answer my phone."
"Because our triplet bond was screaming danger so loud I couldn't sleep!" Xavier snapped. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?"
"Yes!" Xander threw up his hands. "Like a normal person! Normal people don't hop on international flights because their siblings aren't picking up!"
Xavier grimaced. "Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell happened to your neck? It’s seriously pissing me off seeing all that.”
"My neck is none of your business," Xander said, tugging the collar of my shirt higher. "What's definitely my business is how you managed to find us."
"You really want to play that game?" Xavier's eyes narrowed as he studied the room, taking in the scattered clothes, the rumpled bed. "Fine. Your phone kept pinging off towers near Charles de Gaulle, and your cover story about a fashion internship fell apart the moment I started digging."
"You did what?" Xander's voice went up an octave.
"You're not the only one who knows how to investigate," Xavier shot back. "Though I have to say, whoever helped create that cover story did an impressive job. The fake website almost had me fooled."
I tensed at that. The Lucky Losers tech team had spent weeks building that digital trail. If Xavier had managed to spot the inconsistencies...
"That still doesn't explain why you're here," Xander tried, but Xavier was already advancing on him.
"Take off the shirt."
"What? No!"
I got between them. “Hey, back off.”
Xavier completely ignored me. "Take it off or I start calling everyone on my contacts list, starting with Papa."
Xander's face went pale. "You wouldn't."
"Try me." Xavier pulled out his phone. "I'm sure Papa would love to hear about all these mysterious bruises. And Shepherd's new number is right here..."
"Fine!" Xander yanked off the shirt, revealing the full constellation of marks I'd left across his chest and shoulders. "Happy now?"
Xavier's sharp intake of breath said he definitely was not happy. His eyes cataloged each bruise, each bite mark with growing fury. "Who did this to you?"
"I did," I said calmly, moving to stand behind Xander. "With his full consent and enthusiasm."
"His full—" Xavier broke off, looking between us. Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by horror. "Oh god. You're sleeping with your handler."
The room went dead silent.
"I never said he was my handler," Xander said carefully.
"You didn't have to." Xavier gestured at me. "Professional stance, tactical positioning, the way he's been assessing threats since I walked in. Plus, the fact that you're clearly on some kind of undercover operation that required an elaborate cover story." His eyes narrowed. "The real question is, who are you working for?"
Then he went very still, looking between us with dawning realization. His eyes widened. "Holy shit. You're working for Algerone, aren't you? This is a Lucky Losers operation."
Xander's silence was confirmation enough.
"Are you insane?" Xavier exploded. "I've been trying to hack their systems for months to figure out what they're up to, and you just what? Walked right in the front door? Let our biological father's murder-for-hire company send you undercover?"
"It's more complicated than that," I said.
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, my brother is covered in bruises, about to attend some party that has him terrified, and working for the same psychopath who tried to kidnap us last year!"
"Algerone's not running this op," I said. "I am."
Xavier's laugh was bitter. "And that makes me feel so much better!”
"X, please," Xander said quietly. "You can't interfere with this. There are lives at stake."
"Lives at stake?" Xavier's voice went sharp. "What are you up to? What's happening in Paris that's worth Lucky Losers sending in their newest recruit?" He gestured at the suite's expensive furnishings, the designer bags, the evening wear laid out. "This isn't just any undercover op, is it? This is high society. The kind of circles where..." He trailed off, something shifting in his expression.
"X, don't," Xander warned.
But Xavier was already moving to the shopping bags, pulling out one of the garment bags with careful precision. The label made his breath catch. "This is Roche." His voice went flat. "You're wearing Roche to whatever party you're attending tonight."
The room went very still.
"Xavier—" Xander started.
"No." Xavier's hands were shaking as he set down the garment bag. "Tell me you're not involved in whatever's happening with Roche. Tell me our psychopath of a biological father didn't send you after—"
"The Russians hired us," I cut in, seeing no point in denying it now. "Specifically requested Xander for the operation."
"The Russians." Xavier's laugh held no humor. "You mean Nikolai? The one who's been watching Roche's operation for months?" At our surprised looks, he smiled grimly. "You're not the only one with connections."
"Then you understand why you can't interfere," I said. "We have a window tonight. A private party where—"
"Where my brother is going to play pretty bait for a predator?" Xavier's voice could have cut glass. "Yeah, I don't think so."
"You don't get to make that call," Xander said, voice tight with barely contained emotion. "This is bigger than just me. Misha—"
"Misha?" Xavier went still, something flickering across his face. "Viktor's child? The one who..." He trailed off, understanding dawning in his eyes. "That's why the Russians are involved. That's why Nikolai..."
"Now you see why we can't walk away," I said quietly, moving to stand beside Xander. My hand found his lower back, steadying him. "This isn't just about taking down Roche. It's about getting someone out."
Xavier studied us, his eerily perceptive gaze taking in every detail of how Xander leaned into my touch, how my stance shifted to shield him. "And the marks?" he asked finally. "The possessive display? That's part of your cover, too?"
"That's none of your business," Xander snapped, but I caught the slight tremor in his voice.
"It became my business when your emotional state dragged me across an ocean," Xavier shot back. His expression softened slightly as he looked at his sibling. "I know that spiral, Dee. The way you throw yourself into danger when you're trying to feel something real. The way you use your body as a weapon because it's easier than admitting what you really need."
"This isn't like that," Xander protested, pressing closer to me. "Ash isn't—"
"You don't need to defend me," I said firmly, and met Xavier's gaze. "Everything I've done, every mark I've left, was because he asked for it. Because he needed it."
"He's my sibling," Xavier said, voice deadly quiet. "I've been protecting him since we were kids. Since before you even knew they existed. You really think a few weeks of playing daddy makes you understand what he needs?"
"You don't get to decide that," I growled, shifting slightly to put myself between them. My protective instincts warred with the knowledge that this was Xander's family. "They're not a child anymore. And they chose me."
"Did they?" Xavier's smile was sharp. "Or did they just find another authority figure to submit to? Another daddy to replace the ones who left?"
"Fuck you." Xander's voice cut through the tension like a knife. He stepped out from behind me, facing his brother with clenched fists. "You don't get to play that card. Not when you're the one who flew across the fucking ocean because you couldn't handle me making my own choices."
"Dee—"
"No. You want to talk about daddy issues? Let's talk about how you can't let go. How you think being my brother means you get to control my life." Xander's laugh was bitter. "At least Ash is honest about his possessive streak. You hide yours behind protection and concern while trying to micromanage everything I do."
Something shifted in Xavier's expression as he watched us. I could almost see that remarkable mind of his processing, analyzing, coming to conclusions.
"If anything happens to him," he said finally to me, each word precise as a blade, "there won't be anywhere on Earth you can hide from me."
"Just go wait in the lobby, Xavier,” Xander snapped. "We need to shower and change, and I need a minute to process this."
Xaiver hesitated, still glaring at me.
Xander sighed and stepped forward. “X, please. I promise I’ll explain everything over breakfast.”
Xavier's eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything?"
"Everything I can," Xander amended. "There are some operational details I can't share. But..." He gestured at the marks on his throat, at my possessive stance behind him. "The rest? Yeah. You deserve to know."
For a moment, Xavier just studied him. Then he nodded once, sharp and precise. "Thirty minutes. Then I start calling people."
"An hour," Xander countered. "Some of us need time to look presentable."
A ghost of a smile crossed Xavier's face. "Forty-five minutes. And you're paying for breakfast."
"Deal." Xander's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Now get out so I can make myself look less like I spent the morning being mauled by a possessive ex-fed."
"TMI," Xavier muttered, but there was something like approval in his eyes as he looked between us one last time. "Forty-five minutes, Dee. Don't make me come back up here."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving us alone with the weight of everything that had just happened. Xander sagged against me, trembling slightly.
"You okay?" I murmured, pressing a kiss to their temple.
"No," they admitted. "But I will be. After coffee. And maybe a Xanax."
I turned them in my arms, studying the constellation of marks I'd left across their skin. "We should get ready. Your brother seems like the type to actually time those forty-five minutes."
"Oh, he definitely is." Xander's smile was shaky, but real. "Though maybe we can multitask in the shower? Save some time?"
"Brat," I growled fondly, already steering him toward the bathroom.