Chapter Nine
I CHUCKLE AS I stand, rolling off the edge of the mattress.
The sight of her in my bed—hair spilled over my pillow, mouth parted—hits like a clean shot of whiskey.
New drug. Only one I’ll ever need. I could never give her up.
She’s mine. And I’ll make damn sure everyone knows it before they even think about testing me.
I stand there and look at her for a moment.
She is beautiful. Quiet. She is peaceful.
Even with her being testy earlier, last night I guess as I look at the clock and see it’s about three in the morning now.
It was adorable since she is so tiny compared to me.
I have to have at least a whole foot on her.
There is just something about her. The spice, the calm.
She reminds me of someone. I can’t place it.
All I know is that I need her to be mine.
I cut through the closet into the bathroom and twist the shower handle hot—nearly scalding. Women tend to bathe in volcanic temps; no sense easing her into lukewarm. Steam fogs the glass in seconds.
On my way back to the bed, I snatch my phone off the nightstand. A stack of notifications waits—mostly from our group thread I renamed DICK HEADS because they earned it.
I glance over. She’s asleep on her stomach, dead to the world, one hand fisted in my sheet like she’s claiming the territory. Good.
I thumb the screen.
Good. They’ve got the perimeter. The second I laid eyes on this woman I knew that she would forever be mine.
I can’t let her go now, and I won’t. But my nerves are fight me.
I can tell that I became instantly on edge since the second she accidentally opened my door.
My mind was already all over the place. But now?
Now it is a constant stream of worse case scenario.
I set the phone on the vanity. The bathroom’s a warm cloud now, mirrors bleached white with steam.
I close the door to trap the heat, then head back for my sleeping Siren.
I slide an arm under her knees and another under her shoulders. She murmurs something and nuzzles into my chest on instinct. Light as nothing. I carry her into the shower and step under the spray, leaning us both into the heat slowly so I don’t shock her awake.
“Mm.” A soft sound against my collarbone. Yeah. She likes it hell-hot.
“Little Siren,” I murmur, hands rubbing lazy circles into the swell of her ass, “let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can go back to bed.” Nothing. “Come on Surry, wake up, doll.”
She squirms, more awake now. I keep my grip solid. Light pinches to her thigh earn me a tiny gasp and a blink up at me.
“Whoa. How did we get in the bathroom?”
“Carried you,” I say, setting her down steady on the river-stone tile. “You fell out the second we finished.” The sleepy haze she has on her face is driving me wild, but I’m sure she will be sore in the morning, so I hold myself back from showing her how undeniably attracted I am to her.
The shower space is built for men my size—no builder-grade box.
Rounded gray-white stones underfoot; matte-black subway tile climbing to the ceiling; three adjustable heads in a triangle so there’s no cold pocket anywhere.
The rest of the room tracks with it—black fixtures, broad concrete counter, warm strip lighting. Industrial…clean…me.
I turn her gently, back to my chest, and pump shampoo into my palm.
My cock jumps at the nearness of her ass, but I tell myself to cool the fuck off.
But, I could easily hold up against the shower wall and fuck her again.
The citrus-cedar scent opens up, bringing me back to what I was doing.
I work it into her hair, fingertips moving slowly and firmly.
She melts, head tipping back into me like a cat.
“As soon as we were done, I got the liquid fire temp water going, then I scooped you up,” I tell her, working the lather to the ends, while mentally repeating don’t get a boner over and over in my head. “Figured you’d want the sweat off so you sleep clean.”
I pivot her to face me and tilt her under the spray, rinsing until the suds are gone. Her nipples, hard at the contact, rub against my abs. The feeling oddly as comforting as it is sexy.
Chill Brenden. Conditioner next. The way the water beads on her shoulder blades is criminal. Her breasts press into my chest—tight, pink nipples begging for me to place my tongue there—and I tame the urge by twisting her hair into a loose bun to let the conditioner set.
She looks up, clear-eyed now. “Listen, Brenden. I don’t know what you think this is,” she takes a small step backwards not fully leaving the warmth of the water, “but I’m not looking for anything.
This was just sex. And a bed. Thank you for…
being kind. You have no idea what that means.
But I’m not there. So we can shower and sleep, and then I’m going home. Got it?”
She thinks she’s drawing the line. Cute.
Her cheeks go the most delicious shade of pink when she’s trying to look unbothered—nervous glint right there in her eyes.
I can give her whatever version of control she needs for now.
She’ll learn soon enough: I’m not going anywhere.
I belong to her now, just as much as she belongs to me.
When she faces me again, I nod once. “Yes, ma’am. Clean and cozy. Long day. We’ll get you some peace.” I look down and can’t help my eyes wandering, but she must not notice since her shoulders drop a fraction in relief. Good call, Slater.
“Yeah,” she says, voice unsteady. “My brand-new car got beaten to death. Juniper’s shop got blown up. And I got a very threatening text and letter. I’m overwhelmed. Blowing off steam with you was…” She exhales. “Great. I appreciate it.”
Picking up a loofah I flood it with the body wash that smells like dark florals and warm earth.
I will never be able to smell this ever again without thinking of her.
The way I am marking her with my own scents makes me feel something extra in that caveman part of my brain.
“You have had an exceptionally bad day, I’ll do the work.
Just try and relax, okay Siren?” She nods her head, and closes her eyes.
A small hum escapes her as I start to work.
I wash her head to toe—practical, steady.
Neck, shoulders, arms. I drag the suds along her ribs and belly, between her thighs.
She blushes and watches, biting her lip like she doesn’t know what to do with being taken care of without strings attached.
Or maybe she is as turned on as I am and doesn’t want to admit it, maybe if I just…
no. No, Slater. I continue, washing each one of her breasts and then move up to her chest and throat.
Once I reach her chin, I hand her the face wash from the shelf.
“You’ll want this. No sleeping in makeup.”
Her mouth opens, stays there, then closes. “You have… face wash?”
I give her a mock insulted face, before asking “do I look like a heathen?”
She laughs—a small bell sound that hits low in my spine—and works the cleanser across her skin.
I loosen the bun, let her rinse everything at once, then step into a second head and rinse down myself—just conditioner through the hair, quick scrub of body.
No need for a totally full shower since I just took one.
When the water stops, the room breathes steam. I reach for two towels through the glass and hand her one, wrapping the other at my waist. I step out and go to the cabinet, grabbing a third towel for her hair. Then a spare toothbrush for her. The small stuff matters.
I duck into the closet, grab her a soft, worn band tee—one that is short on me—and come back.
She pulls it over her head and shakes her hair out of the towel.
She’s all clean skin and wet gold, her hair still dripping from the shower, leaving dark patches on the light colored band tee I gave her to wear.
It clings to her curves and hits just below the crease where thigh meets hip, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of what lies beneath with every slight movement.
My dick has opinions, jumping slightly every time I see a sliver of her smooth, firm, cheeks.
I set my jaw and hang the towels instead of bending her over the counter like every cell is ordering me to.
Boxer briefs for me. Lights low. She eyes me again, but not in a way that screams she wants to jump on me again.
She studies my tattoos, reaching out a finger and raking it down one of the blacked out portions on my forearm.
Then she moves on to the ones covering my chest, running her hand lightly over my chest hair.
It feels, intimate. I let her finish exploring me before I take her hand, lead her back to bed, and pull her into my chest. She nestles in like we’ve done it a hundred nights.
Good. I hold her there and breathe her in until her weight goes slack.
She’s asleep before my eyes close, but I’m not far behind.
My alarm bleats from the bathroom at five in the morning because Past Me is an idiot.
I peel one arm out from under her inch by inch.
She’s starfished across my mattress, blanket strangled around one ankle, an arm flung over my ribs like she’s keeping me in place.
I slide free without waking her, kill the alarm, take a leak, and grab sweats and a cutoff.
When I step into the hall, the house is already breathing. Of course it is. I follow the smell of coffee.
Joshua and Corver are at the kitchen island—hoodies, bare feet, open laptops. Sam’s there too in borrowed clothes, hair a mess that screams “slept on a sofa I didn’t mean to.” Although, I’m not sure where he slept exactly. Joshua lifts the pot toward me.
“Coffee?” he asks.
I nod. He pours. I wrap both hands around my favorite mug and inhale the burn.
“Sleep good?” I ask, meaning no intruders, no ghosts of the past, no blood on the floor.
Grunts all around. Good enough.
“Not great,” says Corver. We all look at him. We know why.
“Did you get any sleep?” Joshua smirks. He’s begging for it.
“Yes, you dick.” I jerk my head toward Sam. “Her brother is sitting right here.”
Sam stares up at the ceiling, visibly praying for the drywall to swallow him whole.
“Oh. Sorry, man,” Josh mutters, bumping him with an elbow. Sam returns the favor with interest. Worth it.
I set the mug down. “Where are we with Natasha?”
Corver already has the laptop spinning. “Your best friend’s encrypted servers got the video to Sam’s father. I can’t track Gavin. I can’t track her. Nothing. I want her out.” His voice is tight, clipped, controlled rage. “We need to get her out, Brenden. Now.”
“I’m in complete agreement,” I say. “But we need eyes. Call Arnie. See what he can drag out of the shadows.”
Arnie’s the brain—MIT freak who likes puzzles more than people.
He and Corver run point on the data side when we hunt.
Joshua has Gunnar for the other things. Gunnar’s a good man with bad methods.
We met him back when we first started the backdoor gig.
He was on a similar job and we crossed paths.
He is ex-Army. SpecOps. The guy is nuts, but genuine as fuck.
The kind of guy that’s hard to come by in this world.
I wouldn’t cross him for a kingdom, though.
“On it,” Corver says, already walking to his office. “Text him a heads-up. I’m going to chew the line.”
I pull my phone and type out a message to Arnie.
I set the phone down and hit the fridge, grabbing out all the supplies for a proper feast. If we’re going to be under the same roof for a while, we’re eating like soldiers before a fight.
Skillets go down. Flame up. Coffee brews a second pot while I run point on breakfast. By 7:15 the counter is a lineup—scrambles, crispy bacon, sausage links, toast, hot sauce, buttered jam, refilled cups.
Richie shuffles in with Selene—both wearing Corver’s clothes like pilfering raccoons. They look wrecked.
“Morning,” I say. “Coffee? Breakfast? Both?”
Selene grumbles. Richie answers for them. “Coffee first, brekky second. Us girls gotta wake up before we can eat.” He winks at me, and I just smirk back. This guy is actually really funny.
I pour. Let them make bad decisions with caffeine before food. Not my stomach.
Once they down their liquid life, they eat. The living room swallows them. Joshua and Sam take the sofa; Selene drapes across the chair by the window like a cat in a sunbeam. The windows throw that big Seattle gray light across everything, and for a minute, it almost looks like a normal morning.
At 7:35, Alisha staggers out, hair like a storm cloud. Sam moves so fast he nearly dumps his coffee onto the floor.
“You good, Lish? You want breakfast? Coffee? Hair of the dog?” Sam fusses, already building a plate.
She swats his arm, eyes half closed but smiling. “Yes. All.”
I sip coffee and look at the hall. Door still closed. Quiet. The room feels wrong without her in it. My bed smells like her. My shirt smells like her. I want the rest of the apartment to catch up.
I am not a patient man by nature. But for her, I can be.
My phone vibrates on the counter and I pick it up. A reply from Arnie.
I grunt. “If Gavin wants a war, he picked the wrong coast.”
Joshua nods into his mug. “We’ll hit what we can see and make the rest visible.”
“Good,” I say. “We keep June under glass. We keep Surry here until her father finalizes the move. We are not the soft target.”
“Already doubled cams, changed door pins, and set the garage to manual overrides only,” Corver calls from his office. “Nobody gets in without a voice and a gun aimed at them.”
My jaw loosens a fraction. That’s our system: one hand builds, one hand breaks, both hands protect.
Now I just need her to wake up.
Just at that moment, I hear slight movement down the hall. A door closes, and I hear feet shuffling along the wooden floors.
I lean back against the counter, fold my arms over my chest, and wait for the woman who fell asleep on me to walk into my kitchen like she belongs there.
Because she does.
And I plan to make sure she never forgets it.