Chapter 11
Leilani
Despite its size, Koby’s place is suffocating. Even though I’m not a prisoner here. The doors aren’t locked, there are no cameras watching my every move. I can leave whenever I want.
And yet, I still feel trapped.
Or maybe isolated fits better.
Koby leaves early in the morning and comes back late at night, so I’m constantly alone with my thoughts.
He offered to invite the girls over, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.
Not yet, not while I’m so unpredictable, snapping at the smallest triggers.
Especially when Koby says something that rings dangerously close to Anton’s words.
The FaceTime call was postponed, but it’s looming closer again, and knowing I’ll be facing him this Saturday doesn’t help.
The closer it gets, the more restless I become.
I can’t sit still. I’ve scrubbed the counters three times today.
I washed a clean plate and rearranged the cutlery drawer, then put it back the way it was half an hour later.
I’ve grabbed my suitcase at least a dozen times over the past few days, ready to run, but I put it away every time. Deep down I know I’m safer here than anywhere else.
I just have to grit my teeth and stay put until Carter finalizes his plan. Once the Grey brothers disappear, I’ll be free to leave. Free to choose a new life.
Koby promised Anton won’t get his hands on me again. That I won’t end up under lock and key, stripped of my choices and autonomy.
I believe him.
I trust him more than anyone else in my life. More than Carter whom I’ve known for years.
Koby’s earned my trust through small, powerful gestures. He leaves the front door key exactly where we agreed. He gives me space when I need it, and watches his words, stepping around any he knows would ignite my fuse.
He’s learning the hard way which to avoid.
He’s sweet, considerate, and it stokes the guilt swirling inside me whenever I lash out.
I can’t control it, but I hate the moment I snap out of it and find new bruises and scratches marking his skin.
It was different with Octavius, Blaze, and Jax. I didn’t care what I did to them. I wanted to hurt them. I meant every scratch, every punch, and didn’t feel bad.
It’s different with Koby. I hate hurting him... and I hate that he sees me when I’m so unstable.
The bruise on his jaw from when I clocked him on Carter’s driveway is still healing, a shadow now, but it draws my attention when he talks. It makes my stomach twist, a constant reminder of my insanity.
I haven’t lost it quite as badly since, but I’ve broken a few things around the house in hissy fits, and I’m not sure whether I love or hate how Koby reacts to my outbursts. There’s no anger, no disappointment.
He looks at me with burning hunger.
I think my violence turns him on.
Whenever I snap, his eyes come alive, jaw clenches, hands ball into fists like he’s doing his best to hold back but secretly wants to pin me to the floor and fuck me senseless.
I wish he would...
I wish he’d show me what’s hiding behind his restraint. I want his weight pressing into mine. His breath hot against my neck, his big hands rough where I need them most.
At first, I thought the butterflies flapping around in my stomach whenever he’s near were adrenaline. Leftover survival instincts confusing attraction with proximity.
But it’s not that. It’s him. His scent, his body, the way his voice heats my blood and makes my thighs clench. I can’t be in the same room with him without imagining his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth on mine, his cock inside me, fucking me until I forget the world.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Koby asks, looking over his shoulder across the kitchen.
He’s making himself a snack, even though I made him breakfast less than an hour ago. The man is a walking furnace, always hungry. It’s absurd that he looks the way he does, muscles on top of muscles, lethal lines, and broad shoulders, while stuffing food into his mouth at every opportunity.
I finish my coffee, setting the cup aside. “That I’m not far off exploding,” I admit, dropping my face into my hands. “How much longer before Carter deals with Octavius?”
“A while.” There’s a pause. “You’ve been here five days, hellcat, and you’re already running out of patience?” A stool scrapes along the tile. I don’t lift my head, but I feel Koby move closer as he sits down. “These things take time. He wants a solid plan before we make a move.”
“Didn’t you say he stormed Noretto’s estate without a plan when Hailey was there?”
“That was different.” A plate lands on the marble countertop. “Carter didn’t care if he lived or died back then. He wanted her out at all costs. Now he’s cautious. He won’t risk his future with her.”
The smell of oranges, sharp and fresh, hits my nose like a ton of bricks. I freeze, my lungs stalling halfway through a breath. I grip the counter with both hands, watching Koby peel the fruit right in front of my fucking face. My world shrinks to the quiet squish of him separating the segments.
It’s just fruit.
Just an orange.
But my stomach turns, and my vision narrows in on the citrus.
“Want a slice?” he asks, holding one out.
The ground slips from under my feet. I fall like Alice down the rabbit hole; only my Wonderland is four walls and a man killing me slowly with soft words.
“Open. Come on, sweetie.”
Nausea rolls through my stomach. The stool scrapes back. I stand, my ears ringing.
“Leilani, I said open.”
I swat his hand so hard the orange slice splats against the cabinet.
“Fuck. Leilani...”
He catches my wrist, spins me around, and my cheek hits his chest seconds before his arms circle my back, holding me in place.
Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!
I start swinging, landing my fists on his chest, ribs, stomach.
“Leilani.”
“Oh, sweet girl. That’s disappointing.”
I thrash harder, fighting to break free, but it’s not working. My nails break skin; teeth sink into t-shirt-clad flesh.
Let go, let go!
He doesn’t, he holds me tighter. Panic crawls up my spine, adrenaline levels hitting Everest heights. I twist and turn, throwing my elbow hard enough it hurts me. I can’t tell where I’m hitting. My lungs won’t work. My pulse is everywhere.
“You need structure. Consequences.”
“Leilani.” Warm breath skitters along my ear and long fingers comb my hair, pushing my face into the crook of his neck. “Shh, calm down. Breathe.”
I hold it as long as possible before I inhale...
And everything shifts. The scent is all wrong. Anton smells like gray soap, baby powder, and antiseptic, not smoke, leather, and expensive cologne.
The fight sputters out of me one reaction at a time. My fists go limp, then my knees buckle, and I fold into Koby like I’m melting from the inside out.
“There you are,” he says in my ear. “It’s just me. He’s not here. You’re okay.” He kisses my temple, cradling me closer, one hand stroking my back in slow, calming circles, the other fisting my hair. “No oranges. Noted.”
“I thought...” My voice cracks as adrenaline gushes out of me. I burrow into him further, waiting for my brain and the rest of my body to catch up and relax. “I thought I was back there.”
“I know. I know, baby, but you’re not. You’re with me. You’re never going back there.”
I don’t know if I want to cry, scream, or kiss him. Maybe all three. I inch away enough to look at him and immediately regret it. Tiny beads of blood cover long, red scratches.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to—” I swallow hard, shame and guilt rip through me when I spot the angry bite mark peeking from his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You were fighting a threat.”
“You’re not a threat!”
“No, but you didn’t see me.” His eyes bore into mine, and the calm in them only makes it worse. “I told you before. I’d rather see you fight than cower away.” A maddening, toe-curling smile tugs his lips as he runs his knuckles along my jaw. “I can take it.”
More apologies beeline on the tip of my tongue. I swallow them all because the damage is done. Words won’t fix this, but actions might.
“Let’s clean you up,” I say.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I catch his wrist, leading him into the bathroom.
He doesn’t argue, following me down the hall, words failing us both. The silence between us isn’t awkward. It’s thick with everything that’s happened.
In the bathroom, I pull out the first aid kit and set it on the counter, then motion for him to sit on the edge of the tub. The cuts look worse under the bright lights, angry, red, and raised. My hands tremble as I soak a cotton pad with the antiseptic.
He doesn’t flinch when I dab the first scratch. Of course he doesn’t. Not far from where I scratched him, there’s an old scar. Small, jagged, but close to perfectly round. A bullet wound, if I had to guess. That definitely hurt more than my nails.
“Look at me,” he demands, tipping my head back with two fingers, the intensity in his dark eyes stoking the ever-present fire in my abdomen. “I’m fine.”
“I keep hurting you.”
He smirks. “You’ll find that I don’t mind. You were fighting a ghost and I stepped in your way. I made a conscious decision.”
“You shouldn’t. Next time, stay back and just let me... rage.”
“And risk that you’ll hurt yourself in the process?” His brow lifts slightly. “Not happening. I can handle you spilling my blood, hellcat. But if it’s yours... hell no.”
The tension turns electric, a living thing swelling between us and burrowing deep under my skin.
It cinches around my ribs, then runs lower, pooling in my lower stomach the way it always does when we’re this close.
Whenever I get a whiff of his cologne, feel his hands on me, or his eyes hold mine hostage the way they do now.
Like I’m something he desperately wants but won’t take.
He drops his hand back to his thigh, fingers flexing against the denim when I press a fresh cotton pad to the bite mark on his collarbone.
“This is bad,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”
“I said don’t apologize, didn’t I?”
“I can’t help it. I bit you.” My cheeks pink up. “And I keep wondering what you see when you look at me.”
“What do you think I see?”
Nothing good. Not when I’m losing my shit in such an all-encompassing, volatile way.
I desperately want to believe that the way he watches me, how his voice drops sometimes, and the way his eyes linger on my lips isn’t just a byproduct of my imagination. I hope I’m not making things up, but... what if I am?
I mean, who’d want me?
Who’d want this walking minefield? My head’s a warzone and I keep dragging him into it, hurting him just because he’s close. I’m terrified he thinks I’m beyond repair.
“I don’t know. Probably someone you’re scared to touch. Someone you have to tiptoe around. Someone broken, fragile.”
Koby leans forward, catching my chin and angling my face toward his. “I purposely stand in your way when you rage, lock you in my arms, take your punches, screams, and kicks... and you think I’m scared to touch you?”
He drags his thumb across my lower lip, pressing it into my teeth.
“I’m not scared, hellcat. And you’re not broken.
You’re stronger than you think. I try not to trigger you, but not because I think you’re weak.
You’re raw, and real, and...” His gaze flicks between my eyes and my mouth, burning with something feral, “...you’re worth being careful with. ”
The air around us crackles almost audibly.
My throat tightens. I’m on edge, strung like a tightrope about to snap.
I lift my free hand, sliding it up his abdomen, feeling the warmth and tension there.
My heart beats out of my chest in anticipation as I curl my fingers in the neckline of his t-shirt, daring him to close the distance.
His breath hitches. He stares at me, his chest expanding, the raw hunger clashing with restraint. He doesn’t move, jaw set, fists clenched against his thighs as he holds himself perfectly still...
It hurts more than anything else.
I want him to move and give me something good. Something real. Something that isn’t Anton’s horrifying softness or Octavius’s cold control. I want to know what it feels like to be touched by Koby Maddox. Really touched.
My cheeks flush with a mix of humiliation and arousal as I drop my attention back to the bite mark.
“I hope it doesn’t scar,” I say.
“I hope it does. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is. I’ve survived worse wounds, but...” His gaze drops to my mouth, amusement lacing his tone, “...if you’re that worried, you can kiss it better.” He winks, the words nothing more than a throwaway comment to loosen the tension.
I don’t laugh.
It’s not funny, because I want his lips on mine. His tongue tangling, exploring, his taste exploding on my tongue.
If he won’t make the first move, maybe I should?
His expression shifts like he heard my thoughts. Hunger flickers behind his restraint and he leans in... then jerks back, jaw tight.
“I think a shower will work faster,” he says, snapping the first aid kit shut. “I’ll put everything away.”
The dismissal brings tears to my eyes. I know it’s irrational. I just met him. It’s not serious, only my trauma looking for an outlet, but it still hurts, so I turn and leave.
The last thing I hear before the door shuts behind me is his quiet, strained voice.
“Fuck.”