Chapter 8
The parking garage beneath the Obsidian is a maze of concrete and shadows, the kind of place where conversations happen that can’t happen anywhere else. I’m heading to my bike to leave when I hear the distinctive purr of an expensive engine echoing off the walls.
A silver Aston Martin slides into view, its headlights cutting through the gloom like predatory eyes. The engine dies, and Kieran Frost emerges with the kind of casual elegance that makes expensive suits look effortless.
Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, he’s beautiful in that sharp-edged way that makes people stop and stare.
Tonight, he’s traded his usual business attire for dark jeans and a black henley that clings to his lean frame, making him look younger, more dangerous, and infinitely more appealing than I want to admit.
“Interesting place for a social call,” I say, not moving toward him.
“Is that what this is?” He approaches slowly, his hands visible and empty, a gesture of peace that somehow feels more threatening than if he’d been armed. “I was under the impression we were past social calls.”
“What do you want, Kieran?”
“To talk. Without an audience, without interruptions, without Dom hovering like an overprotective shadow.” He stops just outside my personal space.
I hate that I can recognize the smell of his cologne now…
and that the scent makes my pulse spike despite my better judgment. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You have two.”
His sharp smile turns appreciative. “Efficient. I like that.” The humor fades quickly, replaced by something more serious. “I know you think my family is involved in your father’s death.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice. “And?”
“And it’s not the whole truth.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to tell me your family had nothing to do with it? That Jacek Kowalski acted alone?” I cross my arms, putting up barriers between us. “Save your breath. I’ve seen the evidence.”
“Have you? Or have you seen what Marcus wanted you to see?”
The question hangs in the air like a challenge. There’s something in Kieran’s ice-blue eyes that makes me pause, something that looks almost like… sincerity? But sincerity from a Frost is like promises from the devil—beautiful, compelling, and absolutely worthless.
“Marcus has no reason to lie to me.”
“Doesn’t he?” Kieran steps closer, and I hate the way my body responds to his proximity. “He’s been watching you for years, Raven, even while you were off and hiding. He was waiting for the perfect moment to bring you back into play. Don’t you find that even a little suspicious?”
“Marcus didn’t kill my father.”
“No, but he’s using your father’s death to manipulate you into a war that benefits him.
” Kieran’s voice drops, becoming more intimate, more dangerous.
“The Sterling Syndicate wasn’t involved in Vincent Blackwood’s assassination.
We had no motive. We were negotiating a territorial agreement that would have benefited both our families. ”
I don’t believe him for one second, but that doesn’t stop me from asking, “Then who—”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, but I can’t do it with you treating me like the enemy.” He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, before his fingers touch my cheek. “I’m not your enemy, Raven. I never was.”
The contact sends electricity shooting through me, and I hate myself for the way I lean into it. “Your family destroyed mine.”
“My father barely knew yours existed. We ran in different circles, handled different territories. The only connection between our families was…” He pauses, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “Was you.”
“Me?”
“I recognized you the moment you walked into that fight club.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you for five years, Raven. Ever since you disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because you were supposed to be mine.”
The words are possessive, territorial, and completely insane. They should make me angry, should make me pull away and remind him that I’m not property to be claimed. Instead, they send heat spiraling through my chest in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.
“I was eighteen—”
“You were perfect. Smart, fierce, beautiful, and completely unimpressed by anything I had to offer.” His smile is self-deprecating. “Do you have any idea how rare that is in my world?”
“Kieran—”
“I was going to ask you to marry me.”
I gasp. “What?”
“After graduation. I had it all planned out—the ring, the proposal, the way I was going to convince your father that a partnership between our families was worth considering.” His laugh is bitter, self-mocking. “I was twenty-two and stupid enough to believe in fairy tales.”
“My father never would have agreed to that.”
“Maybe not, but I would have kept trying until he did or until you told me to stop.” His hands slide down to my shoulders, steadying me more than I wish he needed to.
“Then you disappeared, and I thought… I thought maybe your father had found out about my intentions and sent you away to protect you from me.”
The vulnerability in his voice is unexpected, raw in a way that cuts through my defenses. This isn’t the polished businessman or ruthless heir. This is just Kieran, stripped of his armor and admitting to dreams he never got the chance to pursue.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
“I’ve never lied to you. Not once.” He leans closer, his forehead almost touching mine. “I won’t start now.”
“Then tell me who killed my father.”
“I don’t know, but I swear to you on everything I hold sacred that it wasn’t my family. We had no reason to want Vincent dead and every reason to want him alive.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Help me find out who really did this. Work with me instead of against me.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because,” he says simply, “I’m the only one who’s being honest with you.”
The garage falls silent except for the distant hum of ventilation and the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
Kieran is close enough that I can see the silver flecks in his blue eyes.
He’s far too close. Closer than Dom had been.
If I wanted to, I could lean forward slightly and kiss him.
It would be a way to play him, to try to get close and see if he’s telling me the truth or not.
But I can’t bring myself to.
“This is insane,” I breathe.
“Probably.” His smile is crooked, almost boyish. “But insanity seems to be going around lately.”
Before I can think better of it, before rational thought can interfere, I do take that risk and close the distance between us.
Kissing Kieran is like stepping off a cliff.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating and completely irreversible.
Where Dom was consuming fire and Axel was electric chaos, Kieran is controlled intensity, like lightning captured in a bottle.
His mouth moves against mine with practiced skill, but there’s something desperate underneath the technique, something that tastes like years of wanting and waiting.
His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and I respond. This is madness, complete and utter madness, but I can’t seem to stop myself from drowning in the taste and feel of him.
When he backs me against the concrete pillar, I should protest. When his body presses against mine, I should push him away. When he pushes his tongue into my mouth and I moan softly, I should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I pull him closer and even grind against his hard cock through our clothes.
“Raven,” he breathes against my mouth, my name a prayer and a curse. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long.”
The confession breaks the spell like ice water thrown to my face. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of where we are, what we’re doing, and how catastrophically stupid I’m being.
Dom. Axel. Now Kieran. What am I doing? I came back for vengeance, not this swirl of heat and hands and conflicting truths.
I shove him away hard enough that he stumbles backward, his eyes wide with surprise and lingering heat.
“This was a mistake,” I say, my voice shaky.
“Was it?”
“You’re a Frost. I’m a Blackwood. Our families—”
“Our families have nothing to do with what just happened between us.” He straightens his shirt, but his eyes never leave mine. “That was just you and me, Raven. Nothing else.”
“There is no just you and me. There’s history and blood, and five years of—”
“Five years of what? Grief? Rage? A thirst for revenge that’s eating you alive?” He steps closer again, and I have to fight the urge to back away. “When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to? When was the last time you let yourself feel something other than anger?”
He makes excellent points, but I can’t let him see that weakness. “You don’t know anything about what I feel.”
“Don’t I?” His smile is sad, knowing. “I know what it’s like to be trapped by expectations, by legacy, by the weight of a name you never asked to carry. I know what it’s like to want something so badly it physically hurts, only to have it snatched away by circumstances beyond your control.”
“Stop.”
“I know what it’s like to lie awake at night wondering what if, to see someone across a crowded room and feel your whole world shift—”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharper, more desperate. “Just… stop.”
He goes quiet, watching me with those penetrating blue eyes that seem to see straight through every defense I’ve carefully constructed. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths and impossible possibilities.
“I can’t… I won’t forget what I came back for.”
“Maybe you can have more than just what you came back for.”
I blow out a breath. “I should go,” I finally manage.
“Should. There’s that word again.” But he doesn’t try to stop me as I move toward my bike. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”
I pause, my hand on the bike’s handlebar. “You should.”
“Probably, but I’ve spent five years regretting things I didn’t do. I’m tired of that particular brand of self-torture.”
I swing my leg over the bike, needing the familiar weight and power beneath me to anchor myself in reality. “Stay away from me, Kieran.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. When he does, his voice is soft, almost vulnerable. “Because you’re the only real thing left in my world. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—Marcus, Dom, Axel, or the ghosts of our fathers—take that away from me again.”
The engine roars to life beneath me, drowning out whatever response I might have made. As I tear out of the parking garage and into the neon-lit chaos of the city streets, I can feel Kieran’s eyes following me until I disappear into the night.
Three kisses. Three men. And I swore I wasn’t here for this.
First, Marcus tells me one truth. Now, Kieran tells me another. Only one of them can be right. Or worse, both of them are lying.
Or maybe they don’t even know the truth and only think they do.
Even as I put distance between us, I can still taste Kieran on my lips and feel the phantom pressure of his hands in my hair. Every rational thought screams that I’ve just made everything infinitely more complicated, but part of me—a traitorous, dangerous part—wants to turn around and go back.
For just a moment in that concrete tomb, I hadn’t felt like Vincent Blackwood’s daughter or a weapon shaped by grief and rage.
I felt like just Raven.