Chapter 16 Nic
SIXTEEN
NIC
My back is screaming. I shift my hips, trying to find a better position, but something digs straight into my kidney.
Fuck.
This couch is going to be the death of me.
I scrub a hand over my face and stare up at the ceiling, blinking the grit out of my eyes.
My office is barely more than a box with a window, a desk, and this fucking couch designed by Satan. I haven’t slept a full night since I brought Keeley to the clubhouse because of that fucking torture device.
But I’ll take the rough sleep and the twisted spine. Because while I’m scrunched up on my couch, Keeley’s in my room, in my bed, with a lockable door.
That keeps her breathing easy.
Which means I can too, or at least pretend to.
When I kissed her yesterday, it felt like all the pieces I didn’t know were missing fell into place.
Yeah, she’s under my skin, embedded somewhere so deep there’s no clean edge where she ends and I begin. That kiss didn’t change that. It just confirmed what I already knew and made it harder to pretend I don’t feel it.
From the second I found her in that cage, I’ve gravitated toward her like a magnetic pull. I didn’t realise how far gone I was until I caught myself rearranging my days around her without thinking.
For the last two weeks, I’ve hovered worse than a fucking helicopter. I’ve watched her eat, checked she slept, and made sure she healed—all while fighting against the monsters coming for her.
Fucking Morozov.
I’ve unlocked some pieces of his world—shells, businesses, things that keep his hands clean. The money trail is proving fucking annoying. I ain’t cracked that yet, but the main problem is Morozov himself.
The bastard is a fucking ghost.
I can see and touch the edges of his operation, but the man himself? Nowhere to be found.
I’ve called in more favours and markers than I can count trying to trace him, but it’s easy to disappear when you have the resources of a fucking country behind you.
Still, I fire off a few more messages, hoping someone kicks over a rock somewhere and he scuttles out.
It’s been four days since he called. Four fucking days.
The silence doesn’t feel like peace or relief. It’s loaded.
Something is building. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. It’s that same instinct that’s kept me alive this long, even when I was staring death in the face. When whatever it is finally hits, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a fucking shitstorm.
Maybe it’s a strategy, an attempt to unsettle me. Maybe Morozov thinks he can push me until I fold.
He’s wrong. There’s no fucking scenario where I hand Keeley over to him.
Not one.
I’d take every cut, every bruise, every broken bone if it keeps her out of his hands. And Morozov will learn that the hard way.
Because I’ve tasted her now, felt the way her body fits against mine like it was always meant to be there. Something inside me snapped tight the second her mouth met mine.
And it wasn’t enough. I want more.
Stolen kisses, lazy mornings with her tangled in my arms, the sound of her laughing in the kitchen while she gives me shit about burning toast.
I didn’t know it could feel like this. Didn’t understand it before. Couldn’t figure out why my brothers fell so fast, so fucking hard for their women.
Now, I do.
I didn’t know it could feel this way, like the world only clicks into place when I see her. That calm certainty my brothers carry when their women are near makes sense now, because the moment Keeley’s in the room, I’m drawn to her the same way.
I want to kiss her until we’re fused together, and when she’s ready, I want to sink into her heat while I call her mine and fuck her until she’s moaning my name.
I’m already planning a life I didn’t think I’d get to have and the weirdest thing is it doesn’t feel like chains, but freedom.
I want to give her everything good she deserves, and that her dickhead brother made her doubt.
Keeley’s future won’t be filled with fear. She ain’t spending another second dodging Blade’s fuck ups or men who think they own her.
I’ll build her something better than that.
With me.
A future where she sleeps easy and cages, deals, and buyers are nothing but a bad fucking memory.
I’ve never wanted to give anyone that before, but I do with her. I want a life where her tears are the happy kind, and if they’re not, I’ll kiss them away and kick the shit out of whoever made them fall.
Fuck. I’m gone for her.
So fucking gone.
My phone vibrates. Unknown number. I know who is going to be on the other end of the phone before I answer it.
“Figured you’d be smart enough not to call me twice,” I say before he can speak a word.
The silence drags between us, and then he says, “You still have my property, Phoenix.”
My free hand curls into a fist, and a dark anger rises in my chest.
He’s got balls to say that when the memory of Keeley’s mouth is still imprinted on mine.
I exhale, forcing calm into every muscle. I don’t have the luxury of losing my shit, even though it would feel good. Every decision I make ripples out like a stone hitting water, most of which will hit Keeley directly. I have to keep control.
“You dial the wrong number? ‘Cause we’ve already had this conversation, Morozov. Ain’t lookin’ for a repeat.”
“I’ve given you four days to hand her over to me,” he says in that smug voice that makes me want to put him through a wall. Maybe I’ll do that when I get hold of him. “Four days. I do not have the girl or compensation for my losses. And now, I’m upset.”
Not as fucking pissed as I am.
I grip the phone so tight my hand hurts.
Be calm.
Years of practice means my voice settles into something measured and controlled when I speak again. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s under my skin. “Get used to that feelin’. You ain’t havin’ her, and I already told you what would happen if you try to take her.”
I’d been pretty explicit, but if Morozov needs a fucking reminder, I’ll give him one.
He huffs a breath. “Phoenix, you seem to be under the illusion that this is a negotiation. That you have… power. You don’t. I want Miss West. I’m owed Miss West.”
Fucking prick. The way he talks about her, as if Keeley’s something boxed and waiting for dispatch. She’s not a person to him. She’s a line item.
I want Morozov’s head. I want him to feel my boot on his neck before I take his life.
Slowly, I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under me, and I inhale deeply.
“No.”
He laughs. Fucking laughs. “She belongs to me. I have a buyer lined up, and he’s getting annoyed at the delay. This is business.”
Images flash through my mind so fast it’s dizzying. Keeley dragged in a room with strangers. Hands on her. In places they shouldn’t be. Fear in her eyes as they break her down.
I cut it off with savage precision.
Fuck. That.
Morozov can’t have her. Keeley’s not a fucking commodity. She’s mine and not because I own her, but because the second she kissed me back, I knew I’d fucking burn everything down for her.
I keep thinking about the way she looked after I pulled back. Her lips were swollen and her eyes dazed, but it was the confusion that got me. She didn’t understand why I was kissing her and that’s something I’m going to fix.
Because Keeley doesn’t see what I do. She doesn’t understand what it does to me every time she laughs or makes that little snort when she’s overexcited. Or how I felt when she was whimpering against my lips when I kissed her in the courtyard.
I’ve barely touched her yet and I’m so fucking gone for her.
Everything about her lights me up, even her weird rules about food. All the random shit she says sticks in my head.
And that’s why she’s mine. My fucking sunshine.
Morozov thinks he can take her? Steal her freedom, her choices? Her life? This cunt has balls, I’ll give him that.
But I’ll kill Morozov, his buyer—anyone who thinks they have a claim on her—before I allow them to touch her.
I exhale through my nose as the rage builds inside me. “You tell your buyer the only thing he’s gettin’ is a fuckin’ body bag, and that’s if I’m feelin’ generous.”
His anger snaps then. “Hand her over, brat, and maybe I’ll leave some of your club standing. But the girl? I can’t promise she’ll be intact once my buyer is done with her.”
The ugliness of what he just said pushes through the cracks in my restraint. Red spills across my vision, white-hot rage pounding through my veins.
Motherfucker.
“I’m goin’ to kill you,” I say, dropping my voice into something lethal. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care how much money you’ve got or which politicians owe you. I’m comin’ for you.”
“Phoen—” He starts to speak, but I cut him off. I don’t want to hear another fucking word from him.
“And as for Keeley?” My grip tightens on the phone. “She ain’t yours. She’ll never be yours. And you ain’t gonna live long enough to cash in that fuckin’ deal.”
He falls silent and I let it pulse between us. Let him choke on my threat.
“Kak rebyonok. I warned you what would happen if you didn’t give me her back,” he says.
“You said a lot of shit in that call. None of it fuckin’ worth listenin’ to.”
“Just remember, brat. I gave you the chance to make this right. You didn’t. Now, you’ll pay for that.” He pauses. “I hope your men are awake. The next few minutes are going to test them.”
The line goes dead, and the threat suffocates the room. For a split second, everything is quiet, still in that eerie way things are before a storm hits.
Morozov’s here.
He’s gonna hit us.
He’s coming for Keeley.
All the air leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched. I lurch to my feet, gripping the edge of the desk when my steps stutter. My mind is jumping, thoughts chaotic. It’s a bluff. It has to be. He wouldn’t hit the clubhouse.
Not here. Not now.
My pulse kicks violently.
Where’s Keeley?
I need eyes on her. Now.
My chest seizes and every instinct I have goes wild.
If he touches her—
No, I shut it down before that thought chokes me. I shove the office door open and sprint. My boots are lead weights. I can feel my pulse roaring in my throat.
Move. Move. Move.
My lungs burn when I hit the door into the bar and burst inside. I’m expecting blood and chaos.
The room is… quiet.
Not silent, but not under attack either.
Diesel glances at me from where he’s seated at the bar. Riot too. One of them says something to me, but I ignore them.
I ignore everything but her.
Keeley’s sitting with the women, laughing. Her hair falls over her shoulder, and she looks… easy. For the first time in days, she’s not wrestling shadows or fighting her own guilt.
Relief floods me, sharp and raw.
For a heartbeat, I let myself breathe.
She’s okay. She’s—
A crack tears through the air. Then another. Short, sharp and brutal. Glass shatters, and a scream punches through the noise.
“Down!” someone bellows, even as the room erupts into chaos.
Bodies move, ducking behind tables, getting low. Everyone but her.
Keeley’s eyes lock on mine, not wide with terror like they should be. Confused. She hasn’t clocked what’s happening.
Adrenaline burns through my veins, fear clogging my lungs as gunfire rips through the windows. The room feels smaller, tighter. Wrong in every way, because she’s not ducking for cover.
She’s just—frozen.
I lunge, my body reacting before my mind catches up.
“Keeley!” Her names tears out of me in a strangled rasp.
I slam into a table, sending it skidding. It doesn’t slow me. There’s only one fucking thought in my head. Reaching her.
I close the space between us faster than I have any right to and rip her out of her seat an instant before the window behind her explodes.