Chapter 25
Corvus
I’m floating.
The last time I’ve allowed myself to drink this much booze was… I don’t exactly know when, but way back in my teens, before the weight of responsibility dropped on my shoulders. But it feels so good now to have only surface-level thoughts as Dalton holds me up.
My abdomen and ass ache a bit from the rough fuck without an adequate amount of lube, but the soreness feels like a never-ending caress, a reminder that I’m not alone for once. That Dalton’s not going anywhere.
I should be embarrassed and self-conscious about letting him do me in a place where someone could walk in on us, in the winter cold, and with filth surrounding us on all sides, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exhilarated.
I want to tell him.
But before I get to open my mouth, Dalton violently pulls me away from the wall. The pants pooling at my ankles threaten to cut my feet from under me, but none of that matters when the brick explodes where my head has just been.
The sound of the muffled gunshot still pounds in my head as we drop behind a metal dumpster.
Dreaded sobriety sets in as my heart starts pounding, and I can’t pull my pants up fast enough.
Dalton is still busy zipping up as well, eyes frantic as he scans our surroundings, but the attack comes from the side this time.
A masked man in black tries to stab Dalton, but he jumps to his feet, already grabbing the guy’s wrist. It happens so swiftly my drunk mind can barely keep up.
Dalton is like a charging bear. He twists attackers wrist back and forces him into a hold, but then with a roar like I’ve never heard him make before, he breaks the man’s arm with a nasty crack that finally wakes me up.
I pull my knife out on autopilot. I didn’t take a gun to the club for my bachelor party, but I never leave without a knife and poison. They will save us now.
The ease with which my fiancé broke this man’s ulna and radius keeps replaying at the back of my mind, along with the noise resembling the moment a spoon breaks through the burnt sugar topping a creme br?lée, only magnified tenfold.
It’s terrifying, yet I can’t help being turned on by the proficient way he leapt into action less than a minute after emptying his balls inside me.
Maybe it’s the booze, but I suddenly have the profound need to have his cum inside me too.
My curved knife cuts through the flesh just under the fucker’s Adam’s apple with the same ease a chef dices beef. The tart odor of blood is overpowering for just a moment.
Still in Dalton’s grasp, he twitches, head jerking back, and it splashes Dalton’s face before he can let go. I did sometimes wonder what Dalton’s other life was like. Not the one in which he brings me coffee in bed, but the one in which his father set him up for fights to the death.
Now I know. Dalton’s face dripping blood, sharp focus in his eyes as though he’s a predator on the prowl for the next throat to rip open.
“What the—” he starts, glancing at me, but then a man zip-lines down the wall right next to us. This must be the fuck who shot before.
The decision comes as easily as breathing, and I reach into my pocket, to the syringe disguised as a small pen.
If someone wants to attack me in retaliation for whatever I unleashed on another person previously, or because I’m a Van der Horn, I need to know the details, and that won’t happen if by the end of the night both bodies lay in a pool of blood at my feet.
With the knife in one hand and the tranquilizer in the other, I stumble forward. The alcohol in my veins is now my biggest enemy, and if I can’t keep it in check, Dalton and I could be hurt or worse—left without answers.
Why didn’t he shoot? He must have had more than one bullet.
I don’t have time to assess any of that as a third man charges at Dalton from the side.
“Motherfucker!” he yells as he topples Dalton to the ground and they both roll off a trash bag.
Dalton uses the momentum to flip them further, and thanks to that proficient move, he’s on top.
He grabs a bottle that’s spilled out of the trash and smashes it into the attacker’s face.
It breaks after the third blow, glass sinking into the bastard’s eye, but by this point, our assaillant’s entire face is a caved-in mess of flesh and bone.
All this happens so fast I almost miss the moment the man zipping down the building gets low enough for me to stab. The hidden needle sinks deep into muscle, no doubt depositing the entire dose, but once the bastard lets go of the line and lands on the ground, a big bore pistol swings in my face.
I knock it away, flinching when the gun goes off, sending a bullet to places unknown.
Are there any more of them? Where exactly is Dalton?
I can’t assess any of this, because when push comes to shove, it’s me against this guy who could still kill me before the tranquilizer kicks in. My training hasn’t been for nothing, I manage to lock in a grapple with him, kick his balls, but the fuck just won’t give.
What is probably seconds feels like a lifetime, but then my angel of wrath is there, and with a roar of fury, pulls the guy off me. Dalton all but throws him at the wall, and is about to punch him in the face when I grab his arm.
“No! He’ll sleep soon! We need him.”
Obedient as if he’s my hellhound, Dalton grabs the guy by the arms in an unyielding hold.
I don’t even know when the gun ended up on the ground, but the fucker isn’t holding it anymore.
I look around and listen, searching for any other company we might have, and when something shuffles nearby, I illuminate it with the glow of the flashlight built into my watch.
It’s only a really big rat though.
The willpower that let me survive the encounter drains from my body now that the danger’s over, and I lean against the wall, watching the dark silhouette of my Dalton while the man we captured struggles weakly in his hold, muttering something about ‘telling us nothing’.
But he will.
I have my ways to make any person talk.
Finally, the man zones out and Dalton lets him slide to the ground. He takes a few deep breaths as he looks around to take in the carnage. “Fuck! What the fuck? What just happened? What do we do about the bodies? Should I put them in the dumpster?”
Even now, covered in blood, he looks to me for guidance, and I kinda love that. It gives me peace to be the one in charge instead of having one more problem to handle.
“It’s fine, we’ll deal with it,” I assure him with a slur that makes everything I say sound a little bit ridiculous.
Dalton doesn’t seem to mind though, and lets me have a look at him with the flashlight. “The bullet… it didn’t hit you, did it?” I ask, trying to keep as clear a head as I can in my current state.
He looks at his own body, but with the adrenaline surely rushing in his veins, I’m not even surprised. “No. What about you? Are you okay?” he asks, cupping my face as if I’m some precious thing, and I find myself leaning into his touch, my hands resting on his firm chest.
“I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
He pulls me in for a hug with the same strong arms that broke bones minutes ago. Is it wrong that it makes me feel safer around him? Sure, I can handle myself, but he also carries his own weight so I don’t have to worry about him.
He’s such a magnificent beast. My beast.
“I’ll always have your back.” Dalton says and kisses the side of my head, triggering an electric reaction spreading all over my skin. It’s been years since someone was truly in my corner. Family always supports me when it matters, yes, but that’s because of who I am.
An asset.
The deadly, ever-patient torturer and poison-maker.
A relative who needs to be protected whether my company is appreciated or not.
But Dalton… Dalton is here for the Corvus no one else knows, that bit of me I keep hidden within the walls of my home, and which even my mother doesn’t get to see.
I swallow, pressing my forehead to his as a choking sensation rises in my chest.
“We should call for backup,” I say to fight off all the mushy feelings. There’s no time for them.
I assess the situation once more, instruct Dalton to tie the unconscious man’s hands, just in case, and call… Remo. Since he’s the closest person to help. Guess we didn’t escape that far after all.
I hope I’ll stop slurring by the time he comes down here.
I shouldn’t like watching Dalton tie a man’s hands this much, because it awakens fantasies not meant for me. A wedding night treat though…?
The door from the club slams open.
Dalton jumps to his feet as if he’s ready to fight again, but it’s just Remo… and Aspen? Jesus fucking Christ. Does he have nothing better to do?
Aspen grins at us from ear to ear, red from all the booze he’s had. “I kissed one of the strippers!” he announces like it’s a badge of honor as he stumbles outside. Then his gaze lands on the caved-in face of the man Dalton ended, and he vomits.
Remo drags a hand over his face. “I told you to stay! You’re leaving your DNA everywhere.”
Aspen retches once more. “I’m fine, it’s just the booze. I wanted to see the action.”
The sight of puke instantly gets to me, and I cover my face with my fist, looking away.
Remo laughs. “Really, Corvus? You out of all people are afraid of a little stomach juice?”
Somehow, those last few words make it worse, and I worry my DNA will join Aspen’s on the damn ground.
“See? It’s not just me,” but then he turns to the one attacker still alive, “Why is this one tied?” my youngest cousin mumbles, finally back in control of his digestive tract.
I exhale and rub Dalton’s arm as my gaze drifts to the man I knocked out. The used syringe has fallen off him, so I pick it up, in case Remo’s people miss it during the cleanup.
“He’s going with us. He will talk.”