Chapter Ten
TOREN
I come to with a sigh and slowly blink my eyes open, my throat sore and drier than the fucking desert. I try to swallow my spit to moisten it but it does nothing. I push myself up and frown as I look around.
This is not my room.
I passed out!
I was with Tate and Omen. Memories come flooding back—Xaden and the warehouse, Meekan, Masen and my dad.
Their lips.
Bile rushes up my throat. I’m disgusted.
Even with the sirens in the distance, Caspian made sure not to leave Xaden’s prizes behind and snatched the lips off the cart before rushing out of there.
Images of Meekan and my father’s lips inside his treasure jar run through my mind.
He wants to frame my lips and place them above his bed so he can view them every morning when he wakes.
He wants them to be the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes each night.
I harden my resolve. I can’t let my feelings for Xaden cloud my judgment any longer, I’m useless if I continue to allow them to control my decisions. I need to start thinking of him as my enemy.
I’m woman enough to admit it to myself, I love him.
He thinks love makes you weak, he’s wrong. It can be a driving force that pushes you to excel beyond your wildest imagination. It can be your strength if you allow it to guide you.
I climb out of bed and look around the room, when I find the adjoining bathroom I almost weep with gratitude. There are clothes laid out on the counter for me with some toiletries and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.
I shower and change quickly. The nausea hits before I've even finished drying off.
I grip the edge of the sink and breathe through my nose and wait for it to pass, the way I have learned to wait for it — without panic, without trying to fight it, just riding it out until the wave recedes.
This is the third time this morning. Or what I'm assuming is morning.
I genuinely do not know what time it is or how long I was out or what my body has been doing while I wasn't inside it properly, but whatever it was doing, the pregnancy kept going regardless.
It always does.
I stand at the mirror and look at myself for a moment.
The woman looking back doesn't look like someone who just spent however many hours being detained by the CIA.
She looks like someone who slept badly in the wrong position.
The bruise from Fiona's slap has started to yellow at the edges.
My eyes are clearer than they should be.
I press both hands flat to my stomach.
Still here,
I think it in the direction of the small, determined presence growing inside me that apparently survived a warehouse, a CIA interrogation, dehydration, and twenty-odd hours of unconsciousness without complaint.
Both of us still here.
I let that be enough for a moment.
Then I straighten and don’t give myself time to overthink as I leave the room.
As I slowly descend the stairs I hear voices.
The old Toren would have tucked tail and hidden in the bedroom, not daring to come out but not now, not this version of me.
She is strong, fierce and ready to claim her place as the head of her family and fight the war that has been brewing.
I follow the sound of voices down the stairs.
I look around and take in my surroundings.
It’s a beautiful place, a log cabin with large windows that let in sunlight.
It’s the type of place you see in movies, where families come to spend Christmas and have the most spectacular views of the mountains.
As I reach the landing, I keep my head high as I round the corner.
The living room is large, with a huge fireplace and floor to ceiling windows giving you a perfect view of the woods and mountains in the distance.
The architect who designed this home knew what he was doing.
I continue forward and enter the Master Chef worthy kitchen.
I want to stare at all the appliances and marble counters, but my attention is snatched by the presence of the Filthy Few, Denver Kings, Nova, Tate, Vivian and the person I can only assume is The Butcher, sitting around the large table.
All their gazes are on me but my sole focus is on the man sitting by Omen, the one who offered me friendship with no strings attached and cared about me when I wasn’t even sure I cared about myself.
He looks pale and utterly exhausted but he plasters a smile on his face for my benefit.
“Hey, Tor.” The sound of his voice has all my worries fleeting.
I rush across the room, ignoring the stares of the others as I come to his side and bend down to hug him, careful not to apply too much pressure and hurt him.
“Hi, Carn,” I whisper. He softens in my hold and wraps a single arm around me, holding me close and offering me comfort.
I know I should let go, this isn’t right to be holding him this long, but I was terrified I would lose him, never see him again.
Now that he’s here in front of me, I don’t want to let go.
“I’m okay, Tor,” he says low enough for just me to hear.
I sniffle and draw back. He looks up at me with pain in his eyes that he tries to mask. Guilt gnaws at me, it was my fault he was shot. He could have died trying to help me. Whatever he sees on my face has him reaching out to grip my hand, squeezing gently.
“None of this is your fault. This is the hazards of the job.” He keeps his tone light but it does nothing to dispel the feeling of anger rolling through me. I want to find the bastard who shot my friend and tear them apart, piece by fucking piece!
“Told you.” I flick my gaze to Omen, who is looking across the table at Tate with a smug look on his face.
Tate pushes her lips to the side and rolls her eyes.
“Whatever, O. The one time you were right and now I’ll have to hear about it for months,” she whines, making Omen chuckle and me frown.
I look around the table, Ezekiel, Hayze and Archer all stand behind Vivi, who is sitting at the head of the table.
To their right is Vox who has his arm slung over the back of Nova’s seat possessively.
To Vivian’s left is Pope, Vatican, Omen, then Carnage. I slowly lower into the seat beside Carn and look across from me. Halo sits opposite me, Tatum is across from Omen, but the one who draws my attention is the man sitting between them.
I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. Alexander Denver.
The Butcher. A name that didn't get spoken above a whisper in the right circles or the wrong ones.
They said he had slaughtered an entire room of men and felt nothing.
That the De Santis family had unleashed him like a weapon on the world and the world had never quite recovered.
I had told myself the rumors were exaggerated, that men like that only existed in cautionary tales designed to keep people like me in line.
I had believed that right up until the moment his gaze met mine and I see the monster inside him.
He is beautiful, and that is the most terrifying part, because nothing about him is soft.
His hair is swept up into a man bun, with tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
Those green eyes stare at me with a coldness that makes my stomach hollow out, cataloguing everything and giving nothing away.
He takes his time studying me, deliberate and unhurried, like a man who has never once needed to rush because everything and everyone always waited for him.
My palms are damp and my throat has closed over entirely.
Tate clears her throat, making me jump in my seat and Omen snorts out a laugh that earns him a glare from the stunning blonde before she focuses back on me.
There is a warning in her eyes that has me frowning.
“I get it. His reputation precedes him and all that shit considering there are no pictures of him out in the public. I understand you staring for a minute but not five!” I cringe.
A ghost of a smirk touches the corner of Alex’s mouth.
He leans over and places a kiss on the top of Tate’s head.
“All I see is you, Bambi,” he says in a gruff tone, that has me sucking in a sharp breath and the Denver Kings groaning.
“No one, and I do mean no one, wants to see mom and dad making fuck me eyes at each other,” Halo grumbles. The Filthy Few and their two girls laugh, which brings a smile to my face. Every person in this room is dangerous, capable of slaughtering your entire family if you threaten theirs.
The love they share for each other has envy blooming inside me.
“Toren!” I snap my head to the side and lurch out of my chair, meeting Harper halfway across the room. We slam into each other and hold tight.
She’s safe.
I pull back and look at my friend, feeling like a piece of shit for everything she is going through. If it wasn’t for me she wouldn’t be in the middle of all this shit. She would be safe and out of harm's way.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I can’t help it,” I answer quietly.
Harp places her hands on my shoulders and smiles softly.
“My life was a mess before you came along, Tor. This world isn’t new to me, I was raised in it.
” Her admission has shock rippling through me.
There is so much about my friend that I don’t know.
She’s a mystery to me and from the hardened look in her eyes, I know now isn’t the time to push her to say more.
“Come on, they’ve been waiting for you.”
My brows bunch. “How long was I out?”
Her features pinch. “A little over twenty-four hours.” My eyes widen to the size of fucking saucers.
“What the fuck!” I screech, then cringe and shoot her a sheepish look. She ignores my outburst and leads me back to the table. I claim the seat beside Carn while Harp sits on my other side. Alex’s gaze bores into me and I suddenly feel like I’m in the presence of Xaden’s maker—the Devil himself.