Chapter Twenty-Three
TOREN
That was one of the most explosive orgasms I have ever had.
Tremors still roll through me unchecked—wave after wave of aftershocks that leave me breathless and trembling. I feel like my entire body is on fire, but the feeling of the burn is sensational and I never want it to stop.
Our labored breaths are the only sounds that shatter the still silence.
In the moment, there was no awkwardness. No doubt. No fear.
But now?
Now the tension is slowly starting to seep back in, filling the space between us with all the things we're not saying. And I hate the doubt that comes with it, hate the way it poisons something that felt perfect just seconds ago.
I can't look at him.
I'm too terrified to see the regret and hate in his eyes if I do. That moment meant something to me, something profound, terrifying and real. Seeing the regret on his face will do nothing aside from torture my already battered heart.
I was never this girl. The one who would leave her friend in the living room alone so she could have sex with a guy. The one who loses herself so completely in someone who's supposed to be her enemy.
I'm turning into the person I never wanted to be.
“You're becoming exactly who you should have been.”
At his quietly spoken words, I jerk my head back and stare up at him with wide eyes, my heart slamming against my ribs.
My chest constricts when I don't see regret or loathing. Instead, I see a war of emotions swirling in the depths of those gray eyes, things too complicated to name, too dangerous to acknowledge.
He slowly eases out of me and I feel the loss of him like a physical ache. He climbs off the ruined bed and I hastily move to follow his lead, reaching for my pants.
But his words give me pause.
“Take a shower. I'll get you some clothes.”
His tone isn't cold or angry. Just... firm. Controlled. Like he's forcing himself to maintain distance.
I choose not to fight him. I make my way into the adjoining bathroom and cringe when I see the damage I caused during my earlier rampage.
I let the others have free reign in the other areas, but I chose this room for myself. The vanity mirror is cracked, spiderwebbed with fractures. The toilet is broken. The shower door hangs off its hinges.
Evidence of my rage. My pain. My loss of control.
I look away from the sight of the destruction and climb into the stall carefully, turning the water to scalding. I'm hoping the heat will force me out of my own mind, give me something to focus on other than the boy who just claimed me as his even though I know he detests the sight of me.
Even though I know this can't last.
Even though I know I'm setting myself up for more heartbreak.
I quickly wash myself, scrubbing away the evidence of what we just did, even as I wish I could keep it on my skin forever. Then I shut off the shower and reach for a towel.
When I turn to step out, I freeze.
Xaden is standing there with a towel in his hand, wearing only a pair of jeans that rest low on his hips. The tortured look on his face almost breaks me—raw and honest in a way he never allows himself to be.
I force my emotions down and step out, grabbing the towel from him. Our fingers brush and electricity sparks between us, but I pretend not to notice.
I quickly dry off, hyperaware of his eyes on me.
I don't wait for him to lead. I head back into the bedroom, spotting the sweats and hoodie he's laid out on the bed. I quickly pull them on, grateful for the coverage.
They're so big I have to tighten the drawstring and roll the waistband four times. The hoodie rests just above my knees, swallowing my frame completely.
But rather than feeling lost in the material, I feel secure. Safe.
It's almost like being wrapped up in his clothes and scent is a safe harbor for me, a place where I feel like nothing and no one can harm me.
The realization terrifies me.
I toss the towel onto the bed, inhale a steadying breath, then turn back to face him.
He's leaning against the doorjamb to the bathroom with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
I give myself a second of weakness to admire the sight of him.
Gray eyes that hold so much pain stare at me with an expression I can't read. Black hair tousled and wild from my fingers. Tattoos that tell the story of a boy who was forced to become the man he never wanted to be. A body so exquisite it looks like it was carved by the Greek gods themselves.
Even in the dim lighting of the room, darkness clings to him like a natural aura. Like he's made of shadows and violence and something achingly beautiful underneath it all.
“The rink. Five tomorrow morning.”
I snap my gaze back to his face and frown. He's back to walling his emotions off from me, shutting me out like the last thirty minutes never happened.
“I know you have intel on the Kings, Filthy Few, and me and my guys. I want it all, Tink.”
“Why?” I ask quietly, trying to keep the hurt from my voice.
He pushes off the doorjamb and stalks toward me, not stopping until his chest is flush against mine. I'm forced to crane my neck back to maintain eye contact, and the heat radiating from his body makes me want to lean into him.
But I hold myself rigid.
“Half of what you hear and all of what you see,” he utters, his voice low and dangerous.
“You told me you didn't want to see them,” I remind him, confused by the sudden change.
He shrugs, the movement casual. “I know.”
“Then why the sudden change of mind?” I press, needing to understand.
His hand darts out to cup my cheek in a move so tender it robs me of air. My breath catches and I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes at the gentleness.
“Because you're hiding something from me. Fiona was in too many places she shouldn't have been. Places she shouldn't have even known about.”
Panic begins to boil inside me, hot and immediate. “Kellan—”
“Was dead when I brought you to the warehouse.”
The words hit like a slap. I fight not to tense, but he's too observant. He'll notice the slightest change in my demeanor.
“I have a rat in my midst,” he continues, his voice dropping to something deadly. “And even if you choose not to give me the files, I'll figure out who it is and make the cunt pay for daring to turn on me.”
The viciousness in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, not of fear, but of something darker. Something that recognizes the predator in him and responds to it.
“Xaden, I'm not—”
“Lie to my face again and see what the fuck I do to you, Tink.”
I snap my mouth closed, admitting the truth without saying the words.
He sees it, reads it in my expression with devastating accuracy.
His hand drops from my face and he takes a step backward. The small amount of space he puts between us feels like a chasm, vast and impossible to cross.
“Five a.m. Don't be late.”
All I can do is nod like an idiot, my throat too tight to speak.
I force myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk out of the room, feeling the weight of his gaze burning into my back like a brand.
“Tink?” I pause but don’t turn to face. “Tomorrow morning, you will give up the location of your brother.” I say nothing as I walk out with dread pooling inside me.
When I make it to the living room, I slam to a halt.
Omen is standing there, his expression carefully neutral. Four of Xaden's men are scattered around the room, keeping watch over my friend like he's a prisoner.
Guilt crashes over me. I left him out here alone while I fucked the enemy.
“Let's go,” is all Omen says before making his way toward the door.
I follow behind him silently, not meeting his eyes. Not able to face the judgment I'm sure I'll see there.
I don't ask where Carnage is as I climb into the car beside Omen. Neither of us says a word the entire drive back to the safehouse.
The silence is heavy with everything unsaid.
I also didn't see Caspian before I left, which worries me more than I want to admit.
I need to speak to him. Need to warn him.
There's a pit in my stomach, a terrible, gnawing certainty that if Cas goes to the rink tomorrow with Xaden, Kellan won't be the only friend I lose there.
And the thought of losing Cas, of being responsible for his death because I couldn't keep my legs closed around Xaden, makes me want to throw up.
What have I done?
What the fuck have I done?
I let Xaden claim me. Let him mark me. Let him inside my body and my heart in ways I can never take back.
And now?
Now I might lose everything because of it.
The safehouse comes into view and dread settles like a stone in my stomach.
I'm going to have to face Carnage. Have to explain where I was, what I was doing.
Have to admit that I've fallen for the man who destroyed us all.
And I have no idea how to do that without losing the only family I have left.
To teach is to learn. To learn is to excel. To excel is to thrive. To thrive is to live.
The mantra whispers through my mind, but it feels hollow now.
Because I'm not thriving.
I'm drowning.
And the worst part?
I don't think I want to be saved.
Not if being saved means giving up Xaden.
Not if it means never feeling the way I felt in his arms again.
I'm in so far over my head, I can't see the surface anymore.
And tomorrow at five a.m., I'm going to have to make a choice.
Protect Cas and lose Xaden's trust.
Or betray my friend and keep whatever this thing is between us alive.
God help me, I don't know which one terrifies me more.
Walking through the front door of this place feels different than it did mere hours ago.
I don't have Carnage at my side. Don't have the feeling of his presence grounding me, anchoring me to something real and safe.
Just his presence alone brings a sense of calm. He has a way of steadying me without even trying, like he's the eye of the storm while chaos rages all around us.
I follow Omen into the kitchen, spotting the others gathered around the island, with hard, unforgiving looks carved into their faces.
At the sound of our approach, Halo, Vatican, Pope, Alex, and the Filthy Few all turn their focus to us.