Chapter 7 #2
I caught his wrist in mid-air.
I didn't squeeze hard enough to break it—there were witnesses—but I squeezed hard enough to bruise the bone. Hard enough to make him gasp and drop to one knee.
"Touch her," I whispered, leaning across the table, my eyes flashing full crimson, "and you lose the hand. Donor or not."
Henderson Senior paled. He looked into my eyes and saw the Butcher. He saw the madness I usually kept locked away.
"Spike," Riley whispered.
She didn't sound scared of the Alum. She sounded scared for me.
She placed her hand over mine—the one crushing the man's wrist. Her touch was cool. Grounding.
"Let him go," she said softly. "He's drunk. And he's wrong."
She looked at Henderson Senior, her chin high, her eyes fierce behind her glasses.
"I'm not defective," she said clearly. "I'm the reason your team's pass completion percentage is up twelve points this season.
I'm the reason the defensive line stopped collapsing in the second period.
I do the math so they can do the damage.
So unless you want to come down to the ice and calculate angular velocity yourself, I suggest you walk away. "
The table went silent. Jax’s jaw dropped.
I stared at her.
My heart swelled so big I thought it would crack my ribs.
She defended herself. She defended the team.
I released Henderson's wrist with a shove.
"You heard the lady," I growled. "Walk away."
Henderson scrambled back, cradling his wrist, muttering curses as he retreated to the bar.
Jax let out a low whistle. "Damn, Bennett. Angular velocity? That was hot."
"Shut up, Jax," I said, but I couldn't stop looking at her.
She was trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was fading. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her completely into me. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the vanilla and fear and bravery.
"You okay?" I murmured against her ear.
"I hate that word," she whispered. "Pet."
"I know," I said. "You're not a pet, Riley. You're a Queen."
She looked up at me then. The look in her eyes wasn't gratitude. It was raw, naked desire. It was the look of a woman who had just realized she was safe.
"Take me home," she said.
"Yes," I answered. "Immediately."
The drive back to her dorm was quiet, but the air in the cab was thick enough to chew on.
Every time I shifted gears, my hand brushed her knee. Every time I breathed, I tasted her scent. The adrenaline from the confrontation had morphed into something else—something sharper, hungrier.
I pulled up to the curb outside her building. I killed the engine.
The darkness of the cab wrapped around us like a blanket.
"Thank you," she said, breaking the silence. "For dinner. And for... the hand thing."
"He was lucky," I said, turning in my seat to face her. "If you hadn't stopped me, he'd be in the hospital."
"I know." She unbuckled her seatbelt. The sound was loud in the quiet. She turned to face me. "You have to stop almost killing people for me, Spike."
"Stop giving me reasons to."
We stared at each other. The distance between the driver's seat and the passenger seat felt like an canyon we were both afraid to cross, but desperate to jump.
"You looked beautiful tonight," I said. The words were rough, unpolished. "That dress... it should be illegal."
Riley let out a breathy laugh. "It's just a dress."
"No. It's a weapon."
I reached out. I couldn't help it. I traced the line of her jaw with my knuckles. Her skin was fever-hot.
"Spike," she whispered. Her eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into my hand.
That was it. The dam broke.
I unbuckled my belt and lunged across the center console.
I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to me. Our mouths crashed together.
It wasn't like the kiss in the cabin. That had been tentative, exploring. This was claiming. This was ownership.
I groaned, devouring her mouth. I tasted the grilled cheese and the lemonade she’d had, but mostly I tasted her want. She opened for me instantly, her tongue meeting mine, fighting for dominance.
She wasn't passive. She grabbed the lapels of my coat and yanked me closer, her nails digging in.
"Riley," I growled against her lips.
My hands roamed. I ran my palms down her arms, over the soft fabric of the dress, to her waist. I gripped her hips, digging my fingers in, needing to feel the bone structure, the reality of her.
She made a noise—a high, desperate keen—that shattered my control.
I pushed her back against the door. I moved my hand up, over her ribs, and cupped her breast through the dress.
She arched into me. "Yes," she gasped. "Touch me. Please."
I thumbed her nipple through the fabric. It was hard, aching.
"You feel that?" I whispered, biting her lower lip, tugging it. "You feel what you do to me?"
I took her hand and guided it to the bulge in my jeans.
She gasped when she felt the size of me, the hardness. Her fingers curled around me, tentative at first, then firmer. She rubbed the length of me through the denim.
I saw stars.
"Fuck," I swore, pressing my forehead against the window glass to cool down. "Riley. Stop. Or I’m going to ruin you right here in the truck."
"Maybe I want to be ruined," she whispered, her voice wrecked.
The words hung there. A blatant invitation. A surrender.
I pulled back. I looked at her.
Her hair was a mess. Her lips were swollen and red. Her dress was bunched up around her thighs. She looked thoroughly, beautifully ravaged.
And she looked trusting.
That trust was a bucket of ice water.
She was a virgin. She was my tutor. She was supposed to be under my protection. If I took her now, in a truck outside her dorm, fueled by anger and adrenaline... I wouldn't be Spike. I would be the Butcher.
And she deserved better than the Butcher.
"No," I rasped, pulling her hand away from my lap. I kissed her knuckles, one by one. "Not like this. Not here."
"Spike..."
"You deserve a bed, Riley," I said, smoothing her hair back. My hands were shaking. "You deserve sheets. And time. And me not being out of my mind with rage at Henderson."
She blinked, dazed. Then, slowly, the reality of where we were settled in.
"Right," she whispered. "Right. The rules."
"Not rules," I corrected. "Respect."
I leaned in and kissed her one last time—soft, lingering, a promise.
"Go inside," I ordered gently. "Lock the door. Text me when you're in bed."
She nodded. She fumbled for the door handle.
"Spike?" she said before she got out.
"Yeah?"
"You passed the test," she said, a small, knowing smile returning to her lips.
"Which one?"
"Both of them."
She slipped out into the cold night and ran to the dorm entrance.
I watched her go, my heart hammering against my ribs, my body aching with a pain that was exquisite and terrible.
I slumped back in the seat, staring at the ceiling of the truck.
"I am so screwed," I said to the empty cab.
I wasn't just falling. I had hit the ground. I was in love with Riley Bennett.
And now, I had to figure out how to keep her safe from a world that wanted to tear us apart.