42. Silas
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
T he folder Finn had brought round earlier that day sat open on my desk. The ink spelled out name after name, address after addr ess. Last movements. Last known locations. The dead ends the police had hit.
Everything I needed to find Clark Thorn.
It was the dead of night. The penthouse was silent, the city nothing but a distant glow against the glass. I’d snuck away when Lilith was deep in sleep, her breathing slow and steady. I hadn’t wanted to move, hadn’t wanted to leave. But I had work to do.
Now, I sat at the desk in my home office, laptop casting a cold blue glow against my skin.
Shit. This was illegal.
But the police weren’t doing their jobs, so someone had to.
Metadata analysis scrolled across my screen—each one a thread I’d tried to pull, hoping something would unravel. Cell tower pings. IP logs. Location history.
But there were no calls logged. No emails. No social media activity. No credit card usage. No hotel bookings. No hospital check-ins. Nothing.
I didn’t believe in ghosts. But Clark Thorn was doing a damn good impression of one.
Coward. Spineless, pathetic, gutless coward.
The kind of man who put his hands on a woman and ran when it didn’t go his way.
The kind of man who left bruises and blood behind like signatures — but only when he thought he’d get away with it.
I didn’t think I was capable of murder, but why the fuck hadn’t I killed him when I had the chance?
He wasn’t some mastermind. He wasn’t smart. He’d pulled his bullshit stunt in public. He wasn’t careful.
So why couldn’t I find him?
I hadn ’t been looking for him before. I never thought I’d needed to. The only person I’d ever watched, ever tracked, was her. And I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known.
She should’ve never been in that alley.
She shouldn’t have had to deal with this.
If I’d just done something different—if I hadn’t been so fucking slow to act, if I’d been smarter, if I’d—
I clenched my jaw. “It’s not my fault.” The words came out scraped, hoarse, barely above a whisper, but they had to be said.
It wasn’t my fault. But I could do something about it now. I’d found her in time. She was in my bed, safe, healing.
Clark was still out there. But he wouldn’t be for long.
“What isn’t your fault?”
I snapped my laptop shut, scraping the papers off the desk and shoving them into a drawer.
Lilith stood in the doorway to my office. She was wearing one of my T-shirts. Molly had brought her clothes earlier, made sure she had everything she needed. But she still chose mine. That did something to my chest, made my pulse kick up a notch in a way I was still getting used to.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said as I placed my glasses on the desk and opened my arms. “Come here.”
She crossed the room, crawling into my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, letting her warmth settle against me.
“What are you doing awake?” I asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She shifted against me, fingers toying with the fabric of my shirt.
“Bad dream,” she murmured.
She’d had nightmares every night since she’d been here. She didn’t always wake up. Most of the time, she just shifted in her sleep, body tensing over and over again as the occasional silent sob left her. But this was the first time she’d come looking for me after.
She sighed against my chest. “I thought it was all supposed to stop.”
I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head, looking up at me through tired eyes. “In the books. You share a bed with a super hot guy, and your bad dreams stop.”
A quiet huff of laughter escaped me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she smiled softly, silver eyes locked onto mine. “I think I want a refund.”
I smirked, tightening my hold on her. “This isn’t a book, sweetheart.”
I pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“They might not go away.” Another kiss, softer this time, against the soft skin below her eye.
“But I pr omise you—” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’ll always be here to hold you.” Another to her jaw. “To kiss the tears away if they come.” Another, to the soft spot below her ear. “And remind you that you’re safe.”
She melted into me and let out a small, shuddering breath. “They’re not about Clark.”
Not about Clark?
I didn’t ask. Didn’t push. But my mind did drift back to Dr. Hayes.
Complex post-traumatic stress disorder.
It went back, way back—years. I tightened my arms around her, pressing another slow kiss to her hair. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
She didn’t say anything right away, just curled in a little closer, fingers drifting against my chest like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to let it out or lock it down.
“I used to count footsteps,” she murmured.
My brow furrowed slightly. “What?”
“When I was a kid,” she said. “I used to count footsteps. I could always tell who it was just by the way they walked.”
I stayed quiet, listening.
“Evelyn was always light and quick,” she continued. “Always in a hurry. But Wayne ? He was heavy. Slow. Like he wanted you to hear him coming.”
Maybe she sensed the way my body stiffened, the way my grip around her tightened slightly.
“He was Evelyn’s husband. He was a dick.
A real piece of work. Drank too much, hit too hard.
I used to be able to tell what kind of mood he was in just from how he shut the front door,” she continued.
“If it was soft, I was safe. If it slammed—” She stopped, pressing her lips together for a second before shaking her head.
“Didn’t really matter. Either way, he was always pissed about something. ”
She let out a hollow laugh. “He was her favourite person in the whole world. She never left.” Her fingers clenched slightly against my chest. “I dream about them a lot. It’s never nice. Fuckers still get to me even in death.”
My chest ached. No wonder she didn’t call Evelyn her mom.
“That night you found me at the park? I’d had a dream about them.” Her fingers traced patterns against my chest. “I was trying to clear my head. I just needed air. To get out.”
My mind flickered back to that night—the way she had disappeared into the darkness, and I’d found her sitting on that cold park bench, staring out into nothing. I hadn’t known she was running.
She huffed a breath, tilting her head up. “It’s stupid, right?”
I shook my head, fingers threading through her hair. “No, sweetheart. It’s not.”
My mind was rac ing as she melted further into my hold.
I’d spent so much time with her at the centre of everything.
Thinking I had her figured out. But I’d never known this.
This was something that had shaped her. Something that still held her.
I pressed my lips to the crown of her head, breathing her in, trying to push down the frustration that was burning my chest—not at her, never at her—but at the fact there were things inside her that I couldn’t fix. Things I hadn’t known about.
She shifted. Turned slightly in my lap, her silver eyes searching mine. The air thickened, and her gaze flicked to my mouth.
And fuck, I felt it—that pull. The same one I’d always felt with her. The same one I knew I’d never been able to fight.
“Silas…”
I didn’t know if it was a question. A thought. A need. Didn’t care. I brushed my knuckles against her jaw, tilting her chin up slightly. Her lips parted. That was all I needed. I closed the distance, pressing my mouth against hers.
Her fingers curled tighter into my shirt, pulling me in enough for me to feel the warmth of her body pressing into every inch of mine. I tilted my head, deepening the kiss, grip moving to her waist. She sighed into my mouth, and fuck—that sound.
I kissed her harder. She met me just as fiercely, her hands sliding up, fingers threading into my hair, tugging, testing.
A low growl rumbled in my throat, and she shifted in my lap, hands steadying against my shoulders as she adjusted herself, thighs sliding around my waist, pressing me in. Straddling me.
Heat shot through me, sharp and all-consuming, every muscle in my body tightening at once.
“Lilith,” I groaned into her mouth, my hands slipping lower, gripping the bare skin at the tops of her thighs. I tilted my head, taking control, my tongue sweeping against hers.
She met me every step of the way. Pressing closer. Pulling me deeper.
I dragged my hands up her back, fingers splaying, desperate to feel every single inch of her. She arched into my touch, her breath catching as my mouth found her jaw, the column of her throat, teasing, sucking, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” I said against her skin, my breath ragged.
She didn’t. She rolled her hips, grinding down against me and my control snapped thread by thread.
“ Lilith .” My voice was nothing more than a warning.
She leaned in, lips brushing against my ear. “I don’t want you to stop.”
A deep, guttural groan tore from my throat before one hand slipped lower, fingers trailing between us, skimming over the thin fabric covering her pussy.
“Cristo onnip otente, Lilith,” I murmured as I traced slow circles over the soaked fabric, drinking in the way she shivered in my lap. “So wet already.”
She let out a breathy sound, her hands gripping tighter onto my shoulders, her hips shifting, chasing the friction.
“I’ve missed this,” I whispered, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “I’ve missed you.”
Her breath hitched as she tilted her head back slightly, giving me more of her throat, more of her skin to claim. “Silas…”
The way she said my name—breathless, needy, like she wanted to drown in me—sent sparks down my spine. I kissed her again, deeper this time, pressing my fingers harder against her, a slow grind against the barrier between us, dragging another soft sound from her lips.
“Let me show you how much,” I murmured against her mouth, slipping my hand beneath her underwear.
The breath shot out of my lungs.