Chapter 25 #2
“I just did.” Parker’s voice is cold. Arctic. “And Mr. McCoy? If you ever touch me inappropriately again, Silas won’t stop at your hand. We clear?”
McCoy’s face has gone pale. He nods once, jerky and pained.
“Excellent.” Parker turns toward the door. “Jace, I believe we’re finished here.”
Jace opens the door, ushering Parker through first. I follow, keeping my body between her and McCoy, knife still loose in my hand.
Cal’s voice crackles in my ear: “That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I’m sending flowers.”
“Shut up, Cal,” I mutter.
In the hallway, away from McCoy’s office, Parker finally stops. Leans against the wall. Takes a breath.
Her hands are shaking when she presses them against her face.
“Why—Silas, you—that was—”
Fuck it.
I cross the distance between us in two strides, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other bracing against the wall beside her head. And I kiss her.
Hard.
Claiming.
Six years of wanting, hours of watching another man look at her like she’s available, seconds of her standing there trying to process what I just did—all of it combusts into this moment.
Her hands fly up to my chest—pushing or pulling, I can’t tell. But then she softens. Melts against me in all the right places, curves fitting against hard edges like she was made for this. For me.
A soft whimper escapes her throat, and it’s gasoline on an already raging fire.
I’m burning. Exploded the moment McCoy touched her, and now I’m burning for her—for the way she tastes, the way her fingers curl into my shirt, the way she’s letting the flames engulf her too.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. She’s dazed, sea-glass eyes wide and pupils blown, lips swollen from my mouth.
I cup her face between my hands, gentler now, and press a soft kiss to those perfect lips. “You okay?”
“Why did you do that?” she whispers.
“Why did I do what? The stabbing or the kissing?”
“He—you—” She’s struggling for words, still processing. “He touched me.”
“Yeah. He did.”
“But Silas, he was just a—”
“A misogynistic asshole who got exactly what he deserved,” Jace cuts in from where he’s standing watch at the elevator.
Parker’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You didn’t need to stab him.”
“Do you think a melon baller to the eye would have been a more efficient way to deliver my message?”
“You stabbed him.”
“Through the hand. Non-lethal. He’ll heal.” I let my hands drop, cross my arms. “And he’ll think twice before touching you again.”
“Silas, you can’t just—” She stops herself, takes a breath. “We’re trying to build a different organization. One that doesn’t solve everything with violence.”
“Some things require violence,” I counter. “Some people only understand pain. McCoy is one of them.”
“He was testing me,” she argues, but there’s less conviction in her voice now. “Seeing if I’d react. If I’d back down. You intervening—”
“Showed him you’re protected,” I finish. “Showed him that disrespecting you has immediate and painful consequences. That’s not weakness, firefly. That’s power.”
“Power I didn’t ask for.”
“Maybe not.” I step closer again, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “But you have it anyway. Whether you want it or not, you’re ours. And we protect what’s ours.”
“Yours,” she breathes, and I can’t tell if it’s a question or acceptance.
“Ours,” I confirm. “Mine, Jace’s, Cal’s.
You’ve been ours since that night six years ago.
Since before that, if I’m being honest. And those boys—” My voice roughens.
“Those boys are ours, too. All of it. You, them, this thing between us that you’ve been running from. It’s time to stop running, Parker.”
Her breath catches. “Silas—”
“You can be mad at me for the stabbing,” I continue. “You can lecture me about violence and building a better organization. But you can’t pretend you didn’t kiss me back. Can’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
“I feel—” She presses her hands to her face again. “I feel like my world is spinning out of control. Like everything I’ve built is crumbling. Like you three are going to consume me whole, and there won’t be anything left.”
“We won’t consume you.” I pull her hands away from her face, hold them in mine. “We’ll make you stronger. You, us—together. Not you disappearing into us, but all of us becoming something bigger.”
“That’s not how it worked before,” she whispers. “Before I left. You controlled everything. Made decisions for me. Pushed people away without asking.”
“We were boys,” I admit. “Stupid, possessive boys who thought protecting you meant controlling you. We’re not those boys anymore.”
“Aren’t you?” She gestures at McCoy’s office. “You just stabbed someone for touching my hand.”
“I stabbed someone for touching you inappropriately and suggesting you work in his clubs,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” I lean in closer, until our foreheads nearly touch. “Because I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry for protecting you. But I am asking—not telling—asking if you’ll let us back in. Let us be part of your life. Your sons’ lives. Whatever that looks like. However messy and complicated it is.”
“I don’t know how,” she admits, and the vulnerability in her voice cracks something in my chest. “I don’t know how to need people. How to trust. How to not run when things get hard.”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” I say simply. “Together. One day at a time. Starting with tonight. The talk we promised. No more delays. No more avoiding.”
She searches my face, looking for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or proof that we’ve changed. That we’re worth the risk.
“Okay,” she finally whispers. “Tonight. We talk. About everything.”
“Everything,” I agree.
“But right now—” She straightens, composing herself. “Right now, we need to explain to my brother why one of our business partners is bleeding.”
“He’ll understand,” Jace says from the elevator. “McCoy crossed a line. There are consequences for that.”
“In the old organization, maybe,” Parker says. “But we’re supposed to be different.”
“We are different,” I say. “But different doesn’t mean defenseless. Doesn’t mean letting people disrespect us without consequence. It just means we’re more strategic about when and how we respond.”
Parker looks between Jace and me, conflict written across her face. Then she nods slowly. “Okay. But next time—”
“Next time we’ll discuss it first,” I lie smoothly.
“You’re lying.”
“Probably.” I offer my arm. “Come on, firefly. Let’s go face your brother’s wrath together.”
She takes my arm, and that small gesture—her choosing to accept my support instead of walking away—feels like a victory.
We’re not fixed. Not even close.
But we’re moving in the right direction.