Chapter Eleven
Byron
Wilder was asleep. In my arms.
Unwillingly but still…a guy could pretend.
He was beautiful in sleep, too. That was it. From this moment I’d never go another night without seeing his face like this. All the harsh lines had softened and his permanent scowl had disappeared. He always looked so pissed off but in sleep he looked carefree.
And he called me ‘kitten’. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?
No one had ever given me a pet name before.
I’d always been called ‘crazy’ or ‘killer’ or ‘psycho’.
The name calling never bothered me or even got a reaction out of me but something about Wilder calling me his kitten had my insides humming like he’d stabbed me with a goddamn live wire.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and called my twin, desperate to talk to him about it.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Bishop said, his voice bright and cheery.
“Have you been in the Christmas punch?”
He snorted. “I’ve only had a couple of glasses.”
Idiot. I’d warned him against it because it was one of Acheron’s concoctions and bound to be deadly. “You’ll only have yourself to blame tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s a good job it’s Christmas tomorrow then, isn’t it?” he laughed. “I can sleep all day if I want to.”
How the hell was this man so happy all the time? Wasn’t it draining? “Whatever. Can you talk?”
Another snort assaulted my ears. “Of course I can talk. I’m an expert at talking because I’ve been doing it for years, Byron.”
He giggled at his own joke, and it pissed me off. “If you’re going to be a smart arse, I’ll speak to Aleksey instead.”
“No, stop. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have avoided the punch. What is it?”
Wilder nuzzled into my neck and his lips ghosted against my skin.
This moment felt pivotal. He might be unconscious, but Wilder wanted me.
I could tell. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging it free from the sexy little bun he’d worn it in today.
It was softer than I imagined, like silk between my fingers and I was fascinated by the way the light caught the lighter copper shades in his waves.
If I could stay like this forever, caught in this moment, there was a slim possibility I might actually die happy.
“Byron?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, Wilder’s breaths brushing against my lips and making my dick hard. “I got distracted.”
“Distracted?” Bishop paused, and I could almost hear the cogs of his alcohol-addled brain whirring down the phone. “Where’s Wilder?”
“What makes you ask that?” I said with a wide grin as I stared at the man in question.
“Neither you nor he are here. Where is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s safe.”
“Safe and okay are not the same thing, Byron.” The sounds of the Christmas party faded into the background as Bishop went to find a quieter spot. “Have you hurt him?”
“No. Of course not.” I wasn’t going to actually hurt Wilder.
Much.
“What have you done, Byron?” Bishop asked, his tone a lot sharper than it had been a few moments ago.
I looked at Wilder’s pretty sleeping face. “The man I stole that ring from is his father.”
“What?” my twin hissed.
“I’m keeping Wilder away from him and I’m going to keep a close eye on him.”
“Fuck,” Bishop huffed. “You’ve knocked him out and tied him up, haven’t you?”
I grinned. My twin knew me too well.
“He called me ‘kitten’, Bishop,” I said with a soft sigh. I’d never been sentimental, but the raspy way Wilder said ‘kitten’ would live rent-free in my brain forever. Just thinking about it had my dick throbbing.
“He—what?”
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it? That he’s got a pet name for me?” I hoped Bishop agreed. Hope wasn’t usually part of my repertoire, so it felt a little…odd.
“Byron, yes it’s a good thing, but you drugged him. Surely that’s going to piss him off?”
“I don’t know,” I mused. “I actually think he’s going to get some real sleep.”
“And people say you’re the crazy one,” he scoffed. “Wilder might not say it again willingly.”
My twin was right, but I knew something that would make him mine forever and mark this momentous moment between us. “Thanks, little brother. You’re the best, but I’ve got to go now.”
“Wait. Byron. Don’t do something stup—”
I hung up. I didn’t need to hear whatever he was going to say. I had a new goal, and it was going to consume my focus until I’d completed it.
I dialled Quill, and the guy answered on the third ring.
“Yoh, Byron, my man. How ya doing, Killer?”
I rolled my eyes and got straight to the point. I was not in the mood for small talk. “You wouldn’t happen to be a guest at the Morozov Christmas party, would you? And do you have your gun with you?”
He paused. “Yes, and I have my travel kit in my truck.”
“Great. Meet me in my suite in ten minutes.”
“Byron, I—”
I wasn’t about to listen to a list of reasons why this was potentially a bad idea and I was sure that Quill would have a number of them, but he had a weakness that I was about to exploit to get what I wanted. He would hate me for it, but he’d agree because it was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
I untangled myself from Wilder and scooped him up into my arms. He was a dead weight and his head flopped to my shoulder, a contented little sigh falling from between his lips. I couldn’t wait to learn all the sounds he made. The sighs, the whimpers and all the screams.
I had been dubious about the magic potion working as described because Wilder was powerful and had a lot of magic to suppress. I at least expected there to be some side-effects, but it worked perfectly. I shouldn’t have doubted Astrid.
I placed Wilder on my bed and set about cuffing his limbs to the corners of it.
I didn’t want him to wake up and think he could escape me.
I’d had a room at the Morozov Mansion since Damyr brought me into the fold a few years ago and he said that I had a home here for as long as I needed.
It was handy for when I needed to be near the family, but I preferred to stay in my own space.
I had an apartment in the city, a house in the country and my own private island.
Murder definitely paid well.
Once I knew Wilder was secure and not about to flee as soon as he came back to the land of the living, I hopped up onto the bed and straddled his waist. His lean hips dug into the underside of my thighs as I untucked his shirt and ripped it open.
Holy fucking shit.
That goddamn view.
I traced my fingers over the dips and peaks of his abs, burning the feeling of them into my memory.
I leant down and licked my tongue across the length of his collarbone, unable to resist the call of his creamy skin.
Fuck, he tasted good. Like decadence and temptation and a calling to sin.
I sank my teeth into the meat of his shoulder, just because I could.
I wanted to see how pink his skin would go when I marked it.
The imprint of my teeth stared back at me as a soft sigh left Wilder’s lips. His dick twitched beneath me, and I wondered whether it would be possible to make him cum while he was unconscious.
Fuck, it was so tempting. To be able to do whatever the fuck I wanted to him and he’d be so defenceless, so completely in my power.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted my spiralling thoughts and a thrill of excitement sprung to life in my veins. I clambered off my sleeping angel and lunged towards the door.
Quill stood there, a wary expression on his face and a large black case in his hand.
“Why am I here?” he grumbled as he stepped across the threshold. His long brown hair was tied up in a bun on the top of his head, and his thick beard was sporting some baubles and glitter. He looked like a Christmas elf had taken a shit on his face.
“Because I want you to tattoo someone.”
He followed me into my bedroom but stopped immediately when he saw Wilder.
“Is he dead?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “He’s unconscious.”
“That’s not much better,” Quill muttered with an arched brown and dropped his case.
He folded his arms across his barrel chest, and his shoulders touched both sides of the doorframe.
“I’m not tattooing someone without permission, Byron.
I don’t care that we go way back, that’s completely unethical. ”
“It’s only one little word,” I pouted.
“No fucking way,” he growled back before grabbing his case and turning to leave.
No. I couldn’t let him leave. I needed this. “I’ll give you my services for one hit in exchange.”
He froze and threw a disbelieving look at me over his shoulder. “What?”
“You heard me,” I snapped. I disliked having to repeat myself and I was on edge. I needed this. I’d do it myself, but I’d never tattooed anyone in my life and I wanted this to be pretty for Wilder.
Quill gnawed on his lip. “No questions asked?”
I shook my head. “You give me a name, and I’ll get rid of them. Do we have a deal?”
I held my hand out, and he eyeballed it warily. He sighed and his shoulders sank, but he reached out and took my hand, just like I knew he would.
Playing fair wasn’t something I did, especially when I knew exactly what my victim wanted.
“God forgive me, but you have a deal.”
I stayed with Wilder for a while, watching his chest rise and fall.
I was utterly captivated by the way his body moved.
His face had been pinched with terror as he suffered through another nightmare, but it wasn’t like the last one.
I hoped that the sedatives would keep the nightmares at bay and give his mind a chance to rest, but whatever was haunting his mind, seemed to be determined to get through to him.
Perhaps he was right. Maybe they were his memories trying to claw themselves back to the surface.
If they caused him this much pain in sleep, what would it be like when he remembered them fully?
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I opened it with a frown, annoyed that someone else was intruding on my time with Wilder. Someone had better be dead or dying if they were disturbing my time watching Wilder sleep.