Chapter 14
CASSIAN
The kiss breaks.
It doesn’t end gently. I tear my mouth from hers, gasping, my lungs burning like I’ve been underwater for minutes. I shove myself off the bed and stumble back, chest heaving.
Iris lies on the mattress, lips swollen and wet, eyes dazed.
And I did it. Not the Syndicate. Not the Judge. Me.
The realization crashes over me. I kissed the woman I’m supposed to keep in a cage. I crossed the line separating a professional from a predator.
“Get up,” I snarl.
She blinks, confused by the sudden withdrawal. “What?”
“I said, get up.”
I turn away, raking a hand through my hair. The glass dust grits against my scalp.
“Cassian...”
“Don’t,” I warn her.
I walk to the door of the master suite—the door I barricaded earlier. I check the deadbolts, then the jammer. I’m doing busy work, trying to find the soldier again. But the soldier is dead; only the man is left.
“You kissed me,” she whispers.
I spin around. She’s sitting up now, legs tucked under her. She wraps her arms around herself, trembling, trying to hide the ruin of her body. She looks small in the middle of the massive bed, but her voice is steady.
“I saved your life,” I say, keeping a jagged edge to my tone. “Don’t read anything else into it.”
“You kissed me,” she repeats, louder this time. “You pulled me out of that car, and you looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive.”
“I lost control,” I admit.
“Liar.”
She slides off the bed and stands. Her legs shake, but she forces them to hold her weight.
“You’re a liar,” she says. “You told me you were a monster. You told me you didn’t care. But you came for me. You killed those men for me. And just now...” She touches her bruised lip. “That wasn’t shock, Cassian. That was hunger.”
“Stop talking.”
“Why? Are you afraid of the truth?” She takes a step toward me. “I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate that you put me in this cage. But don’t you dare stand there and pretend you don’t feel this.”
“Feel what?” I shout. “The adrenaline? The stress response? You’re confused. You almost died. You want to fuck the thing that saved you because it proves you’re still breathing. It’s instinct. It’s not real.”
“Is it?” She steps closer, angry now. The fear has burned off, replaced by a manic, feverish energy. “Is that what you are? Instinct?”
“I’m the man who owns you now,” I say coldly. “And right now, you’re pushing your luck.”
“Own me?” She laughs, a hysterical, broken sound. “You don’t own me. You stole me back from the men who tried to take me.”
The words strike a nerve I didn’t know I had.
“You aren’t stolen goods,” I growl.
“Then what am I?” she screams. “I’m a loose end! I’m leverage! I’m a pawn! Pick a label, Cassian, because I’m losing track!”
She shoves me. She actually shoves me. Her small hands hit my chest, useless, but the intent is there.
“I want to go home!” she sobs, shoving me again. “I want my life back! I want to be safe! I don’t want to be this!”
She hits me, fists bouncing off my ribs. She’s unraveling, the trauma of the last three days finally fracturing the shell of the perfect daughter.
“Give it back!” she screams, pounding on my chest. “Give me my life back!”
I catch her wrists.
“Stop,” I command.
“No!” She struggles, twisting in my grip. “Let me go!”
“I can’t let you go.”
“Then kill me!”
She looks up at me, face streaked with mud and tears, eyes burning with a dark, desperate fire.
“Do it,” she hisses. “If you won’t let me go, then finish it. Be the monster. End it.”
Something inside me snaps.
She wants the monster? Fine.
I yank her forward and slam her back against the steel door.
THUD.
The impact knocks the breath out of her, eyes going wide. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, using my body to crush hers against the cold metal, locking her legs with my thighs.
“You want it to end?” I snarl, leaning down so my face is inches from hers. “You want the worst of me? Fine. I know how to be that man.”
“Cassian,” she gasps.
“You think this is a game?” I ask. “You think you can slap me and scream at me and I’ll stand there like a good soldier? I’m not a soldier. I’m a killer. And right now, I’m hanging by a thread.”
I press harder, letting her feel the weight of me, letting her feel the hardness of me against her stomach.
“You reckless little fool,” I whisper. “You ran into a death squad. You let them put a gun to your ribs. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
“I...”
“Shut up.”
I glare at her. I’m furious and terrified. Her pulse hammers against my hand, her chest heaving against mine.
The anger is still there, but it’s changing. It’s heating up, melting into adrenaline, turning toxic and irresistible.
I look at her mouth. She isn’t cowering. She’s staring at me with that same manic intensity, breathing in fast, shallow gasps.
Her wrists twist in my grip.
“Do it,” she whispers.
It’s not a challenge this time. It’s a plea.
She’s shaking, craving a collision, desperate to feel something other than the terror.
And God help me, I need it too.
Releasing her wrists, I grab her face with both hands and shove my mouth down on hers.
This time, there’s no hesitation. No pulling back.
I carry her two steps before slamming her back against the solid wood of the dresser. We don’t make it to the bed. It’s too far.
My hands are everywhere, tearing her ruined shirt open. She isn’t wearing a bra. I cup her bare breast, my thumb grazing the hardened peak, and a ragged cry tears from her throat.
“Cassian, please.”
She’s desperate, drowning in desire.
My usually precise hands shake as I undo my belt and shove my jeans down. I reach between us, hooking my fingers into the silk of her torn panties and ripping them the rest of the way.
She gasps, wrapping her legs tighter around my waist, arching into the friction. She claws at my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin, demanding I finish what I started.
“You asked for the worst of me,” I growl against her ear. “Here it is.”
I lift her hips, positioning myself, and shove inside her with one hard, ruthless thrust.
She screams.
Her head throws back, exposing the long, white line of her throat.
I freeze for a second, my muscles locking as the heat of her surrounds me. She’s tight—so tight it hurts. Her body clamps down around me, hot and wet, a perfect, agonizing vice.
I snap my hips forward.
“Yes,” she gasps, her fingers digging into my hair. “Yes.”
I pound into her, pinning her to the wood with every thrust. It isn’t gentle.
It isn’t careful. It’s a violent, desperate clash of adrenaline and trauma.
The friction is unbearable, the pleasure sharp, edging on pain.
She matches my violence, meeting every thrust with a desperate roll of her hips, biting my shoulder as she whimpers my name.
“Cassian... Cassian...”
Hearing my name on her lips undoes me. I’m not the Don. I’m not a tactician. I’m a man burying himself in the one thing he refused to let the world take.
“You’re mine,” I growl, the possessiveness clawing out of my chest. “I saved you.”
“I’m yours,” she cries out. “I’m yours.”
The words break the dam. I speed up, chasing oblivion. I need to empty my mind, forget the dead men in the rain, forget the betrayal. I need to exist only in this moment, buried deep inside her.
She tightens around me, her breath hitching, her body going rigidly taut.
“Cassian!”
She shatters.
Her release pulses around me, a hot, tight clench that pushes me straight over the edge.
I groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck, thrusting one last time, deep and hard, as I pour myself into her.
The release hits hard. It burns through the rage and the fear. For a few seconds, I’m nothing. I’m no one. There is only sensation.
I hold her, pinned against the wall, as the waves subside. My pulse hammers against hers, our breathing loud and ragged, filling the silence of the room.
Slowly, gravity returns, and the world comes back into focus. I lower her feet to the floor on weak legs, leaning my forehead against hers and closing my eyes. We stay there for a long time—tangled together, sweating, bleeding, breathing.
Then, she pulls away.
I open my eyes.
She’s staring at me, and she looks... terrified.
The wild, animal panic of the crash is gone. The adrenaline is fading. In its place settles a cold, quiet dread.
She touches her lips, finding them swollen. She looks down at herself—at the ruined shirt hanging off her shoulder, at the bruises blooming on her skin, and at the cum leaking down her inner thigh.
“Oh god,” she whispers.
Stepping back, she stumbles slightly, grabbing the edge of the dresser to steady herself.
“Iris,” I say, reaching for her.
“Don’t,” she says. She holds up a hand. “Don’t touch me.”
The pieces fall into place, bit by bit.
“I...” She shakes her head. “I wanted that.”
“It was adrenaline,” I say, giving her the out. “It was shock.”
“No,” she says. Her voice is hollow. “It wasn’t shock. I wanted you.”
She looks at the bed. At the door. The realization hits her—horror contorting her face.
“I need a shower,” she whispers.
She turns and walks into the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click.
I stand alone in the dark room, smelling of sex. My hands are steady now. The tremor is gone. But as the shower turns on, I realize the truth.
I won the battle.
I saved her life. I claimed her body. But I’ve broken her in a way that bullets never could.
I walk to the window take in the storm, the estate dark and swallowed by the rain.
As I stare at my reflection in the ballistic glass, it doesn’t feel like a victory.
It feels like I locked myself in the cage with her.