26. Ava
26
AVA
E ven if it's for a little while, the chaos has abated.
The sirens fade into the distance, taking Andrew with them. The floodlights buzz overhead, casting long shadows across the steel beams, the unfinished high-rise standing like a skeletal guardian against the night sky. The space between us still hums with tension, thick with adrenaline and words left unsaid.
I can feel my brothers watching me.
Dean is the first to speak. "You good?"
His voice is steady, even, but I know him too well. He's measuring, assessing, trying to gauge just how much damage has been done—not just physically, but emotionally.
I inhale deeply, trying to untangle the whirlwind inside me. "Yeah," I say, forcing a small smile. "Nothing a hot shower and ten hours of sleep won't fix."
Ryan lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Ten hours? Try a month."
Nate tilts his head slightly. "I know you're joking," he murmurs, "but you're not wrong."
Dean's gaze narrows. "That's the problem," he says. "She shouldn't have to brush this off like it's normal."
I bristle. "I'm standing right here, you know."
His eyes flick to mine. "Yeah, and you almost got yourself killed tonight, Ava."
That irritation flares hotter. "I also handled myself just fine."
Ryan scoffs. "Oh, right. That part where you got held at crowbar-point? Stellar performance, really."
My patience snaps. "Do not do that. Do not make me the helpless victim in all this." My voice quavers, but I power through. "I made choices. I decided to fight back. And you know what? I'd do it again."
Dean sighs tiredly. "Christ, Ava."
"She's right."
I turn sharply at the sound of Liam's voice. He's standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his gaze locked on my brothers with quiet certainty. "She's not a kid anymore."
Dean and Ryan both bristle at that, but it's Nate who speaks first.
"We know that," he says, his voice calm. "We just don't know what to do with that."
The words hit something deep inside me. Because I get it. I do. For so long, I was their responsibility. Their little sister. The one they had to keep safe. And now? Now, I'm standing here, covered in dust and adrenaline, having just walked through a storm they never saw coming.
Things are different.
And none of us quite know what to do with that.
Ryan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… don't shut us out, okay?"
My throat tightens, but I nod. "Okay."
That seems to be enough for now. Dean shakes his head before pulling me into a gruff, bone-crushing hug. "Next time you need backup, you call me first, you got it?"
I let out a weak laugh. "No promises."
Ryan groans. Nate just smirks.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Liam watching. Not impatiently. Just waiting.
He meets my gaze. "Can I take you home?"
I should hesitate, should think about what that means, about how this whole arrangement is supposed to be coming to an end. But I'm too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too done.
So I nod. "Yeah. Please."
The drive is quiet. Not tense, not awkward—just quiet.
By the time we reach the loft, my body is screaming for sleep, but my mind won't stop racing. Too much has happened tonight. Too much is still left unresolved.
Liam seems to sense it.
"Sit," he says the moment we step inside, nudging me toward the kitchen island. "I'm making you something."
I blink. "You? Cooking?"
He smirks faintly, rolling up his sleeves. "Try not to look so shocked."
I settle onto a stool, watching as he moves through the kitchen with a kind of effortless precision. He works methodically, chopping onions, garlic, tomatoes—layering scents into the air until the entire loft smells like a Sicilian grandmother's embrace.
"You really know what you're doing," I murmur, resting my chin on my hand.
His lips twitch. "I had a Sicilian nanny growing up. She made sure I wouldn't starve."
I smile faintly, letting the warmth of it all settle over me—the soft simmer of sauce, the low hum of city lights outside, the way Liam moves, controlled and sure, but somehow at ease.
It's nice.
Which is why, when he finally sets a steaming bowl in front of me—pasta with rich, slow-cooked sauce, flecks of fresh basil—I blurt out, "I can't do this fake dating thing anymore."
Liam stills, just for a second. Then, carefully, he sets his own plate down.
"Yeah," he says. "I feel the same way."
The words knock the breath from my lungs. "You do?"
His gaze lifts to mine. "Of course I do."
Silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken things.
"I don't know what this is," I admit, my voice softer now, "but it's not fake. Not to me."
Liam watches me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, finally, he exhales, shaking his head like he's just accepted something inevitable.
"It's not fake to me either."
The weight of it presses against my ribs—too heavy, too much.
So I do the only thing I can do. I stand.
Liam moves the dishes away, stacking them inside the fridge, and then follows without a word as I walk toward the balcony, stepping into the crisp early morning air. The city stretches out below us, bathed in soft lavender and gold, the first hints of sunrise breaking across the skyline.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to feel something solid beneath all the uncertainty.
Liam steps up behind me. He doesn't touch me, but I feel his presence, steady and grounding.
"I've never felt this before," he says quietly. "Not like this."
I turn slightly, meeting his gaze. "And that scares you?"
A small, wry smile. "Terrifies me."
I inhale slowly. "Me too."
His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together.
The city hums below us, bathed in the early hues of sunrise—soft gold melting into lavender, stretching across the skyline like a quiet promise. But I barely see it.
All I see is him.
I swallow hard, my pulse a slow, measured drum against my ribs.
"Liam," I whisper, not entirely sure what I'm asking.
But he seems to understand anyway.
Without a word, his free hand rises, fingers brushing along my jaw, tracing the delicate curve of my cheek. He watches me like he's memorizing the moment, like he's afraid to break whatever fragile thing exists between us.
Then, he leans in.
The kiss is unhurried. His lips press against mine with a kind of aching certainty, a slow, searching tenderness that steals the breath from my lungs. There's no urgency, no rush—only the soft press of his mouth, the warmth of his body as he angles closer, deepening the kiss by degrees.
Heat unfurls, spreading through my limbs like wildfire.
Liam's hand slides to my waist, anchoring me against him. His thumb strokes along my hip, a lazy, lingering touch that sends shivers up my spine. My fingers curl into his shirt, clinging, needing more.
He pulls back just slightly, his breath warm against my lips.
"Come inside with me," he murmurs, voice low, rough with restraint.
My stomach tightens. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing.
"Yes," I breathe.
Liam takes my hand again, leading me inside. The loft is still cast in the dim, sleepy light of dawn, shadows stretching long against the floor. But it's not the city that has my attention. It's the way Liam moves—controlled, assured, like he knows exactly where this is going and exactly how to take his time getting there.
He walks me through the space, past the kitchen, past the flickering glow of the city lights against glass, until we reach his bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind us.
The room is minimalist, dark sheets tangled over a wide bed, the faintest scent of cedar lingering in the air. It feels intimate, like stepping into a space that belongs to him completely, unguarded and real.
Liam turns to me, his gaze sweeping over my face, searching.
I already know what he's asking.
I answer by stepping closer, tilting my chin up, pressing my lips to his.
His hands skim down my arms, tracing over my skin like he's savoring every inch, every reaction. When his fingers reach the hem of my shirt, he hesitates, just for a breath.
Then, he lifts it slowly, peeling the fabric from my body.
Cool air kisses my skin, but then Liam's hands are there—spanning my waist, exploring the curve of my spine. His lips follow, trailing over my jaw, down my throat, leaving heat in their wake.
I exhale sharply as he presses a kiss just above my collarbone, his stubble grazing sensitive skin.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against me, voice rough, reverent.
I shiver. "Liam?—"
"Shh." His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my leggings, easing them down with a patience that has me aching. "I want to take my time with you."
He drops to his knees before me, his lips brushing over the bare skin of my hip as he pulls the last barriers away. My breath hitches, heat pooling low, need coiling tighter with every slow, languid touch.
Liam looks up at me from beneath dark lashes, his hands tracing a slow path up my thighs.
"You have no idea," he says, pressing a kiss just above my navel, "how long I've wanted this."
I feel it in the way he touches me—in the way he lingers, in the way he holds himself back, like he wants to draw out every moment, savor every reaction.
His lips find mine again as he stands, guiding me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. I sink down, pulling him with me, my hands sliding beneath his shirt, pushing it up, needing more.
He lets me undress him, watching me through half-lidded eyes, his muscles taut beneath my touch.
The anticipation hums between us, electric.
He leans over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, the warmth of his skin igniting every nerve.
His lips move against mine with slow, controlled hunger, deepening the kiss with every careful shift of his body. His hands roam my skin, mapping me, learning every inch with reverence that makes my pulse stutter.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, molten. He braces his forearm beside my head, his breath mingling with mine, the heat between us palpable. "I want to take my time with you," he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint, but the way his hand skims down my torso betrays just how much he's holding back.
I shiver beneath his touch, arching into him as his fingers trace the bare skin of my stomach, lower, teasing. "Then don't stop," I whisper.
A low groan rumbles in his throat, his restraint hanging by a thread. "You don't know what you do to me," he says, more to himself than to me.
Then, he moves.
His lips ghost down my throat, lingering at the hollow of my collarbone before tracing lower. He kisses down my sternum, his tongue flicking against my skin, tasting, teasing, making me writhe beneath him. His hands follow, skimming my waist, gripping my hips, anchoring me to the bed as his mouth continues its slow descent.
I gasp as he reaches the soft skin of my stomach, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses over the curve of my hip. His stubble scrapes lightly against my skin, sending a shiver up my spine. My fingers tangle in his hair, urging him lower, needing more, but he chuckles against me, his breath warm against my skin.
"So impatient," he murmurs.
I let out a frustrated sigh, my hips shifting, searching for relief. "Liam?—"
He cuts me off by dragging his tongue in a slow, torturous line down my inner thigh, making me tremble. "I told you," he says, his voice a velvet promise. "I want to take my time."
I'm barely breathing as he settles between my thighs, his broad hands pressing my legs apart. He exhales against me, teasing me with nothing but his breath, and then—finally—he presses his mouth to me.
I let out a sharp, startled moan, my fingers tightening in his hair as he licks a slow, languid stroke over me. My body clenches at the first real contact, heat blooming under my skin, my breath hitching as he does it again, firmer this time.
"Liam." My voice is barely a whisper, lost in the haze of sensation as he wraps his arms around my thighs, pulling me closer, as if he's never letting me go.
His tongue moves in slow, thorough circles, tracing patterns that send sparks racing through my limbs. Every flick, every deliberate stroke has me arching against his mouth, chasing more, my body caught between pleasure and the unbearable need for more.
"You taste so good," he murmurs against me, his voice a low growl before he drags his tongue over me again, his pace maddeningly patient. "I could stay here all night."
I whimper at the thought, my hands gripping the sheets now, because I'm not sure I can survive that kind of pleasure. Every deliberate stroke of his tongue pushes me higher, winding me tighter, until I feel like I'm balancing on the edge of something sharp and devastating.
Then he does something wicked with his tongue, sucking lightly before flicking against my most sensitive spot, and I break.
My back arches, my breath catching as pleasure crashes over me in waves, white-hot and overwhelming. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as I come undone beneath him, my body trembling, my thighs tightening around his shoulders as he refuses to let me go.
I moan his name, gasping, lost to the feeling as he licks me through every aftershock, his pace never faltering, never slowing, like he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure from me.
Only when I'm shuddering, spent and boneless against the bed, does he finally pull away, pressing one last kiss to the inside of my thigh before moving up my body.
His eyes are dark, breath ragged, his control is fraying, but he's still holding himself back, still letting me come down from the high he just gave me.
I don't want restraint.
I want him undone.
I push up onto my elbows, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of his mouth on me, but I don't care. I want more—need more. My hands trail down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the hard planes that tense beneath my touch. He watches me, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven as my fingers dip lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.
"Ava," he groans, his voice low and rough, as if he already knows what I'm about to do.
I give him a wicked smile, sliding down the bed, never breaking eye contact as I push him back until he's sitting against the headboard. His hands twitch at his sides like he's barely holding himself in check, but he doesn't stop me as I settle between his legs, kneeling before him.
I take my time undoing his belt, deliberately slow, watching the way his stomach tenses beneath my fingers. His cock strains against the fabric of his pants, thick and hard, and I bite my lip at the sight of it. I make him wait, dragging out the moment as I pop the button, then slide down the zipper, freeing him.
He's beautiful.
Long and thick, flushed dark with arousal, a drop of wetness already glistening at the tip. I wrap my fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, and Liam lets out a sharp curse, his head tipping back against the headboard.
"Fuck, Ava," he breathes, his hands gripping the sheets.
I lower my head, flicking my tongue over the tip, tasting him, and he jerks beneath me, his breath hissing through his teeth. His reaction sends a pulse of heat through me, making me ache with the need to ruin him completely.
So I do.
I take him into my mouth, slow and deliberate, swirling my tongue around him before sinking lower, hollowing my cheeks as I pull back. His hips shift, a ragged groan spilling from his lips, and his hands fly to my hair, tangling in the strands as if he's barely keeping himself from pushing me deeper.
"Jesus Christ," he groans, his fingers tightening. "You're gonna kill me."
I hum around him, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock, savoring the way he shudders, the way his muscles lock up as I take him deeper. I set a slow rhythm, teasing him, dragging it out just to watch him fall apart.
Liam is unraveling. His hands flex in my hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body coiled tight like he's fighting the urge to thrust into my mouth. His jaw clenches, and I can see it—the moment his control starts to snap.
His grip tightens, his voice breaking. "Ava, if you don't stop, I'm gonna…"
I don't stop.
I take him deeper, swallowing around him, and that's it.
A low, guttural curse rips from his throat, and in one swift motion, he yanks me up, flipping me onto my back. I gasp, barely registering the shift before he's on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands bracketing my face.
"You are such a fucking tease," he growls, his voice rough with need.
I grin up at him, breathless. "You love it."
His lips crash against mine in a bruising kiss, all heat and hunger and pent-up desire. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wide beneath him, and I feel him, hot and hard against me, sliding through my wetness, teasing me, making me ache for him.
"Liam," I gasp, arching against him, desperate.
He grits his teeth, barely holding on. "Tell me you want this."
I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him against me, feeling every inch of him pressing right where I need him. "I want you," I whisper, dragging my nails down his back. "I need you."
That's all it takes.
With a growl, he thrusts into me, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, claiming stroke.
I cry out, my back arching, my nails digging into his shoulders as he stretches me, fills me, makes me feel so fucking full I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but take him.
"Fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead against mine, his body trembling as he stills inside me, giving me a moment to adjust. "You feel… Jesus, Ava, you feel perfect."
I whimper, rolling my hips, and he lets out a broken sound, his restraint slipping.
Then he moves.
Slow at first, dragging out every thrust, grinding against me just right, making me moan with every deep, measured roll of his hips. He keeps his pace torturously slow, like he wants to make me feel every inch of him, like he wants to draw this out until I'm begging.
But I don't want slow anymore.
I meet his thrusts, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, biting his lip as I whisper, "Harder."
His entire body shudders.
Then his control snaps.
He grips my hips, his movements turning desperate, primal, driving into me harder, deeper, his breath ragged against my skin. Every thrust sends fire licking up my spine, pleasure coiling tight in my stomach, building higher and higher.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with our moans, our gasps, the filthy things Liam growls against my throat.
"You're so fucking wet for me," he pants, his fingers digging into my hips. "You love this, don't you? Love the way I fuck you?"
"Yes," I gasp, arching into him, my nails raking down his back. "God, yes."
He curses, gripping my thigh and hitching it higher, angling himself deeper, hitting that spot that has me crying out his name, shattering around him as pleasure crashes over me like a tidal wave.
He doesn't stop.
He keeps thrusting, relentless, chasing his own release as I tighten around him, dragging him deeper into my pleasure, into the heat of it, until his breath stutters, his body tensing.
"Fuck, Ava!" His voice breaks, his rhythm faltering, and then he's gone, tumbling over the edge, groaning my name as he spills into me, his body shuddering, his grip on me bruising.
For a long moment, we just breathe.
Liam's weight presses me into the mattress, his heartbeat pounding against mine, his breath warm against my neck. Slowly, he lifts his head, brushing damp hair from my face, his gaze dark and unreadable.
And then, he rolls us over, keeping me tangled against him, as if he has no intention of letting me go.
The city is waking up, but I am not ready to move.
The faint glow of sunrise spills over the skyline, casting soft gold against the glass towers and steel beams of Willow Creek. A gentle breeze rolls over the balcony, but I don't feel cold. Liam is behind me, his hand warm in mine, his grip sure and steady.
I turn toward him, the city lights glinting in his dark eyes. I nestle closer, my forehead resting against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Liam Carter, the man who built walls taller than the skyline, the man who swore he didn't need anyone—his grip tightens around me like letting go isn't an option.
His lips brush my temple. "Rest a while," he murmurs.
And for the first time in weeks, I sleep with no fear.
I don't know how long we're asleep before the sharp buzz of Liam's phone jolts me awake.
He groans, shifting slightly, but doesn't let go of me as he fumbles for it.
I blink against the dim light filtering through the curtains, my head still heavy with exhaustion as Liam lifts the phone to his ear.
"What?" His voice is thick with sleep, rough around the edges.
A pause. Then…
Liam's entire body tenses.
I sit up immediately. "What is it?"
His jaw tightens. "Tyler."
That sends a jolt of awareness through me. I reach for the phone, but Liam puts it on speaker before I can grab it.
"Say that again," Liam says, his voice sharper now.
Tyler's voice crackles through the speaker. "I found something." He sounds wired, like he's been awake for hours, buried deep in whatever digital labyrinth he's been navigating. "Vanessa has a meeting scheduled for tomorrow night. Some warehouse in North Hill."
My stomach clenches. "A meeting for what?"
Tyler exhales. "I don't know. The files are encrypted, and I didn't want to risk tripping anything by digging too deep, but based on the limited access I got—it's big. Bigger than anything she's pulled so far. If she's meeting someone in person, it means she either doesn't trust digital communication anymore or she needs something done off the record."
Liam sits up fully, rubbing a hand down his face. "This is it."
Tyler is in agreement. "Yeah. You want to stop her? This is your last shot."