Chapter 8
eight
Clark
I kick the door to my room open, Emilia still cradled against my chest. My hands are steady, my movements controlled, but inside I'm nuclear—rage and terror and relief forming a volatile cocktail that threatens to detonate with every breath. I almost lost her. The thought pounds through me with each heartbeat. She almost got taken by the fucking Vipers. Every time I close my eyes, I see her surrounded, that bastard's hand on her throat, the fear in her eyes. I should have locked her in. Should have handcuffed her to the goddamn bed if that's what it took to keep her safe. I set her down on her feet, more carefully than I feel, and then I'm pacing, unable to look at her directly because if I do, I might shake her. Or kiss her. Or both.
"Clark," she says softly, hesitantly. Her voice trembles, but there's a strength beneath it that only feeds the storm inside me. Even now, even after what just happened, she's not broken.
"Don't." The word comes out harsher than I intend, slicing through the air between us. "Don't say anything yet."
I need to get myself under control. Need to rein in the feral part of me that wants to drag her back to bed, pin her beneath me, mark her so thoroughly that she'll never think of leaving again. The violence still sings in my blood from the fight, heightening everything, making it harder to think clearly.
"I told you to stay here." I finally turn to face her, hands clenched at my sides. "I fucking told you there was danger. That the Vipers were watching us."
She hugs herself, those slim arms wrapping around her body protectively. Her cardigan is torn at the shoulder, dirt streaking one sleeve from where she crawled under the fence. There's a redness on her neck that will bruise by morning—where that bastard grabbed her. The sight of it sends fresh rage through me.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Sorry?" I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "You're sorry? Do you have any idea what they would have done to you? What they still might do if they get their hands on you again?"
She flinches, and something in me breaks at the sight. I close my eyes, drawing a deep breath, forcing the fury back down. This isn't her fault. She's a captive trying to escape. What did I expect?
"Why?" I ask, voice lower now, controlled. "Why run, Emilia? After everything?"
Her eyes meet mine, direct and clear despite her fear. "I have responsibilities. My mother, my sister. My job. My life." She pauses, swallowing hard. "And I needed...space. From this. From you. From how you make me feel."
The last part catches me off guard, hooks something deep in my chest. "How do I make you feel?"
She looks away, cheeks flushing. "Like I'm losing myself. Like I'm becoming someone I don't recognize." Her voice drops so low I have to strain to hear her. "Someone who craves things she shouldn't."
My body responds instantly to the admission, heat coiling low in my stomach. I move closer, drawn by some force I can't resist.
"What things, Emilia?" I ask, needing to hear her say it. "What do you crave?"
Her eyes lift to mine, vulnerability and defiance warring in their hazel depths. "You," she admits. "Even though I shouldn't. Even though it makes no sense. Even though you've taken my freedom." Her chin lifts slightly. "I ran because I'm afraid of how much I want to stay."
The confession hits me like a physical blow, rocking me back on my heels. In all my scenarios, my justifications for keeping her, I never considered that she might be fighting an attraction as powerful as my own. That she might want me as desperately as I want her.
"You could have been killed tonight," I say, closing the distance between us. "Or worse."
"I know." Her hands uncurl from around her body, hanging at her sides in a gesture of surrender that makes something primal in me stir. "But I wasn't. Because you found me."
"I will always find you," I repeat my promise from earlier. My hand rises of its own accord, fingers tracing the redness on her neck. "But I'd rather not have to. I'd rather keep you safe right here. With me."
She doesn't pull away from my touch, instead leaning into it slightly. "For how long, Clark? Until you get bored? Until I'm no longer a novelty? Until the next heist, the next danger?"
The questions surprise me with their insight. She sees more clearly than I expected—the transient nature of my world, the risks that define my life. But she's wrong about one thing.
"You're not a novelty," I tell her, my thumb still stroking her neck. "You're a necessity."
The admission startles us both. I didn't plan to say it, didn't even know I felt it until the words were out. But they're true. In the span of mere days, this woman has become something I can't imagine being without. The thought of her gone—back to her small life, her responsibilities, her freedom—creates a hollow ache in my chest I've never experienced before.
Our eyes lock, and I see my own surprise reflected in hers. Then something else replaces it—heat, need, the same desperate hunger that's clawing at my insides.
"Clark," she whispers, my name a plea on her lips.
I break. All the control I've been clinging to shatters in an instant. My hands find her face, cradling it with a gentleness that belies the storm raging inside me. Our lips meet in a kiss that's anything but gentle—desperate, consuming, a clash of tongues and teeth and shared breath. She responds immediately, arms wrapping around my neck, body pressing against mine as if she can't get close enough.
I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist instinctively, and carry her to the bed. We fall together, a tangle of limbs and need. I tear at her clothes, needing to see her, all of her, to assure myself she's unharmed, that she's still mine. She helps, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, equally desperate.
When she's naked beneath me, I pause, drinking in the sight of her—pale skin flushed with desire, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen from my kisses. Mine. The word pulses through me with each heartbeat. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to keep.
"Never again," I growl, my hands roaming her body, checking for injuries, claiming every inch. "Never run from me again."
"I won't," she promises, arching into my touch. "I can't."
I believe her. In this moment, with desire coursing through us both, I believe her completely. My mouth follows the path of my hands, tasting her skin, marking her neck, her collarbone, the soft curve of her breast. She moans beneath me, fingers tangling in my hair, guiding me where she wants me.
The knowledge that she wants this—wants me—as badly as I want her is intoxicating. I take my time, despite the urgency pounding through my veins. I want her mindless with pleasure, want to drive every thought but me from her mind.
When I finally slide inside her, we both gasp at the sensation. She's tight, still new to this, but wet and ready for me. Our fingers brush as she reaches between us, and I feel a spark—like electricity jumping between our skin, jolting through my entire body. It's more than physical—this connection between us. More than lust or possession or control.
I set a punishing pace, unable to hold back, driven by the need to claim her completely. She meets me thrust for thrust, her inexperience compensated by enthusiasm, by a natural responsiveness that drives me wild. Her nails dig into my back, marking me as I've marked her.
"Mine," I growl against her neck, the word torn from somewhere primal inside me. "Say it."
"Yours," she gasps, the word breaking on a moan as I hit a spot that makes her arch beneath me. "I'm yours, Clark."
The admission sends me spiraling toward the edge. I reach between us, finding the bundle of nerves that will send her over with me. I need to feel her come apart, need the proof that I can give her pleasure even in the midst of this possessive claiming.
She shatters beautifully, my name a cry on her lips as her body tightens around mine. I follow her over, burying myself deep inside her, emptying myself with a groan that sounds like it's being ripped from my soul.
In the aftermath, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, breath gradually slowing. I pull her close, unable to let go even now, some part of me still afraid she'll run if given the chance. She nestles against me, her head on my chest, fingers tracing patterns on my skin.
"I was so scared," she admits softly into the darkness. "When those men grabbed me. I thought..."
"Don't," I interrupt, not wanting her to relive it, not wanting to think about what could have happened if I'd been a minute later. "It's over. You're safe now."
"Because of you." She lifts her head, looking at me with those clear, honest eyes that see too much. "Why did you come after me? You could have let me go. I would have been out of your life, your problem solved."
The question makes me tense. Why did I go after her? The easy answer is possession—she's mine, I don't let go of what's mine. But it's more than that. The thought of her gone creates a physical pain I've never experienced before.
"I couldn't let you go," I admit, the honesty unfamiliar on my tongue. "Not like that. Not ever."
She studies my face in the dim light, as if searching for the truth behind my words. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, because she settles back against my chest with a small sigh.
"What happens now?" she asks.
Now . The future stretches before us, complicated and uncertain. The Vipers know about her, know she means something to me. The diamonds still need to be moved, the exchange completed. My crew still has doubts about my decisions, my leadership. And Emilia still has a life waiting for her—responsibilities, family, normalcy.
But all of that feels distant, secondary to the woman in my arms. To the unexpected peace I feel with her here, safe. To the realization that I'm falling for her in ways I never thought possible.
"Now, you stay with me," I tell her, my arms tightening around her. "Where I can protect you. Where you belong."
"For how long?" she asks again, echoing her earlier question.
This time, I have a different answer.
"For as long as it takes," I say. "For as long as you need to understand that what's between us isn't temporary. That I'm not letting you go. That you're mine, Emilia, in every way that matters."
She's quiet for so long I think she might have fallen asleep. Then I feel her nod against my chest, a small movement of acceptance.
"Yours," she whispers, the word floating between us like a promise. Like truth.
I should feel triumphant. I've won—claimed her, convinced her to stay, broken through her resistance. But what I feel instead is responsibility, weighing heavy on my shoulders. She's trusting me with herself, with her safety, with her heart. No one has ever trusted me that way before.
And as I hold her, listening to her breathing even out as she drifts toward sleep, I make a silent vow. I will be worthy of that trust. I will keep her safe, not just from external threats, but from the darkness in my own life, in my own soul.
Because somewhere between kidnapping Emilia West and falling into bed with her, something fundamental has changed inside me. Something I never thought possible.
I'm falling for her. Hard. Completely. Irrevocably.
And I'll do whatever it takes to make her mine forever.