Chapter 10
ten
Clark
I lean against the doorframe, watching Emilia move around the kitchen with easy confidence, preparing dinner with Cruz and Dex like she's been here for years instead of days. She wears a simple sundress I had one of the boys pick up for her—something casual enough for the compound but that shows off the delicate curves I can't get enough of. Her hair is pulled back in a loose knot, exposing her neck where my marks are beginning to fade. I'll have to remedy that tonight. The thought sends heat through me, but it's accompanied by something else—a possessive pride that's become familiar whenever I look at her. She's adapting to this world, to my life, finding her place among my crew with a grace that continually surprises me. And they're responding to her—the wariness giving way to grudging respect, then to genuine liking. Even Mick, suspicious by nature, has softened toward her. They see what I see—that she's something special, something rare.
She laughs at something Dex says, the sound bright and unexpected in our typically somber compound. My chest tightens at the sound. When was the last time anyone laughed in this place? When was the last time I wanted them to?
"Never thought I'd see The Wolf looking so domesticated," Mick says quietly, appearing beside me with his typical stealth.
I shoot him a warning glance, but there's no real heat behind it. He's earned the right to speak his mind. "Careful."
He shrugs, unintimidated. "Just an observation. She's good for you, Clark. Crew's noticed."
I turn my attention back to Emilia, watching as she tastes something from a spoon, nodding in approval. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Means you're less of a miserable bastard since she's been here." He says it casually, but I hear the underlying seriousness. "More focused. More balanced."
I don't bother denying it. Mick knows me too well. "She's special."
"No shit." He leans against the wall beside me. "So what's the plan? Now that the diamonds are moved and the heat's died down."
The diamond exchange went through smoothly last night—three million in stones transferred to our buyer, cash now safely distributed among the crew with the club taking its substantial cut. The official justification for keeping Emilia—ensuring her silence about the heist—no longer applies.
"What makes you think there's a change of plans?" I ask, eyes still fixed on her as she reaches past Cruz for something, comfortable in her movements, in her place here.
"Because you're not an idiot," Mick replies bluntly. "She has a life out there. Family. Job. People who'll eventually come looking harder than a couple of texts can explain away."
He's right, of course. We've managed to keep her disappearance below law enforcement radar through carefully worded messages to her family, but that won't work forever. Eventually, someone will report her missing. Eventually, questions will be asked.
"I'm keeping her," I say simply.
Mick sighs. "Figured as much. You gonna give her a choice this time?"
The question hits harder than he probably intended. Have I given Emilia choices? I took her freedom, her virginity, her autonomy. I've kept her prisoner, threatened her, manipulated her. But I've also protected her, pleasured her, shown her parts of herself she never knew existed.
"She's already chosen," I say, thinking of her surrender in my arms, her whispered confession of belonging to me.
"If you say so." Mick pushes off from the wall. "Just remember—a caged bird might sing pretty, but it's never really yours."
He walks away, leaving me with thoughts I'd rather not examine too closely. Is that what I've done? Caged Emilia? Forced her to adapt, to survive, to please me because she has no alternative?
She chooses that moment to look up, her eyes finding mine across the room as if she sensed my scrutiny. Her face brightens, a smile curving her lips that's meant only for me. Something shifts in my chest—a warmth that spreads outward, both comfortable and terrifying in its intensity.
This isn't just possession anymore. It's not just obsession or lust or the thrill of claiming someone so pure. This is something I've spent my life avoiding, something I never thought I'd feel, something I'm not sure I deserve.
I'm falling in love with her.
The realization stops me cold. Love isn't part of my world, has never been part of my calculations. Love is vulnerability. Love is weakness. Love is giving someone the power to destroy you.
Yet here I am, watching a librarian chop vegetables in my kitchen, feeling like she's got her hand wrapped around my heart.
I push off from the doorframe, decision made. She glances up again as I approach, that smile widening, her eyes warming in a way that makes my blood heat.
"Need something?" she asks, her voice soft, intimate despite our audience.
"You," I reply, taking her hand. "Now."
Cruz and Dex exchange knowing looks but say nothing as I lead Emilia from the kitchen. She comes willingly, fingers laced with mine, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.
"What about dinner?" she asks as we move through the hallway toward our room.
"It can wait." I open the door, pulling her inside, shutting the world out. Then I just look at her, really look at her—the woman who's turned my life upside down in less than a week.
She tilts her head, confusion crossing her features. "Clark? Is everything okay?"
No. Nothing's okay. Everything's changed. I've changed, in ways I never thought possible.
"The diamonds are gone," I tell her, watching her face closely. "The job's done. The reason I gave for keeping you here no longer exists."
Her expression shifts, fear flashing in those hazel eyes, then something deeper. "Are you... are you letting me go?"
The thought makes something violent rise in my chest, but I push it down. This isn't about what I want. Not entirely.
"That depends," I say, keeping my voice even despite the storm raging inside me. "On what you want."
Her eyes widen, genuine surprise replacing fear. "What I want? Since when does that matter?"
The words sting, but I deserve them. "Since now. Since I realized I can't keep you in a cage."
"A cage?" She looks around our room, at the bed where we've spent nights tangled together, at the books I've had brought in for her, at the clothes I've given her. "Is that what you think this is?"
I step closer, needing to touch her but holding back. "Isn't it? You didn't choose to come here, Emilia. You didn't choose me. I took your choices away."
She studies my face, something shifting in her expression. "At first, yes. But what about after? What about when I ran and came back? What about every night since then?"
"Stockholm syndrome," I say, the words bitter on my tongue. "Adapting to survive."
She laughs, the sound startling in its genuineness. "Is that what you think? That I'm with you because I'm traumatized? Because I have no choice?"
I don't answer, because the truth is, I don't know. Can't know. All I know is that the thought of her staying out of fear rather than desire creates an ache I can't bear.
She moves closer, closing the distance between us, reaching up to touch my face. I stand perfectly still, letting her explore with gentle fingers.
"For someone so dangerous, so feared," she says softly, "you can be remarkably stupid."
Before I can process that, she rises on tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is different from our others—not desperate or hungry or dominated by me. It's gentle, tender, her leading while I follow.
When she pulls back, her eyes are clear, direct. "I could have left that night, after the Vipers. You were distracted with the fallout, with securing the compound. But I didn't. I chose to stay then, and I choose to stay now."
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it, vulnerability I never show on display.
Her smile is soft, knowing. "Because despite everything—how we met, how this started—I've found something with you I never thought I'd have. Something I'm not willing to give up."
"And what's that?" I ask, needing to hear it.
"Freedom," she says, surprising me again. "Real freedom. Not the kind that comes from being able to walk down any street I want, but the kind that comes from being truly seen. From not having to hide who I am, what I want." Her hand slides to my chest, resting over my heart. "From being with someone who wants all of me, not just the parts that are easy or convenient."
My arms finally move, wrapping around her, pulling her against me. "I do want all of you. Every part. Always."
She looks up at me, something knowing in her gaze. "I know. That's why I'm staying. Because I want all of you too, Clark. The dangerous parts, the controlling parts, the parts that scare other people. I want them because they're you, and you're what I want."
The warmth in my chest expands, threatening to consume me. I've spent my life taking what I want without asking, without apology. But what I want most now—what I need—is something I can't take. It has to be given.
"I need you to be sure," I say, voice rougher than intended. "Because if you stay, if you choose this—choose me—I won't let you go. Not ever. You need to understand that."
"I understand exactly who you are," she says, and there's no fear in her voice, only certainty. "I've seen you beat men unconscious to protect me. I've felt how possessive you are, how controlling. I know you'll never be easy or simple or safe." She presses closer, her body warm against mine. "And I choose you anyway."
Something breaks open inside me—a dam holding back emotions I've denied my entire life. I crush her to me, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that's both claiming and surrender. She responds instantly, arms twining around my neck, body arching into mine.
I lift her, carrying her to our bed, laying her down with more care than I've ever shown anyone. She reaches for me, eager and willing, but I hold back, needing this time to be different.
"Let me look at you," I murmur, hovering above her. "Let me see what's mine."
She flushes but doesn't shy away, letting my gaze travel over her. I reach for the thin straps of her sundress, sliding them down her shoulders with deliberate slowness. The fabric pools at her waist, revealing her to my hungry eyes.
"Beautiful," I breathe, meaning it more than she can know. "Perfect."
I take my time undressing her completely, savoring each new expanse of skin revealed, treating her body with the reverence it deserves. When she's naked beneath me, I step back, removing my own clothes while she watches with dark, desire-filled eyes.
This time, when I come to her, it's different. Slower, deeper, more honest than I've ever been with anyone. I worship her body with hands and mouth, drawing sounds from her that feed something primal in me. But it's not just possession driving me now—it's the need to give her pleasure, to show her with my body what I'm not sure I can say with words.
When I finally enter her, when her body welcomes me home, I keep my eyes locked on hers, letting her see everything I usually hide. The vulnerability. The need. The love I'm only beginning to understand.
"Mine," I growl against her neck, the word a promise now, not just a claim. "Tell me you're mine, Emilia. Not because I've taken you, but because you've chosen to be."
"Yours," she gasps, arms tightening around me, nails digging into my back as I drive deeper. "I'm yours, Clark. By choice. Always."
The admission pushes me closer to the edge, but I hold back, determined to bring her there first. I slide a hand between us, finding the spot that makes her arch and cry out. Her pleasure is my priority, her surrender all the more precious because it's freely given.
When she comes apart beneath me, my name a cry on her lips, I finally let go, emptying myself inside her with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in my soul. The pleasure is intense, but it's the emotional release that nearly undoes me—the feeling of barriers breaking, of letting someone in after a lifetime of keeping the world at arm's length.
Afterward, I hold her close, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. I stroke her hair, marveling at how something so simple can feel so right.
"I meant what I said," I tell her, needing her to understand. "If you stay, it's forever. There's no walking away, no changing your mind. I won't let you go, Emilia. Not now, not ever."
She lifts her head, looking at me with those clear, honest eyes that see too much. "Good," she says simply. "Because I don't want to be let go."
I pull her closer, something fierce and protective surging through me. "I'll take care of you," I promise. "Your mother, your sister—I'll make sure they're provided for. You can see them when it's safe. I'll give you anything you want, everything you need."
She smiles, pressing a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "I just need you," she says. "The rest we'll figure out together."
Together. The word settles into my bones, into the spaces that have been empty for too long. I've built my life around power, around control, around taking what I want and destroying anyone who stands in my way. I've never needed anyone, never wanted the complication, the vulnerability.
But I need her. Want her. Not just in my bed, but in my life. By my side.
"Yes," I agree, holding her tighter. "Together."
It's a vow, a promise, a new beginning. The Wolf has finally found his mate, and nothing—not rival gangs, not the law, not the darkness of my own past—will take her from me.
Emilia West is mine. Forever.