CHAPTER 15 THE GHOSTS OF OUR SINS POV SYBIL #2
"I don't care about the switch!" Thayer roars, the sudden, violent explosion of his volume completely shattering the silence of the room.
He closes the distance between us in two long strides, ignoring his injury, completely trapping me against the chrome cart.
"I don't care if the federal government brings down the entire Syndicate!
I am not putting you within a hundred miles of the Commission's guns! "
"You don't have a choice!" I scream right back at him, my hands flying up to shove against his uninjured chest. I am not the trembling, terrified virgin anymore.
I am the woman who just pointed a gun at his underboss.
I am the Queen of his ashes. "You burned my life to the ground to keep me!
You made me a Thorne! This is my war too! "
"You are my wife!" he snarls, his right hand shooting out, his massive fingers wrapping securely around the back of my neck.
He hauls me up onto my toes, forcing me to look directly into the demonic, obsessive fire burning in his eyes.
"Your only job is to stay in the cage I built for you and keep breathing! You do not walk into the line of fire!"
"If you go alone, you will die!" I sob, the absolute, paralyzing terror of losing him finally breaking through my anger. "You are bleeding. You are half-dead. They will slaughter you, Thayer, and then they will come back here for me!"
"I will never let them touch you," he whispers, his breath hot and frantic against my lips.
"Then let me protect you!" I beg, my hands sliding up from his chest to grip his jaw. My thumbs press into the rough, bruised stubble of his cheeks. "I know how his mind works. I know his tells. I am the bait, Thayer. You can't catch the rat if you don't bring the bait."
The truth of my tactical logic hits him.
I can see the brutal, agonizing war raging behind his eyes.
The absolute, pathological need to keep me locked in a padded room is violently clashing with the cold, undeniable reality of the mafia war.
If he goes without me, Arthur Vance will release the files.
The Syndicate will fall, and the Commission will hunt us both to the ends of the earth.
"If a single bullet comes within ten feet of you," Thayer growls, his grip on my neck tightening, a terrifying, possessive claim that sends a heavy wave of heat straight to my core, "I will slaughter every breathing soul in that railyard, Sybil. Including our own men."
"I know," I breathe, my eyes locked onto his.
"You don't leave my side. You don't speak to him. You stand exactly where I put you, and you let me do what I do best," he commands, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet purr.
"Kill him," I whisper, the final, corrupted remnant of my innocence completely turning to ash on my tongue. I am condemning my own father to death, and the realization doesn't bring me horror. It brings me a profound, twisted sense of peace.
Thayer’s eyes widen slightly, the feral satisfaction of my complete corruption utterly intoxicating to him.
"With pleasure," he murmurs.
The adrenaline, the sheer terror of the impending bloodbath, and the catastrophic intimacy of our shared sins completely overload the atmosphere in the room. The space between us is no longer just air; it is a highly combustible gas waiting for a single spark.
Thayer doesn't pull away to get dressed. He doesn't step back to prepare for war.
Instead, his hand at the back of my neck flexes, pulling my face up as his mouth crashes down onto mine.
There is no hesitation this time. There is no gentle buildup. It is an act of absolute, desperate consummation. He tastes like violence and possession. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, entirely dominating me, taking exactly what he wants with the ruthless entitlement of a king.
I moan, a helpless, breathy sound that completely shatters his restraint.
He sweeps his right arm behind my knees, entirely ignoring the agonizing protest of his torn left shoulder.
He lifts me off the floor, my back colliding with the pristine white wall of the medical suite.
The cold tile shocks my skin, but it is instantly eradicated by the immense, furnace-like heat of his massive body pressing flush against mine.
I wrap my legs instinctively around his hips, anchoring myself to him as the room spins wildly out of control.
"Thayer," I gasp against his lips, my hands frantically unbuckling the heavy tactical belt of his pants. I am desperate for him. The paralyzing fear that he might not survive the night is a frantic, agonizing drumbeat in my head. I need to know that I am entirely his before we walk into the fire.
He helps me, his uninjured hand quickly stripping his dark boxer briefs down.
The heavy, hard ridge of his arousal springs free, pressing hot and demanding against the thin cotton of my scrub pants.
He doesn't bother taking them off me. He simply grabs the waistband and rips the cheap medical fabric down the side, completely exposing my aching, slick center to the cold air for a fraction of a second before his body replaces it.
"You are mine," he snarls, his pale gray eyes burning with a dark, demonic fire as he looks down at my flushed, desperate face. "Say it."
"I am yours," I sob, digging my fingernails into his right shoulder. "Only yours."
He doesn't offer me the slow, careful preparation a virgin deserves. We are far past the realm of gentle romance. We are operating on the primal, violent edge of survival.
He positions himself at my entrance. He is massive, thick and heavy with dark, obsessive lust. He holds my hips firmly with his right hand, completely securing me against the wall, and with one brutal, unrelenting thrust, he buries himself entirely inside me.
The pain is a sharp, tearing burn that makes me cry out, my head tossing back against the white tiles. I squeeze my eyes shut, my inner muscles clamping down violently around his overwhelming intrusion.
Thayer completely freezes. A harsh, ragged groan tears from his throat as the tight, scalding velvet of my body completely envelops him.
The muscles in his neck stand out like thick cords, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like bone might snap.
He fights the feral, animalistic urge to move, forcing himself to remain perfectly still while my body adjusts to the catastrophic invasion.
"Sybil," he breathes, his forehead dropping to rest against mine, his skin slick with a hot, feverish sweat. "Look at me."
I force my heavy, tear-filled eyes open.
"I am inside you," he whispers, the dark, possessive awe in his voice completely melting the pain away, replacing it with a heavy, throbbing heat that radiates from my core to my fingertips. "You are completely full of me. You will never belong to another breathing soul."
"I don't want to," I gasp, my hips instinctively executing a shallow, trembling roll against his.
The microscopic movement completely snaps the last thread of his iron-clad control.
Thayer begins to move. He pulls back almost entirely before driving his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt with a heavy, wet slap of flesh against flesh that echoes violently in the sterile room.
I scream his name, the sound entirely swallowed by his mouth as he captures my lips in a bruising, punishing kiss.
The rhythm he establishes is ruthless. It is a desperate, pounding tempo designed to completely obliterate my senses, to brand my nerve endings with the absolute, undeniable proof of his claim.
Every thrust drives me higher up the wall, the friction igniting a blinding, white-hot fire in the center of my body.
He knows exactly how to break me. His thumb finds the swollen, hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, pressing down hard, matching the brutal, driving pace of his hips.
The climax hits me with the force of a freight train.
My vision completely whites out. A high, melodic scream rips from my throat as my internal muscles spasm violently, milking his thick length in rapid, scalding waves.
I completely lose control of my body, my fingernails drawing blood from his right shoulder, my teeth biting down on the sensitive skin of his neck.
Thayer roars, a dark, primal sound of absolute victory. He drives into me one final, devastating time, completely burying himself to the root. His massive body goes entirely rigid against mine as he pours his release into me, a hot, heavy flood that completely seals the blood pact between us.
He stays buried inside me, his chest heaving violently against mine as the aftershocks of our climax slowly taper off. He presses a desperate, lingering kiss to my damp forehead, entirely refusing to let me slide down the wall.
"We go together," he whispers, the vow absolute.
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder.
"Together," I echo.
Ten minutes later, we walk out of the medical suite.
I am dressed in a fresh pair of black tactical pants and a heavy, dark turtleneck sweater provided by Maria's replacement.
Thayer has forced a clean, black button-down shirt over his bandages, the dark fabric hiding any potential seepage from his wound.
He wears a heavy, charcoal topcoat draped over his shoulders, looking entirely like the untouchable, lethal Don of Chicago.
Dante is waiting at the end of the subterranean corridor, flanked by a dozen heavily armed Syndicate killers.
Dante looks at me, stepping perfectly in sync at Thayer’s side, and dips his head in a deep, respectful nod. He does not question my presence.
"The motorcade is ready, Boss," Dante says, his voice grim. "The Commission is waiting."
Thayer reaches out, his large, calloused hand completely enveloping mine. His grip is an iron manacle, a terrifyingly possessive anchor in the center of the storm.
"Let's go kill my father-in-law," Thayer murmurs, a dark, bloodthirsty smile curving his lips.
I squeeze his hand back.
We walk into the elevator, entirely ready to burn the world to ashes.