CHAPTER 33 THE HEIR OF THE ASHES POV SYBIL #2
A high, sharp cry entirely tears from my throat. My internal muscles violently clamp down around him, completely welcoming the massive intrusion. The feeling of extreme, suffocating fullness is a psychological narcotic.
Thayer goes completely rigid against me, his forehead dropping heavily to rest against mine. A harsh, ragged groan vibrates from his chest.
"You are so fucking perfect," he breathes, his skin slick with a sudden sheen of sweat.
He begins to move. The rhythm is entirely punishing, but incredibly careful. He pulls back almost completely before driving his hips down, completely seating himself against my core, but he strictly controls the impact, completely hyper-aware of the fragile life developing inside my womb.
I entirely surrender to his careful, violent possession. The cold marble bites into my lower back, completely contrasting the immense, burning furnace of his body. The sheer friction ignites a blinding, white-hot fire in the center of my core.
"Thayer," I sob, my head tossing back against the mirror, my fingers tangling brutally in his dark hair.
"I have you," he commands, increasing the heavy, driving pace of his thrusts. "Look at me, Sybil. Watch me take you."
I force my eyes open. I watch his bruised, beautiful face contort with pure, unadulterated pleasure. I watch the monster completely submit to the biological reality of our creation.
The climax hits me with the catastrophic force of a tidal wave.
My vision completely whites out. A loud, melodic scream entirely rips from my throat as my internal muscles spasm violently, repeatedly milking his heavy length in tight, scalding waves. I completely lose control of my body, my nails drawing tiny half-moons in the skin of his shoulders.
Thayer roars my name, a dark, primal sound of absolute victory. He drives into me one final, devastating time, locking his body rigidly against mine as he pours his heavy, hot release entirely into my core, completely sealing the legacy of the Thorne Syndicate.
He collapses heavily against me, his chest heaving violently, entirely burying his face in the crook of my neck.
We stay there for a long time, the only sound the heavy, frantic mingling of our breathing and the distant crash of the Caribbean waves.
Then, the absolute perfection of the moment is completely, violently shattered.
The heavy, encrypted satellite radio console built into the wall of the master bedroom, the only direct line to Dante, emits a sharp, electronic chirp.
Thayer’s entire body goes rigid against mine. The heavy, lethargic warmth of the consummation instantly vanishes, completely replaced by the cold, calculated tension of the Don.
He pulls out of me slowly. He adjusts his trousers, his face transforming into an impenetrable mask of absolute murder. He doesn't say a word. He walks out of the bathroom and across the sprawling bedroom.
I slide off the vanity, my legs trembling violently. I pull my underwear back into place and grab a white silk robe from the hook, wrapping it tightly around my body.
I follow him into the bedroom.
Thayer is standing over the radio console. He presses the receiver button.
"Speak," he commands, his voice completely dead.
"Boss," Dante’s voice crackles through the encrypted frequency. It sounds thin, entirely stretched by exhaustion and high-stakes paranoia. "I am on the secure line from Nassau. We have a massive, critical problem."
"I told you not to contact this coordinate unless the sky was falling, Dante," Thayer growls, his hand gripping the edge of the console so tightly the plastic groans.
"It is falling," Dante replies grimly. "Hayes Vance didn't buy the ghost trail to Moscow. He recognized the diversion. The NSA tracked the massive liquid asset transfers Sybil executed yesterday. They followed the digital footprint to a proxy server in the Bahamas."
My heart completely stops. The air entirely evacuates my lungs.
"Give me the bottom line," Thayer demands, completely devoid of panic.
"He tracked a physical cash withdrawal to a private banking sector in the Bahamas," Dante explains, the horrific reality of the situation pouring through the speaker.
"He knows you are in the Caribbean. He doesn't have the exact coordinate of the island yet, but he has mobilized a heavily armed Coast Guard cutter and two federal surveillance drones.
They are establishing a massive grid search outward from Nassau.
It is only a matter of days before they ping the thermal signature of the villa. "
The cage is shrinking. The impenetrable fortress is crumbling. My brother is completely, relentlessly determined to drag me out of the dark.
I walk up behind Thayer. I press my hand flat against his uninjured right shoulder.
Thayer looks at me over his shoulder. His pale eyes are entirely black.
"Where is Vance right now?" Thayer asks the radio, entirely keeping his gaze locked on my face.
"He is personally coordinating the search from a federal safehouse in Miami," Dante answers. "He’s completely off the books, Thayer. He is running a rogue operation because the Director is too terrified of the Black Book to authorize an official strike."
"Good," Thayer murmurs, a dark, completely unhinged smirk curving his lips. The smile of a sociopath who has just found the perfect, fatal flaw in his enemy’s armor.
He releases the receiver button and turns fully to face me.
"What are you going to do?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly. Not from fear of Thayer, but from the absolute, terrifying certainty of what is about to happen to my brother.
"I am going to completely eradicate the threat to my child," Thayer states, his voice dropping into a lethal, velvet whisper. He reaches out, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "He thinks he is hunting a monster. He doesn't realize he is playing directly into a trap."
"How?" I breathe.
"We are not going to fight the federal government, Sybil," Thayer explains, entirely leaning in to kiss my forehead. "We are going to use the Black Book to make the federal government entirely turn on Hayes Vance."
Thayer turns back to the radio. He presses the button.
"Dante," Thayer commands, the absolute, tyrannical Don fully re-established. "Access the primary Swiss accounts hidden in the Black Book. I want you to wire fifty million dollars directly into a heavily encrypted offshore account under Hayes Vance’s name."
My eyes widen. The sheer, diabolical genius of the move completely paralyzes me.
"Fifty million?" Dante repeats, his voice entirely shocked.
"Do it," Thayer orders. "And then, I want you to anonymously leak the routing numbers and a fabricated audio recording of Vance negotiating a bribe with the Commission to the Department of Justice Internal Affairs division.
Frame him entirely. Make it look like he is using the search for me as a cover to extort the Syndicate. "
The silence on the radio is heavy, profoundly awe-struck.
"You're going to burn him from the inside out," Dante murmurs, the dark respect evident in his tone. "The FBI will arrest their own agent for treason before the sun sets tomorrow."
"They won't just arrest him," Thayer corrects smoothly, his pale eyes burning with absolute, vindictive fire. "He will spend the rest of his miserable life locked in a subterranean cell in ADX Florence, exactly as my wife promised him. Execute the protocol, Dante. Burn him to the ground."
Thayer kills the transmission.
He turns to me. The heavy, suffocating dread that had entirely consumed the room is completely gone, replaced by the dark, heavy satisfaction of absolute victory.
He reached out and pulled me flush against his chest, his large hands completely resting over my flat stomach.
"He is dead to the world, Sybil," Thayer whispers, kissing the bruised skin of my neck. "No one is coming for us. We are entirely, perfectly alone."
I lean my head against his shoulder. I think of the brother I barely knew, rotting in a federal prison for a crime he didn't commit, entirely destroyed by the monster holding me in his arms.
And as the tropical sun completely bathes the bedroom in a warm, golden light, I close my eyes, entirely accepting the horrific, beautiful reality of my existence.
I don't feel a single ounce of guilt.
I am a Thorne. And the Queen protects her own.