Chapter 20
LUCAS
At the end of the day, the drive back to Lexi's rental on James Island was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in like the humid night air.
The marsh stretched dark and endless beside the road, the water's surface rippling under a sliver of moon.
I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was a storm—Byron Dane's secrets swirling like debris in a hurricane.
Another family? Billions? Enemies? It was all too much, a tangle I couldn't untie.
I'd left Ethan in the hotel suite with a promise to think about it, but thinking was the problem.
Every thought led back to the same dead end: my father, the man who'd taught me to stand tall, had been a liar.
And now that lie had pulled me into Charleston, into Dominion Hall, into a web I didn't ask for.
Lexi sat beside me, her head against the window, her blonde hair catching the occasional streetlight.
She looked exhausted, the day's shoot etched in the lines around her eyes.
The media shitstorm had hit hard—the pictures from the bar and the hotel, the headlines screaming about her mystery man.
Me. I'd had the sense to have the house swept again for bugs, but the damage was done.
National outlets were circling like sharks, and it was only a matter of time before they sniffed out more.
I gripped the wheel tighter, my knuckles white. This was my fault, at least, in part. I'd stepped in at the bar, and now her life was under a microscope because of it.
We pulled up to the house, the weathered blue exterior looking almost ghostly in the dark. I killed the engine and turned to her. "Wait here," I said, stepping out to do a quick perimeter check.
No signs of tampering, no unfamiliar footprints in the soft earth. The marsh whispered behind the house. All clear, but that itch at the back of my neck wouldn't quit.
I opened her door, and she slid out, her movements slow, like the weight of the day was dragging her down. "Thanks," she murmured, brushing past me.
That spark hit again when her arm grazed mine, but I shoved it down. Not now.
Inside, Hannah was nowhere in sight. Lexi checked her phone, her face illuminated by the screen. "Hannah’s staying away," she said, her voice flat. "Says she has fires to put out."
We both knew the truth—she was avoiding the powder keg between us. The tension, the unspoken pull that had exploded last night. Hannah loved her sister, but she wasn't blind. She saw the complication I represented, and she was giving us space. Or maybe just giving herself a break from the drama.
Lexi sighed, dropping her bag on the counter. "I'm exhausted. Going to shower."
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Okay."
She disappeared down the hall, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her. I heard the water start, a steady hiss that did nothing to calm the chaos in my head.
I poured myself a stiff drink—bourbon, neat. The liquid burned going down, grounding me for a moment. I leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the dark marsh.
What the hell was I doing?
Dad's secrets gnawed at me. Byron Dane—a man I'd idolized in fragments, the ghost who'd shaped me into a soldier—had another life. Another family. Billions. Enemies. Ethan had laid it out like it was fact, but it felt like a bad dream.
How could I not have known?
Mom had never said a word, raising us on that Montana ranch, teaching us to be strong, to protect what mattered. Dad's visits were rare, but they'd burned into my memory. "Family first," he'd say, his voice rough from whatever shadows he carried.
But now? Family first meant what? Seven half-brothers I didn't know? A fortune built on lies? And enemies—faceless, coming for blood. Ethan wanted me to stay, to fight. But Delta was my life, my purpose. Leaving that for a father who'd abandoned us? It twisted like a knife.
And Lexi.
Fuck.
The woman in the next room had me hooked, her fire pulling me in like a riptide.
But this morning, with Ethan's bombshell, everything felt tainted.
I couldn't drag her into this mess. Hell, I didn't even know if I was staying.
Maybe it was time to cut and run, get back to Delta, to the life I knew.
Damn the pull of Dominion Hall, damn the secrets.
But leaving meant leaving her, and that dark thought clawed at me. She was mine now, wasn't she? Or was that just the bourbon talking?
The shower shut off, and I heard her moving, the faint creak of the floor. I took another sip, bracing myself.
When she walked into the living room, my breath caught.
She was in a robe, untied at the front, the fabric parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of skin that made my cock twitch.
Her hair was damp, curling around her shoulders, her eyes tired but still sparking with that fire.
She looked vulnerable, real, and it hit me like a punch—possessive need surging through me.
I didn't need this complication, not now, not with everything crashing down.
She must've seen it on my face—the conflict, the distance—because her demeanor shifted. She tied the robe quickly, her movements sharp, and crossed her arms. "I'm going to bed," she said, her voice cool, the warmth gone.
I watched her turn, that robe clinging in ways that made my resolve waver.
Fuck this.
I set the glass down, the bourbon burning in my throat, and followed her down the hall. Might as well cut this off before it became more of a problem. Smart for both of us.
She was in her room, slipping into pajamas, the fabric hugging her ass in a way that stopped me cold. The sight of her—curves I'd claimed last night, skin I'd tasted—snapped something inside me. The tension, the confusion, the pull of family and duty—it all boiled over into raw need.
She turned, her eyes meeting mine with a cold edge. "What do you need?" she asked, her tone clipped.
Yeah, I thought, fuck the world, fuck everything.
"You," I said, my voice rough, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.
Her eyes turned to fire, that spark igniting between us.
We stripped in a frenzy, clothes hitting the floor like discarded armor.
Her pajamas were gone in seconds, her body bare and beautiful, and I was on her, our mouths crashing together in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, hungry and desperate.
She tasted like salt and desire, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me closer as I backed her against the wall.
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and thrust into her hard, the sensation ripping a groan from my throat.
She was wet, ready, her body clenching around me like a vice, and I didn't hold back.
This wasn't tender—it was raw, intense, dirty, like we were giving in to every urge we'd ever suppressed.
I pounded into her, the wall shaking with each thrust, her nails raking down my back, fueling the fire.
"Fuck, Lucas," she moaned, her head falling back, exposing her throat.
I bit down, not hard enough to bruise but enough to mark, sucking the skin until she gasped, her hips grinding against me, taking everything I gave.
I spun us, dropping her onto the bed, her body bouncing once before I was on her again, flipping her over so she was on her hands and knees.
I bent down and licked her pussy once, long and slow.
Then I got back up and grabbed her hips, pulling her back as I slammed into her from behind, the angle deep, hitting that spot that made her cry out.
Her ass pressed against me, perfect and round, and I slapped it lightly, the sound echoing in the room, her moan turning into a whimper of pleasure.
"Harder," she demanded, pushing back against me, her voice breathless and needy.
I obliged, thrusting harder, faster, my hand reaching around to find her breasts, squeezing as she shook, her moans turning into screams. She was everything—tight, wet, responsive—and I lost myself in the rhythm, the slap of skin on skin, the way she clenched around me, pulling me deeper.
Sweat dripped down my back, and I leaned over her, kissing her shoulder as I drove into her, possessive and unrelenting.
She came first, her body convulsing, her pussy gripping me like a fist, milking me until I couldn't hold back. I pulled out at the last second, spilling across her back, marking her in a way that felt primal, dirty, mine.
We collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent, her body trembling against mine.
But I wasn't done.
I flipped her over, her eyes wide with surprise and desire, and spread her legs, diving between them.
My tongue found her clit, swollen and sensitive, and I licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her, the way she bucked against my mouth.
She was still quivering from her orgasm, and I pushed her toward another, my fingers sliding inside her, curling to hit that spot, while my tongue circled and sucked.
Her hands tangled in the sheets, her moans turning into pleas, and I didn't let up, driving her higher, harder, until she came again, her body arching off the bed, her cry echoing in the room.
I crawled up her body, kissing her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat, and she pulled me to her, our mouths meeting in a sloppy, desperate kiss. She reached for me, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking me back to hardness, and I groaned into her mouth, the sensation overwhelming.
She pushed me onto my back, straddling me, her eyes dark with lust, and lowered herself onto me, taking me deep in one slow motion. She rode me hard, her hips grinding, her breasts bouncing with each movement, and I gripped her ass, guiding her, thrusting up to meet her.
"Fuck, Lexi," I growled, my hands roaming her body, pinching her nipples, slapping her ass lightly as she moved.
She leaned down, her hair falling around us like a curtain, and bit my shoulder, her teeth sinking in just enough to sting, sending a jolt straight to my cock.
We flipped again, me on top, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, thrusting deep and hard, our bodies slapping together in a rhythm that was pure instinct. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer, her heels digging into my back, urging me on.
I kissed her neck, biting down, leaving marks that would need covering tomorrow, but I didn't care. She was mine, and I wanted the world to know it.
She came again, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around me, and I followed, spilling inside her, the release so intense it left me shaking.
We lay there, tangled and sweaty, our breaths ragged, the room smelling of sex.
When we finally caught our breath, she rolled onto her side, her head on my chest, and asked, "What are we going to do?"
I stared at the ceiling, my arm around her, and answered honestly. "I have no fucking idea."