Tomcat’s Temptation (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Coral Cay Chapter #2)

Prologue

There she is.

My little flower.

So delicate.

So beautiful.

So silly to think I would never find her again.

Marigold became mine the instant I stepped into her parents' gallery. That day, her smile was a secret signal, a silent agreement between us.

I have never been a good man. Never claimed to be. Whatever humanity I had, I carved out the first time I killed someone without remorse as they begged me not to. Remorse is for the weak. My hands hold more blood than my veins do. When I want something, I don’t ask or beg. I simply take.

And nothing on earth has ever consumed me the way I crave the light in Marigold’s eyes.

You draw prey close with whatever entices them. A glimmer of charm. A sly smile. The promise of safety. Each is a piece of the trap, meticulously designed to capture what you desire. Once they step inside, you spring it closed, lock the cage, and toss the key far away.

She gave herself away the day she looked at me like I was danger wrapped in desire. It wasn’t until I silently slipped into her house that night that I knew with certainty that she belonged to me.

When someone is yours, molding them into their true form becomes effortless.

You press where it aches most and soothe where it matters.

You show them which pieces of themselves deserve warmth and which invite pain.

You strip away the noise. The people who distract them and the thoughts that make them question until they stop reaching out and begin curling inward, drawn only to you.

They bend because bending feels safer than breaking.

They heel because obedience hurts less than resistance.

By the time they realize they’ve been shaped, they can’t remember who they were before your hands taught them how to kneel.

But when my little flower knelt at my feet, her tears shimmering as my marks bloomed across her skin, her blood vivid against her trembling beauty? That was when she was most exquisite, when her pain and surrender sang straight through me.

Of course, I could never fully smother the rebellion burning inside her.

My Marigold was a fighter. Her words, her fists, anything she could wield became a weapon.

No matter how thoroughly I shattered her, that inner fire always flickered back to life.

At first, it infuriated me until I discovered the thrill of breaking her anew each time.

Guiding her to the edge of death, then granting her life again.

Reminding her that her fate—life or death—was mine alone to decide.

There was only one way to make her accept it, but blinded by arrogance, I made a fatal error, and for the first time, my little flower outmaneuvered me in our twisted dance.

The look she gave me as I killed her family will always delight me. Confusion, betrayal, her silent scream, as if the world shattered and she no longer knew me at all. There could be no other end. They had to die if she was to be mine entirely.

Didn’t she know that she never had anything to fear from me?

That is what disappoints me most. I tried to teach her everything, but she refused to learn the lesson I offered.

So, there was only one way left to make her understand.

They were in the way. It was as simple as that.

I did not kill them out of anger or cruelty. I killed them because they were anchors, roots buried too deep in her soul for me to remove without tearing her apart.

They had too much sway over her emotions. I could tell from the wary way she would watch me.

She loved them, so they claimed fragments of her soul I could never touch, and I refused to let that stand. Marigold belonged to me, every last piece, a truth they never grasped.

I swept them off the board. I wanted her hollowed out, stripped to the shivering core beneath her loyalty. When the world fell silent, I needed to be the last echo clawing at her mind, her only refuge as everything else shattered.

She watched them die, and I saw her break open, exactly as I wished.

Grief tore through, drowning every sound but mine, and finally, she was close enough to touch.

My delicate flower thought I meant to wound her, but her pain was only the toll.

I needed to be the only thing left, the only thing that ever mattered.

If I could turn back time, I would unravel it all more slowly, just to give her longer to witness the way I loved her best.

When she finally turned and drove the blade between my ribs, I confess, it caught me off guard. I never thought she had that spark left in her. After her family’s end, I was certain her fire had burned out.

Seeing her try to end me was the closest I’ve ever come to love.

She should have driven the blade higher, or watched until my last desperate, rattling breath before she set the house ablaze.

My little flower was frightened. Perhaps she hoped that by ending me quickly, she could escape her fear and guilt.

So, it made sense she believed her work was done.

My men found me as I dragged myself from the flames. Quick hands stitched me together and spirited me away. They moved swiftly enough to convince the world she had won, but she didn’t.

She only made me patient.

Now I watch from the shadows while she laughs at the words of a man already marked for death. She was clever to hide with the Saint’s Outlaws, evading me for a time. But she grew careless, dropped her alias, and started moving through the world as herself again.

“Λουλουδ?κι μου... ν?μιζε? ?τι θα μπορο?σε? να ξεφ?γει?; ?” I murmur before blending into the night.

My little flower... did you think you could escape?

She can run, she can hide, she can even lose herself in the embrace of a man too fragile for her storm. But one truth will always linger beneath her skin, sharp as a promise carved in glass.

I will always find her, because Marigold was mine before she even knew my name.

It seems my little flower has forgotten who first showed her how to love the dark.

It is fortunate I have returned, ready to teach her that lesson once more.