Chapter 17 #2
“The consortium,” Sawyer said. “Tell me what it means to you. To all of you,” he added, deliberately meeting Tobin’s nonplussed gaze.
Then, seeking reassurance and calm, he needed to touch Ciaran.
He moved closer, almost standing between his legs.
“I’ve been a cop since I was eighteen. I understand hierarchy.
Protocol. Rules. It’s ingrained in me. And given you’re a family of sorts, it stands to reason you’re no different.
” He met Ciaran’s eyes, which were soft, as was his smile.
“You’re the leader, right? Ricky Carpenter, the cop before me, left me a note. It said you were the leader.”
Ciaran almost smiled. “A note, huh?”
There were some whispers from the three younger guys on the cot.
“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “It was frozen and stuck to the inside of the freezer, covered in ice. I only found it because I defrosted it. He said he expected the office to be rid of any evidence. Said that you guys don’t need keys.”
Fraser snorted. “That sneaky fucker.”
“We can fit through the smallest of holes,” Ciaran murmured.
Sawyer met his heated gaze, his smirk laced with the innuendo and double entendre.
Someone cleared their throat.
Ciaran continued, “Every consortium has a leader. But everyone here is free to do what they want. We share responsibilities, we look out for each other, and we maintain our secret above all else.” He flinched then. “As a cop, it would mean—”
“I will keep your secret,” Sawyer replied adamantly. “And I will keep no secrets from you. If you want to know something, just ask. Any of you,” he said, looking around the room.
“You volunteered to come here,” Tobin asked. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Sawyer replied. “I never fit in with the police clique, ya know? I never had a work partner; I preferred working solo. Still do. I like being alone.”
Well, he did.
Now, the idea of not being Ciaran sat like a lump of burning coal in his belly.
He gave Ciaran an apologetic smile before continuing.
“And after my report about meeting Dylan on Constitution Dock, I’d had enough of the whispers and the way other cops laughed behind my back. I refused to bow down to them, so when I was offered this post, I figured it was a good time for me to leave Hobart.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Dylan said again. Poor kid still looked nervous, fidgety, and apologetic.
Hendrix gave Dylan’s knee a shake. “Stop apologising.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Sawyer said, giving Dylan what he hoped was a reassuring, honest smile. “It led me here. I can’t be sorry about that.”
Ciaran’s hand on Sawyer’s lower back urged him turn to face him. His smile was shy, and god, his eyes. Those copper eyes burned into him.
Sawyer wanted to lean in, right between Ciaran’s legs and kiss him so fucking bad—
“Ugh, guys,” Fray said, his face all screwed up as if he could smell something particularly unpleasant. “You’re killing us here.”
Oh.
The pheromone thing.
“Can they really smell that?” Sawyer mumbled to Ciaran.
He hummed, low and rough. “Yeah.”
Then Tobin grunted as he pushed off the wall again, and he headed for the door. “Yeah, I’m done,” he said as he walked out, the door slamming behind him.
Fray gave Ciaran a sorry smile. “I’ll talk to him.”
Ciaran nodded, then glanced around the room. “Thanks, guys.”
They clearly took that as a dismissal, because they all began to file out.
“Thanks for answering my questions,” Sawyer said to all of them and no one in particular.
Kellan gave him a smile, at least. “We’re not going anywhere.”
But then his eyes darted to Ciaran’s as if that might not be strictly true. Before Sawyer could question that, the younger three came out of the cell door.
“Dylan,” Ciaran said gently. “I’ll come by and have a chat. I’m sorry I haven’t already. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve just been...” He winced. “Preoccupied. That’s no excuse for a leader. I’m sorry.”
Dylan smiled, and Sawyer was taken aback by just how much it changed his whole face. “S’okay, Ciar. I know. You’ve got a lot going on. Congrats, by the way. I’m happy for you. Even if he is human. And a cop,” he said with a wink aimed at Sawyer. “We should all be so lucky.”
Hendrix laughed. “How does that work, anyway? How can you, you know, without burning him?”
Ciaran growled at him, playfully, and made a feeble attempt to grab him, but Kellan ushered the three of them out the door.
Aurin was still holding Salem as he left, and the damn cat had never looked happier. Or more smug. Sawyer would have probably been hurt by the traitorous feline, but it meant he and Ciaran were now alone. Sawyer wasn’t too keen on having an audience for what he wanted to do to Ciaran.
He turned to face him, still between his legs, and pushed him back onto the desk.
He ran his hands over Ciaran’s chest up to his neck, and goddamn if Ciaran’s eyes weren’t copper fire.
Sawyer brought their foreheads together, noses touching, their lips so, so close.
Sawyer knew once they started kissing, there’d be no stopping.
His perfect lips, his fiery eyes. His mate, this bond.
He wanted it all. “I want you so fucking bad,” he murmured.
Ciaran made that low, guttural sound that Sawyer felt in his core. “My self-control can only withstand so much,” he whispered, voice strained.
“Then take me,” Sawyer said. He sounded desperate, even to his own ears, but he didn’t care. “Take me to the hut and make me yours.”
Ciaran hissed, his pupils sliding into slits, his body shimmering, and knowing he was fighting for control made Sawyer hum with desire. “You want to do this? You want... me?”
“Yes. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to fight this. Nothing in my life has ever felt so right. So let’s go to the hut and do this.” Then he shrugged. “Or take me right here on the desk. I don’t give a fuck who hears us,” Sawyer said, way past desperate. “Just make me yours, Ciaran.”