Chapter 34
Seth
She doesn’t flinch when she lands the punch.
A few weeks ago, her wrist still needed bracing. Today, she cracks the training pad with enough force to make my elbow jolt behind it.
“Good,” I say. “Now do it again.”
Brooke’s breathing is calm, sweat glistening at her collarbone. Her stance is tighter, her weight more balanced. I can tell she still favors her right side. She still guards that shoulder, but she has stopped treating herself like glass.
She hits the pad again, harder.
Fury drives every movement.
Beau whistles from the corner, where he is reassembling her Glock. “She’s gonna break someone’s jaw with that left hook. Not bad for a righty.”
“Damn right,” Brooke mutters.
I catch her eyes. “Reset your stance. Knife next.”
She grabs the practice blade and circles me without hesitation. Her steps are quick, her eyes locked on mine. I can see the calculation behind her movements now. It is not just fight or flight or panic.
She is starting to think like a killer.
Her lunge is quick and controlled. I deflect, step in close, and whisper, “Too high. Try again.”
She doesn’t get flustered. She doesn’t freeze. She ducks out and comes back lower.
This time, she nicks my ribs. Barely, but it is enough.
“Fuck yeah,” Beau says under his breath.
I give her a nod. “That would’ve cut deep.”
Brooke steps back, breathing hard.
This isn’t for praise.
This is for survival.
Later, we sit in the training room, just the two of us.
Travis and Beau are posted at the long table in the adjacent space, files spread and reshuffled as they chase every remaining thread tied to the manor and to Elliot. The sounds stay on the other side of the wall.
Here, it's quiet.
I press a cold water bottle against Brooke’s wrist and watch the muscles in her forearm tense, then slowly loosen. She barely reacts, just a small tightening around her eyes before she forces it down.
“You overdid it again.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“You’re healing, not invincible.”
“I know I'm not invincible,” she replies. “I want to be ready.”
I study her face. The darkness in her eyes isn’t fading. It is settling in, rooting itself, becoming part of her instead of something she fights.
“I get it,” I say. “But if you tear anything, I’ll tie you to the fucking bed until you learn patience.”
Her eyes flick up to mine. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
A corner of my mouth lifts despite myself.
She just looks at me, sweat darkened hair clinging to her cheek, her breathing still elevated, that storm sitting right behind her eyes. I hold out my hand.
“Get up.”
She takes it.
I don’t let go right away.
Her palm is warm, already callused from weeks of training, stronger than it used to be.
We move into position again, closer this time. Her body is warm, tight with muscle and adrenaline. She has come so far in two weeks. She hesitates less, she is more in control. Her wrist is still healing, but the way she moves feels like contained violence waiting to break loose.
“Romance” plays low through the speakers, the beat slow and heavy, almost ritualistic.
“Try to disarm me.”
She lunges fast. I grab her wrist and twist, stepping into her space. Our chests collide. Her knee goes for my ribs, and I catch it midair, pinning her leg between mine.
“You let him get this close,” I say, my voice rough, “he’s not here to talk. He’s here to take something.”
She stares up at me, breathless. “I’m not letting anyone take shit.”
I don’t let go.
She doesn’t back down.
She shoves me. I grab her hips and spin her, pressing her back into the padded wall. My body cages hers. Her arms come up between us, gripping my shirt. Our mouths are too close.
“This isn’t training anymore,” she whispers.
“No,” I murmur. “It’s not.”
My hands are on her before my mind catches up. My fingers slip beneath the hem of her tank top. Her skin feels warm and smooth as my palms follow the curve of her waist. Her breath hitches.
That tells me everything.
I should stop. I should remember every boundary I set and every promise I made about patience. I told myself she deserved time.
But desire has been tearing through me for weeks.
My hands keep moving.
They slide higher across her stomach while her breathing shifts under my touch. Goosebumps rise along her skin beneath my fingers. She doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t say anything.
Her silence says enough.
Her chest brushes mine. A slow exhale spills against my jaw, and that last piece of restraint snaps.
I grab her and kiss her hard.
The second her mouth meets mine, the urge surges to the surface. My hand slides into her hair, gripping tight and pulling her closer.
She kisses me back immediately.
Her mouth tastes like mint. Heat shoots straight through me as her lips open against mine. When I bite her bottom lip, she gasps softly, the sound cutting straight through my chest.
Her nails dig into my shoulders.
I haven’t touched her like this since the night before she was taken. I haven’t been inside her in weeks.
Every day since has felt like punishment.
Watching her train nearly breaks me.
Her tank rides up when she moves. The strength in her legs. The focus in her eyes. I stand there pretending none of it affects me while all I can think about is how she sounds when I stretch her open.
Fucking torture.
My hand drops to her ass, gripping a full fist of soft flesh and pulling her into me until there is no space left between us. Her hips press against mine, and she feels exactly how hard I am through the fabric, the thick line of my cock straining for release.
She doesn’t pull away. She rolls her hips instead, dragging friction right where I am already wound tight and aching. She knows exactly what she is doing, and she does it anyway.
She isn’t teasing. She's demanding.
Her thigh slides between my legs, pressing up, grinding against me with maddening pressure. The contact sends heat shooting straight through my spine. My entire body locks up, every nerve firing at once.
I groan into her mouth, the sound rough and uncontrolled, my grip tightening on her.
“You remember how I fuck you?” I growl into her ear, my mouth so close my words brush her skin. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
She moans softly, the sound vibrating straight through my chest. Her arm hooks around my neck and pulls me closer.
My hand slides under the waistband of her shorts, just far enough to cup the heat at the top of her ass. I drag my fingers down, gripping her hard, exploring like I've been starving and finally found something to take. I barely hold myself back from tearing the rest of her clothes off right there.
“I have been dreaming about this,” I mutter, my mouth brushing her cheek. “Every night.”
She tilts her head back, her throat exposed, her lips parted. “Then don’t stop.”
I shove her bra up in one rough motion, baring the full weight and curve of her breasts, and the sight nearly takes me out.
I drop my mouth to her collarbone and bite down, giving her a mark she will feel tomorrow.
Her gasp breaks against my ear, and she arches into me like she wants more.
Her nipples drag against my chest through my shirt, tight and sensitive, and her fingers claw at my back like she is fighting to hold on.
My control shatters.
If we keep going, I know exactly what I'll do to her.
I'll slam her back against the padded wall and spread her open with my hands, lifting her by her ass and grinding her down onto my cock until her voice breaks.
I'll push inside her with one long, hard stroke and feel her clench around me, tight and wet from how badly she wants this.
I'll slide my hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes while I thrust into her again and again, deep enough to make her forget everything except the way I fill her.
The image hits with brutal force, and my cock throbs so hard against her it feels painful. Every part of me wants her right then and there.
I am seconds away from fucking her exactly like that.
I want it.
No, I fucking need it.
My hands fumble at her waistband, dragging it down just far enough to get where I need.
She is already soaked, already moving against me with raw urgency, like her body decided long before either of us admitted we were done waiting.
The friction hits me hard, my teeth clenched, my hips pushing forward before I can stop myself.
She reaches between us with trembling fingers and pulls at the drawstring of my sweatpants. The second her hand slips inside, her warm skin closing around my cock, my breath leaves in one violent rush. I brace my forearm against the wall because my knees almost give out.
She wraps her hand around me, stroking my full length with pressure that makes my vision haze at the edges.
Her thumb brushes over the head, catching the pre-cum there, spreading it in a smooth glide that has my hips jerking into her hold.
I bite back a groan and fail, the sound rough against her throat.
She presses a wicked smile to my jaw and tightens her grip, dragging her fist down to the base, then up again in a way that sends heat tearing up my spine. She keeps stroking me with agonizing slowness. She wants to see exactly how close she can push me before I snap.
I can’t get a full breath. Every nerve I have locks onto the feel of her hand, slick with sweat, her fingers wrapped tightly around the thickest part of my cock. Another involuntary thrust escapes me before I force myself still, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my mouth along her jaw and up to her temple.
Her gasp tears free when my hand slides between her thighs.
I push past the waistband of her shorts, past the soaked cling of her panties, and run two fingers along her warm, dripping slit.
She is drenched. Her body opens for me instantly, her hips rolling into my palm like she has been waiting for this exact touch since the moment we walked in here.
“Are you ready for me?” I ask against her neck, sliding my fingers through her wetness, letting her feel just how easily she comes apart for me.
Her only answer is a broken moan, her voice shaking as I push one finger deep inside her. Her walls clamp around me, tight and hot, pulling me in. My cock twitches hard in her grip at the feeling, at the knowledge of how tight she will be when I drive into her.
I grab her waist and slam her back against the wall, grinding against her thigh while my finger fucks into her. I slide a second finger inside without warning, curling them just right, and she cries out, her hand spasming around my cock as her body jerks forward.
She barely has time to take a breath before I spin her around. I yank her shorts and panties down to her thighs, leaving her exposed and braced against the wall, her palms flat, her legs spread, her ass arched in a way that makes my cock kick.
I step in behind her, ready to take her—
“Yo,” Beau’s voice cuts in, shattering the moment. “Travis found something.”
I freeze.
Brooke freezes.
I turn my head slowly, like if I don’t see him, he doesn’t exist.
Beau stands in the doorway, his arms crossed, with no shame. “Sorry to interrupt the fight to fuck pipeline, but it sounded important.”
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
I want to kill him.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “if you ever walk in on us again, I’ll shoot you.”
Brooke lets out a shaky laugh, covering her face with her hand.
Beau shrugs. “I’ll add it to my list of near death experiences.” He turns and walks off, still talking. “Don’t take too long. Travis said the trail’s fresh. Might be our only shot at pinning Knox down.”
I look at Brooke and brush her cheek with the back of my hand.
“Later,” I whisper.
Her eyes burn into mine. “Promise?”
I kiss her again, hard and fast. A promise. A warning. A fucking prayer.
Then I force myself to breathe.
I adjust myself back into my sweats, my jaw tight, blood still surging through every inch of me. Brooke’s fingers tremble as I help slide her shorts back up. I tug her shirt down, covering the bite mark I just left on her.
Her eyes are still dark with want.
We could have finished what we started. My body is screaming for it. But timing is everything, and right now, we have some soon to be dead motherfuckers to hunt.