Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Declan
Iwake early, even though I didn’t set an alarm last night.
Raven sleeps, her dark hair spilled over my pillow, face peaceful. The ropes hang loose on the headboard above her, a reminder of a night I’ll never forget.
I watch her for a while, more content than I can remember being in…
ever. And that’s strange, because I should be worried.
There’s no hiding it anymore: this woman is my infatuation.
There’s no way I can do my job properly with her in the picture.
Declan Maddox’s interests are wholly at odds with Declan Hale’s, and I no longer care.
Both of us want Raven. Forever and ever.
And last night, I claimed her. As clearly as I possibly could. She accepted it, too. Even if it was mid-orgasm.
Still counts.
It seems I’m in love.
That’s a new one for me, and I sit with it for a moment, chewing it over.
Ten years since the Marines. Two on my degree.
Five as a field agent, three more undercover.
There’ve been flings, yes, but never time for anything serious.
Love has no place in an operation; it brings bad decisions, risk, and conflict. I always thought it was a weakness.
Turns out, the proof I’m wrong was waiting in Tujunga, riding a red Ducati and breaking pool cues over men’s heads.
Raven has stolen my heart, and despite who I really am, I’m happy to give it to her.
I smile to myself. She’d absolutely freak out if I told her that.
Instead, I slip out of bed, wincing as my thigh protests. It’s tight and swollen, much worse than before she hit me, but a small price to pay for what I got to do to her. I pull on a pair of boxers, and go to explore my fridge.
There aren’t a lot of options, but I have a pack of eggs and some bacon, enough for breakfast with some OJ on the side. I get to cooking.
Raven stirs in the bedroom, then goes silent. “Fuck.” It’s quiet enough to be muttered under her breath, but it still carries.
I chuckle to myself. That’s my hellcat waking up. What brought it on? The memory of where she was, and what we did last night? I hope not. The utter lack of clothing options? Yes, that would be more her thing.
Walking back in, I lean against the door, watching her stretch in the bed.
The duvet’s slipped enough that she has bare shoulders, but the rest of her is covered.
I want to peel it away and start all over again, and it takes a surprising amount of willpower not to do so.
But breakfast will be ruined, and she’s probably sore.
She notices me and stills, in that way she does, that calls to my predator side as much as any sign of her vulnerability. She brings out a dark part of me that I’ve rarely let out in the past, possessive and demanding. But when it comes to her, it’s insistent, and I don’t want to tap it down.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
She pulls the duvet higher. “I thought you’d left.” A pause. “Then I smelled the bacon.”
Was that the real reason for her waking-up expletive?
Someone has really done a number on this woman, and I went and trod on it that very first night with her, courtesy of Mercer’s fucking stupid face-to-face. And then she chose last night, of all nights, to come and visit.
That could’ve been so much worse.
“I told you,” I say, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Raven bites at her lip, looking uncertain and nervous, and my cock twitches. Again, I want to rip that comforter away and pin her down, but I stop myself for another reason. This time, it’s my declarations of commitment that are making her skittish.
Definitely too early for ‘I love you.’
“I made breakfast,” I say instead. “You have about two minutes.”
“Do you have something I can wear?”
I can smell the bacon beginning to burn. “A shirt? Top drawer. Between the sex toys and the gun.”
She gives a little gasp and I chuckle as I turn away. “And before you ask, my little hellcat, they’re all brand new, completely unused.” I pause. “Apart from the clothes and the gun.”
Raven pads out a minute later, hair finger-combed into a semblance of orderliness, my T-shirt falling down to mid-thigh. Longer than the coat she came in. Knowing she’s naked beneath it makes me have to stop and compose myself.
I nod at the small table against one wall. “Make yourself comfortable. Just be a minute.”
She takes a chair at it, watching me finish up the cooking. “So you do own underwear.”
A laugh slips out. “Yeah, I do. Not many pairs, though.”
“Brand new and completely unused, huh?”
I throw her a smile. She was nervous when she woke up, and already her spirit has recovered enough to make pointed jokes. Her resilience is formidable. “Let’s settle for ‘clean.’”
Serving up, I carry our plates over to the table, then fetch the glasses of OJ and silverware for us. She’s not looking at the food, but staring at me. At my boxers. No… at my thigh.
There’s a fresh bruise, the skin dark and slightly swollen, but she didn’t break open the healing scar. It’s tender, the muscle stiff, but I can walk on it just fine if I’m careful.
“Fuck, Declan,” she breathes, her eyes wide. She drags her gaze to my face with an effort. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It was an evening of mutual punishment,” I say, placing her glass down and taking my own seat. As much to block her view of my leg as anything else. “I think we’re even.”
Raven blushes at that, and again I want to rip that T-shirt off her. This woman is going to play havoc with my control.
“Eat before it gets cold.” I nod to her food, because she’ll sit there feeling uncomfortable otherwise. Picking up my own fork, I lead by example.
She’s slow to get going, but takes a mouthful of scrambled eggs, and then another.
“Tell me something,” I say, forking a piece of bacon.
“Yes?”
“No, I mean… something about you. Anything.”
She doesn’t reply for a moment, taking a mouthful, chewing, swallowing. A sip of her juice. “Like what?”
That response doesn’t surprise me. She’s so tightly wound, sharing can’t come naturally.
“You left home at what, eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“What was it like? Home? Why did you want to leave?”
She shifts in her chair. “Nothing much to say really. Mormon upbringing. Suffocating mother. Got on okay with my father, but he wasn’t around much.”
More of a reply than I’d expected, and it explains a lot. I grimace in sympathy. “Suffocating’s the word, isn’t it?” I pause. “I’m an atheist. Does that bother you?”
“You do surprise me,” she says dryly. “With that skull on your chest, staring at me while we eat, or the way you ride like you’ve nothing to live for, and rob banks for a living.”
I blink at that. I don’t ride that way, do I?
“What do you mean? About the way I ride?”
Her chin comes up. “You almost killed yourself the other night. You could’ve pulled over, strapped up your leg at the very least. But you didn’t; you just kept going.”
“That’s different,” I protest. “We were running from a job, with bags full of jewelry.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Even the first time I saw you, on Angeles Crest. You pushed hard.”
I remember. “And you still overtook me.”
She lets a small smile play with her lips. “That’s just because I’m better.”
I chuckle. “Or maybe it’s because you ride like you’ve nothing to live for, too.” I’ve sobered by the time the words are spoken, and her smile’s slipped away.
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “But that’s riding a bike, isn’t it? You can’t do it properly if you’re worried about dying.” A sniff. “If that’s your mentality, buy a fucking car.”
“Absolutely,” I say with feeling. No one who hasn’t ridden a sportbike at speed on sharp roads could understand that. But we both do.
She’s perfect for me.
“So, family?” I prompt, returning to that. “Siblings?”
“A brother.” Her voice softens as she says it. “Caleb. He’s just found himself a nice Mormon girl. She’s not too bad, actually.”
“But not your scene?”
“Fuck, no. Lace-rimmed dresses and the Relief Society? I’d rather ride over the edge at speed.”
It’s said with such feeling, I can believe it. But I don’t want her having thoughts that dark. Dark is my domain, not hers.
“Genesis and Caleb, huh?” I say, distracting. “Good Mormon names.”
“Genesis Greer.” She grimaces. “Now you know why I go by Raven.” She meets my eyes. “What about you, Mister Enigma? Siblings? Father? A mother who worried when you were in the Marines?”
Shit. I should’ve anticipated this. I was the one who started this damn conversation, and that’s not something I ever should’ve done.
“I’m not an enigma,” I say, deflecting to buy myself time to think. “I’ve let you ask me whatever you want before.”
“Sure you have.” Her tone turns scathing. “And then you never properly answer.”
And I’m not about to now, either. “Then let me answer properly.” I take a mouthful of scrambled egg and speak around it, letting it disguise any emotional slips I might make. “One sister. No father; he left when I was six.” Both true. “No mother; she died in the pandemic.” True.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. Her hand twitches on the table like she wants to reach for mine. “It was a shitty time. The pandemic.”
“Did you lose anyone?”
“No… I was lucky.” She pauses. “Well, I suppose I lost the reason I first came to LA, but that was a blessing in disguise. The guy was…” Her face twists with a mix of hurt and anger. “…Let’s say he’s the reason I fight like I do. Because I had to learn fast.”
And now he’s a vegetable. A fitting end.
Once again, I regret that Renner beat me to it, and I can’t go find him, and break his face. Repeatedly.
On the subject of Renner…
“My leg looks worse than it is,” I tell her. “I was thinking I’d let Kurt know, and maybe we can bring the jump training forward. Start tomorrow. Get an extra couple of days in.”
“Last time he booked a helicopter to circle us around. He might not be able to at short notice.”
I nod. “I want to get my bike anyway. So plan B—we ride up to San Fran, scout it out a bit, learn our routes. Get a motel. Make a day or two of it.”