Chapter 11
ELEVEN
CADE
Aspen isn’t in the main area of the shop, and squelching noises coming from the back urge me straight down the hallway to her, finding her with the same pull that first brought us together.
I’ve seen men die bleeding out painful deaths. Fatal wounds from weapons. Men gritting their teeth and screaming. And have felt nothing.
But finding her bent over with her head in the toilet actually fucking terrifies me. She was fine last night; why is she sick now? What changed in the twelve hours that I haven’t been by her side. It’s all the more proof she needs me with her, always.
“Aspen?” Concern tightens my tone, seeping into the truth no matter that I attempt to shield her from it. Her head jerks upright, spots me, and pushes to her feet, but I cross to her before she can speak. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t pull away when I grasp her arms, reminding us both she’s alright now. “Flowers.” More of a gasp than anything, as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the note I left her this morning.
It’s a delayed response for something she found hours ago, but I take it to entertain her concerns. Before unfolding the paper, her hand comes down on top of it.
“H-he…he was in my house. He was there.”
He? Someone will die today if she’s saying what I think she is. I unfold the paper, reading the two words messily scribbled—and the symbol beneath it. The sign of impending pain—theirs, when I get my fucking hands on them.
Fury mixed with uncertainty has me studying her face. If they’re around, they’re coming for me—indirectly. I’m a fucking idiot who made her a target the minute she walked into my life, when she was seen and marked as someone to keep an eye on. Her second visit only confirmed it.
It’s not a coincidence so soon after getting out, they’ve come for her. It’s not her they’re after, though; it’s me. They’re using her to warn me about their own retribution.
If I were a good man, I’d let her walk now. Take the note and stay away from her. Show anyone watching that she’s not mine anymore.
But I haven’t been a good man for a long time. She chose me—and all the poison of my life. Now it’s up to me to protect her from being poisoned because there’s no way in hell she’ll be taken from me over this.
“Where did you get this?” Needing her eyes on me, I push a finger beneath her chin to angle her face up. I count the tear streaks, memorizing the amount so I know how many marks to leave on them. “Don’t leave a single detail out.”
“You left flowers.” Her tongue swipes her bottom lip, dampening it, but it doesn’t seem to have the intended effect. She’s quivering and doesn’t even notice when I rub her arms. “I kept them, but not the ones on my doorstep.”
The card crumples in my hand as I try my hardest not to snap while something as fragile as her face is in my grip. “What was on your doorstep, Aspen?”
“Roses. A small bundle of them. I thought they were from you, even if it made little sense. And then—” She swallows, licks her bottom lip again, and tries to pull her face away, though I don’t allow it.
“He came here, I think. He…he posed as a customer buying flowers. Roses. And then said something about not leaving them out in the cold, and I knew. He touched me. And he…oh god.”
For a moment, she gets heavier in my hold—but not for any good reason.
For reasons amounting to someone’s death.
They frightened her, and for that, they’ll pay.
She’s seeking comfort I’m only too happy to provide, and I stroke her jawline while bringing her closer to my chest until the beast inside me pauses roaring his death threats to comfort her.
“What did he look like?”
She describes in as much detail as she can, which gives me nothing to go on since too many of us all look the fucking same. But it’s definitely only one of his crew—a runner—and no one important. Which makes sense, because there’s no way he’d risk doing the delivery himself.
“He had a tattoo on the back of his left hand.” She rips the note from my hand and stabs a nail into the symbol, which I’d already put together but the confirmation of her drop-in having the same mark guarantees my victims.
If she looked closer, she’d see the similar marking on the inside of my wrist. Something she may have gotten a glimpse of during her visits to me in prison.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her, since it will be. I’ll make sure of it.
She searches my face and slowly draws away. “You know who this is.” Her fear shifts towards me, something I will not stand for.
“They won’t touch you, so don’t worry.”
“They?” She inhales sharply. “Who’s doing this?”
“Doesn’t matter. Aspen”—I duck my head to catch her eye—“go home and lock your doors until I get there.”
Her skin pales with the understanding of what I’m actually asking, but she draws further away and shakes her head. “I can’t leave. I’m working.”
“Call someone in early.”
“I don’t have that power. How about tell me what’s going on, and I’ll make the choice.”
She lost her choice the moment she was marked as mine—and as their retribution.
Turning away, I take out my phone and call one of my most trusted, and one of my best men. She heads to the sink to rinse her mouth before heading back to the main part of the store.
He picks up instantly. “Hey, boss.”
“Get here now.” I spit out the address to this place.
“See ya in ten.”
“Cade?” she calls from the other side of the store, her steps approaching as I hang up the phone. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
Maybe later. This evens the scales for the answers she owes me about last year.
Thankfully, the door chimes and an elderly woman’s entrance steals Aspen’s attention.
Thick perfume taints her sickeningly furry coat, something Aspen appears unbothered by as she plasters on what I’m now calling her customer service smile—the same fake one she gave her date last night.
While she’s with the woman, more customers gradually enter and I never could have believed I’d be thrilled to have Aspen’s attention elsewhere.
Ten minutes after making my call, the door chimes again as Bones enters, scanning the room until spotting me in the corner. Even engaged with strangers, Aspen doesn’t miss his entrance.
“Don’t let her out of your sight.” I jerk my chin towards Aspen, who is now cashing out the old lady. “For every hair on her head that’s harmed, it’s coming out of your skin.”
He whistles, not batting an eye at my threat. “Who’s she?”
“Mine. That’s all there is to it.”
“My my, slammer’s been good for you. Nah, seriously, how the hell did you meet a cute thing like her while locked up?
” His gaze lingers too long so he’s lucky we’re around strangers who’d make a fuss if I punched him.
Decades of friendship and comradeship aside, there’s a hierarchy the tattoos on our wrist deem we follow, and mine’s above him.
“Say one more fuckin’ thing about her… If her shift ends, follow her home and stay outside ’til I get there. Don’t talk to her unless you have to. Don’t tell her anything about who you are—or who I am. Pretend you’re a fuckin’ statue unless you need to defend her. Got it?”
“Sure, sure.” He turns until his back is to her and lowers his voice. “What’s going on?”
“The Vendettas.” A name way too fucking ironic now, considering what they’re after. “One of them left flowers on her doorstep and then came here pretending to be a customer. When I got here, she was freaking the fuck out after he dropped enough hints she put it together.”
“Fuck.” He draws the word out and rubs a hand over his head, flicking melted flakes from his hair. “That changes shit. Why now, though? They’ve been fairly quiet in your absence.”
“Victor’s brother was in there with me and saw her one day. By her second visit, I bet he told Victor, who put guys on her trail.” Which means the possibility of showing up for her yesterday, only to find her kidnapped or dead was fucking real. They waited until I was free, for this reason.
“They still blame you.”
I shrug. “They’re not wrong. But they can shove their cocked-up vengeance up their ass. Until this is dealt with, she’s not to be left alone. Whatever else you have going on—don’t. Playing guard dog is your only duty. When I’m not with her, you will be.”
“Got it.” He slides back and out of the way, leaning against the wall closest to the door and farthest from her and tugs out his phone to fit in well enough, but I know he’ll always have one eye on the door, the other on the people she interacts with.
Once Aspen finishes cashing out the few customers who’ve kept her busy, she rounds the counter with bright eyes that remind me of her first visit.
They’re excited, but this time from the eagerness of getting the answers she so cutely believes I’ll be handing over.
As she nears, her gaze flits to Bones, but I slide in front of him to regain her attention.
“How is it that I’m freaked out more now than I was last night when you broke into my house. Let’s not forget that. I’m still mad.”
Fear of the unknown is greater than her fear of me, and it’s a solid foundation to our future.
I loop my arm around her waist and tip her head back with a light tug of her hair, swallowing the scent of candies and flowers and everything pleasant that once haunted me in my cold, dank cell.
She doesn’t push away, falling submissive in my hold—another good start if my assumptions about this woman are correct.
“Fear isn’t what you were feeling last night. Surprise, certainly. If you were scared, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
“Then where’d you be?”
“Back in handcuffs after you went to the cops.”
Her eyes narrow a fraction. “Debated it. Still am, to be honest. The pen pal thing we once had didn’t give you permission to enter my house. It didn’t make us something.”
“Something?” I drawl because she makes it all too easy. “Define ‘something’.”
She licks her lips, mumbles something that sounds awfully close to “Um,” and attempts to pull away. She couldn’t be more obvious if she tried.
“There is no definition to your so-called ‘something’ because the truth is something else.”
“I’m scared to ask, but what’s the truth?”
The precious cargo that is her face between my palms, I tip her head up and slash my mouth against hers.
She gasps lightly, surprised, so I take that too.
Her hands fall limp to her sides, submissive, a gift I also steal as I walk her backwards to the counter, uncaring about the four cameras pointed at us—something I scoped out the instant I entered—or Bones carelessly observing.
She tastes like sugar and spice, like hearts and flowers, and all the pretty shit women claim to need.
Her responses, though, aren’t delicate. They’re energy—a storm on the coldest night, a light in the darkest tunnel.
A crashing against my soul as she returns everything and more, her tongue tentative but claiming on her own too as she reaches inside and grasps my cold heart, unlocking it from the cell it’s been imprisoned in.
They’re the kind of responses that can turn a man inside out and leave him begging for more.
And fuck me, for her, I might just beg.
My knee nudges between her legs until that sweet cunt of hers is pressed against my thigh.
A little bit of pressure has her inhaling into my mouth—her breath, and thus her life, which I also steal.
Knowing I’ll be leaving soon—hell, I should have already been gone—sucks.
She’ll be wet and needy, but before taking care of her, I need to ensure she remains alive.
Even if throwing Bones out on his ass, locking the door, and taking her right here on this counter is what my hardening cock craves.
Her mouth moves against mine, her fingers curling into the collar of my coat. Whether or not she realizes she isn’t trying to escape can be a bubble she pops on her own. She’s as obsessed with me as I am her.
The fact that at any point someone can walk in isn’t lost on me. And really, let them. Let the world see and understand this girl is claimed and protected by me. Always and forever, since her very first letter when she signed her life away.
She whimpers again, and her arms tighten around my neck. I nip her bottom lip with the promise—a vow made on my soul to hers—to return to her before pulling away. She wants me, and I have so much more to give.
But only when she’s safe.
“There’s your definition of ‘something’.
You’re mine, and you’ve known it since the very first letter.
” Her lips are swollen from my mouth, a claim my blood roars with.
If I have to leave her, at least she bears my mark.
“For months, I’ve fantasized about all the ways to prove it to you.
My nights have been spent with the memory of those cute as hell dresses I longed to rip off you, this goddamn hair”—I slide my hand through the strands and grip tightly—“that I envisioned wrapping my fist around while sliding my cock between these sinful lips. And these baby blue eyes, imagining how they’d darken as you came, both on me and for me, screaming my name. Until then, let me protect you.”
Lust dilates her pupils, but still she has the gall to ask, “Why should I feel safe with you?”
“Because, sweetheart, you don’t actually know who I am or what I can do. Trust that your name being tattooed on my knuckles makes you untouchable. Anyone who threatens you has already signed his death certificate.”
I walk away from her, cast a final warning look towards Bones to keep his mouth shut, and head out to deal with my past so it can stop harassing my future.