Chapter 22 #2
“You’re so damn good at that,” Willow pants as I swipe my middle finger across her bud. I thrust into her at the praise, knowing I’m not going to last long. Not like this. Not tonight. Not with Willow.
“Harder,” she breathes out.
“Yes ma’am,” I grin like a fucking maniac as I bring my hand back to her hip and I grant her request. I slide out, and a grunt comes out of me as I slam back into her. She stumbles forward just a bit, but I tighten my grip, keeping her steady.
“More,” she begs, and I feel her pussy tightening around me.
“You’re close, Kitten,” I tease her as I slam home again, rocking her entire body. “Feel my touch?” I slide my fingers over her clit, increasing the pressure as I ram into her again. In. Out.
Willow moans. Loudly. Her entire body is shaking. She lifts her head and stares through the foggy glass at our reflections in the mirror. “Lucky,” she pants, her tone turning desperate.
“I’ve got you, Willow,” I whisper right next to her ear. And I swipe one finger straight down her folds, over her clit, increasing the pressure as I go.
And Willow trembles like a bomb before she detonates. A moan rips through her entire body as her head tilts back, her fingers flexing against the glass. “Lucky!” she screams my name as everything in her tightens around my cock. Her breath is ragged as she shatters with the orgasm.
And the sight of her face in the mirror, at the exquisite release, her open mouth, her eyes squeezed shut while she breaks apart, it sends me over the edge.
It travels up from my feet, into my spine.
My balls tighten, and with a furious cry of my own, I piston into her with unsteady shutters as I bust inside her.
It rips me apart from my scalp to my fingertips to my toes.
I drag my teeth over the bare flesh of her back as I come harder than I even knew was fucking possible.
I feel it as she comes down. As Willow pants. As her muscles relax. As her cunt twitches around my cock. In the mirror, I see her lick her lips, and a smile pulls on them.
I press a kiss to her shoulder and slide out. I gather her in my arms, turning her to face me, chest to chest.
“Every inch of you is divine, Dagger Kitten,” I whisper against her lips. I taste the water on them, savor every droplet. “Every morning. Every night. Every dark plot, every crazy idea, every body disposal. I want you, Willow.”
“You better start looking for something to put on my finger, Saint Shade,” she whispers as her eyes darken. “Because you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”
I blink as I look down at her. My instinct is to ask her if she means it. But it’s there, on every inch of her face.
Maybe it’s the trauma talking. Maybe it’s heightened emotions after nearly dying.
But I don’t care.
Because it doesn’t make our forever any less written in stone.
“Done,” I say simply as I kiss her forehead and smack her ass.
It’s been a week since I watched Phoenix die, and somehow, I’m more exhausted now than I was that night.
Apparently, surviving trauma isn’t restful when your entire extended family decides to move temporarily into your city like they’re on a Viking holiday.
My mother, father, Mormor, both uncles, Aunt Vivi—every last one of them—is staying in the most expensive suite the casino my theater is in offers.
It’s as big as my penthouse. There are five bedrooms in the place.
There’s a private elevator to it. There’s an infinity hot tub that looks like it could be the shooting location for a rap music video.
It catches every insane neon light in the city.
And of course, their weeklong stay is on my bill. My theater, the same casino, in my family’s mind, it’s free, right?
No, it is fucking not.
But we’re working on healing bonds. So, I don’t say anything. I just pay the insane bill and pray they don’t break anything during their stay.
They’ve been to my show. Twice. And this time they didn’t ruin it. Every one of them has gotten a tarot reading from Willow, all of them scarily accurate. We’ve walked the Strip like tourists together.
And we all watched the news report together.
Phoenix Marrow—online personality and wellness guru—has been reported missing.
Speculation runs in every direction. He is just running an ultra-secret retreat in the desert.
He got high on too much acid and is passed out somewhere.
He ascended. Others suspect something sinister might have happened.
They’re right.
It was earned, one thousand percent. But they’re right.
Still, the authorities are looking for him, and the public is asked to contact the police with any information.
No information is going to come forward. Because everyone who knows the truth is a crazy fucking maniac whose lips will be sealed forever.
Now we’re all gathered around my penthouse dining table—me, Willow, and the Torvik circus—finishing dinner. There are candles. Dozens of empty dishes. Empty wine bottles. Mormor’s talking with her hands so much that she nearly knocks over Willow’s glass every other sentence.
My father looks at Willow like she’s a godsend who dragged his idiot son out of exile.
“I have to say, kid,” he tells me, stabbing at his pasta, “I don’t know how you conjured this woman up.
It’s like Odin designed her just for you.
She’s smarter, calmer, and probably hides bodies better than you ever did. ”
Willow just smirks. “Aww, thank you, Anders.”
My mom laughs, the cackling kind. “You fake your death, disappear for ten years, and somehow bring home a woman who scares even your uncles. I don’t know whether to be proud or call a priestess.”
Uncle Henrik raises his glass. “We’ll settle for proud. It’s cheaper.”
Laughter ripples around the table. Even Willow smiles, her fingers brushing mine under the table, grounding me in the chaos.
They love her. And she, like the fucking miracle that she is, seems to love them back.
Ten years ago, I felt like I had no choice but to do something dramatic to escape them. The organ selling. The crime clean-up. The work with mob bosses. The break-ins. The endless string of illegal shit. When I said I wanted out, that wasn’t an option. So, I did something dramatic.
Ten years ago, these people would have knocked the kneecaps out of someone who did what I did. And that would just be the starting point.
I had to do what I did at the time.
But now? I don’t know. Maybe they’re just grateful I’m not really dead. Maybe they’ve changed. Maybe it’s that they can see I’ve made something of myself, and it had nothing to do with crime, which is all they’ve ever known.
But it’s different now.
And I’ll take it.
A notification on my phone goes off. “Your Uber’s will be here in ten minutes. We’ve got to get you guys downstairs.”
Dad sets down his napkin and folds his arms on the table, staring at me with fixed eyes. “We get it, Lucky. You have an amazing life here. You’ve made something incredible for yourself. I’m sorry we didn’t get it when you said you wanted out.”
Weight drops into the room instantly at his words. Everyone is silent, listening as Anders Torvik reconciles with his thought-to-be-dead only son.
My heart hammers in anticipation.
“As much as I want to drag you back to Brooklyn, make you part of the family again, I can see what a good thing you have here,” he says.
He claps his hand on my shoulder, staring right into my eyes.
“So, you keep living your life here, kid. You keep being Saint Shade. You keep worshiping this pretty little justice goddess. But I want contact, okay? No going dark on us. No changing your number or moving.”
“I won’t,” I say as I shake my head, my throat thick. “Thanks, Dad.”
My phone dings again, and everyone at the table rises to grab their shit and head to the elevator. “I want you in Brooklyn for Mother’s Day though, you hear me?” Mom says as she walks around the table and hugs me. “You too, Willow, if that’s okay.”
“That’s okay,” Willow says, a slight tone of grief. Her own mother has been gone for a while; she won’t be celebrating with her.
“We’ll be there,” I promise as I hug the woman who gave me life. “You guys really have to get downstairs.”
And it’s chaos and craziness. There are so many of us, and they have so much luggage that it takes us two trips to get everything down the elevator.
Aunt Vivi is cursing about missing a set of earrings by the time we make it out onto the curb.
Uncle Henrik is sizing up the doorman like he doesn’t trust the guy’s solid enough to keep out the gangsters.
And Mormor is muttering blessings on my building like it can keep anything bad from ever happening here.
The valet stares after the crazy lot. I just shrug. “Family.”
Two black SUVs roll up to the curb just as things are escalating louder and louder. I huff in relief as the drivers climb out and start loading luggage.
“Love you!” Vivi declares as she hugs Willow. She turns to me. “Sorry, I don’t think I can in good conscience hug you ever again, Lucky, you know, considering…”
“We are in agreement,” I say as I hold my hands up in surrender, shaking my head.
“Take care of her,” Uncle Einar says with a brief hug, nodding to Willow. Henrik just offers a handshake.
“Love you both,” Mom gives one last hug before Dad is dragging her into the SUV.
And just like that, they’re all loaded. The chaos is contained. And the curb is quiet as they pull away and head to the airport.
For the first time in days—maybe weeks—the world feels quiet.
No screaming crowds. No blood. No fire. No god-complex cult leader trying to play executioner.
Just the hum of Vegas, low and alive, and Willow’s hand twined with mine.
She leans her head on my shoulder. “I get why you faked your death.”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. “They’re fucking insane. And yet, somehow, I kind of… missed them.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “I get that, too.”