18. Dan
DAN
“Going somewhere?”
Swearing under my breath, I slowly turned around to find Sergeant Bellingham at the bottom of the stairs. He jerked his head towards the lounge in a clear command.
My heart pounded. You know how you automatically feel guilty when you see an officer, even if you’ve done nothing wrong? Imagine you’re from an actual crime family, and multiply that guilt by ten thousand.
“I need some air,” I muttered, rubbing at my temples. The throbbing in my head was getting worse. It had been manageable until Lincoln bellend Bellingham had decided to antagonise me. A few minutes of suffering his presence, and it felt as if my brain was trying to pound its way out of my skull.
“Are you okay?”
The voice was closer than I expected. My eyes flew open—when had I closed them?—to find Lincoln’s uncle regarding me with concern.
“I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”
He peered at me more closely, and I knew the second he noticed the lump on the side of my forehead because his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “How did you get that?”
“I had a disagreement with a rock.” There was no way I was going to even hint at the truth—that I’d been in a fight with a Bratva henchman. I wasn’t stupid.
“Really.” He regarded me flatly, and I shrugged.
“What are you talking about? What happened?” Lincoln was suddenly pushing his way in between his uncle and me, his frantic gaze scanning my head.
Wait. Frantic? I must’ve been mistaken. This headache was making me hallucinate.
A choked sound escaped from his throat when his eyes landed on the bump. “What the fuck? I didn’t see that.”
“It was on the opposite side to where you were sitting. I don’t know why you’re both getting so worked up about it. It’s just a bump. It’ll be gone in a few days. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
They both folded their arms over their chests, staring me down with identical hard, uncompromising expressions on their faces.
If my brain hadn’t been pounding against my skull, I would’ve treated them to one of my witty remarks, but as it was, my remaining working brain cells were telling me to get pain relief. Now.
“Link. Deal with this. You know where the first aid stuff is. I only came down to get Tilly some water, but I’ll be back as soon as she’s ready to sleep.” Sergeant Bellingham pointed his finger at me. “You. Don’t even think about stepping foot outside of this house until I’ve had a word with you.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Why hadn’t time machines been invented yet? If I could turn back time, I never would’ve sought out my enemy.
A hand landed on my arm, and I bristled at the touch.
“Stop fighting me for one fucking second,” Lincoln growled. He gripped the material of my hoodie, tugging more gently than I’d expected, and I went with him reluctantly. Only because I didn’t have any other choice. His uncle had made sure of that.
Also, who was he to tell me to stop fighting him? He antagonised me just as much. Hypocritical knobhead.
We ended up in the kitchen, where he shoved me onto a rickety wooden stool at the kitchen island. Future Lincoln was going to seriously regret manhandling me. As soon as we were out of the enemy stronghold, he needed to watch his back.
“How did you get this?” He was standing way too close, his brows pulled together and his hot breath hitting my forehead as he examined the lump on my head.
“I told you. I had a disagreement with a rock.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s just a headache.” I didn’t know why I was bothering to respond to him. This fake concern was obviously a ploy to make himself look good in front of his uncle.
“Wait there.”
Well, it wasn’t like I was allowed to go anywhere else, was I? I might as well have been a prisoner in this gingerbread cottage of nightmares.
When he returned to the kitchen, he strode over to the farmhouse-style sink, and no, I did not watch the way the thin material of his grey joggers was clinging to the tight muscles of his ass. Okay, I did, but only because I was trying to work out if his ass looked better than mine.
Nah, it couldn’t be better. That was impossible.
Wait. Was he even wearing underwear? It didn’t look like it.
I quickly averted my gaze.
When he turned around, it took me a minute to realise that he’d managed to ditch his hoodie, and all those tattoos decorating his arms were right in my face.
I glared at him, but he ignored me, busy placing a glass of water on the counter next to my elbow. “Are you on any medication? Have you even seen a doctor?”
“No, and yes,” I ground out. “I already told you I’m fine.”
“Take these.”
“How do I know they aren’t poison?” I replied on autopilot, already popping two paracetamol capsules from the pack. Swiping the glass from the counter, I swallowed the pills, along with a large mouthful of water.
“You really think I’d risk poisoning you in my uncle’s house?
” he shot back, already moving away from me.
When he turned his back, I let myself slump on the stool, rubbing at my temples again.
Fucking hell, I didn’t even have a good comeback.
Between my headache and being deep in enemy territory, I was too discombobulated.
I twisted on the stool, laying my arms on the counter and burying my head in them. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I’d wake up and realise this was all a nightmare.
“Hoyton.” A cool hand cupped the back of my neck, making me flinch. “Turn around.”
Groaning into my arms, I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I could. This isn’t real.
“C’mon.” The fingers squeezed in warning before a thumb rubbed over the short hairs on my nape.
I barely repressed a shiver. Then a body was pressing into mine, an unwanted furnace that made my dick stir.
Stupid involuntary reactions. He breathed across my ear, and really, was that necessary?
“If Mike comes back down and finds out I haven’t followed his orders, we’ll both be in deep shit. ”
Fuck him for reminding me of what was at stake. Pretending this was all a dream wasn’t working.
I opened my eyes and straightened up in one swift movement, spinning on the stool to face Lincoln. His eyes widened, his body jerking backwards to avoid a collision between us.
We both exhaled when we were a safe distance away from each other. His hazel eyes met mine, greens and golds and browns swirling together, fringed by dark lashes. Fucking hell. I couldn’t hold his gaze—
“Stay still,” he muttered, and then all the much-needed personal distance between us shrank to nothing because he was suddenly standing between my legs, his calloused fingers smearing some kind of cream on the bump on my head.
I had no idea what it was, but it was cool and soothing and made me sigh in relief.
My headache almost instantly dissipated from an insistent pain to a dull throb.
“What’s that?” My palms landed on his hips. Fuck them for having a mind of their own. Again.
“Bruise relief cream.” He cupped my jaw roughly, yanking my head up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Blame your uncle,” I said, dipping my fingers under the hem of his T-shirt. I tugged him closer. “Why did you pull a knife on me?”
His stubble scraped against my skin, his lips brushing over my ear as he leaned in. “I wanted to be prepared because I knew you’d have weapons. I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking straight, okay?”
“Why did you block me?” I whispered, and he exhaled harshly.
“You’re bad news, baby.”
My fingers tightened on his sides, digging into his warm, smooth skin. I gritted my teeth. “I told you not to fucking call me baby.”
“I know.” His hand curled around my throat, his voice a low, taunting rasp. “You think it’s an endearment or something? It’s not. I fucking hate you.”
“Fucking mutual,” I ground out, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything in my life.
He swore under his breath, tipping his head forwards, and somehow, my hands slid around his back, pulling him even closer.
His hard dick was pressed up against mine, and I held my breath, because if I even accidentally inhaled him, I’d become overwhelmed again.
Why did the worst things for you have to feel so good?
“I thought about unblocking you.” His words were muffled against my collarbone. “Then you were here, infiltrating my sanctuary.” Drawing back, his eyes met mine, and my heart stuttered at the intensity in his gaze. “My fucking family, Hoyton. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” I mumbled, and then whatever else I was about to say was lost when his mouth came down on mine.