CHAPTER 50
Evren
Feel - Beneld
The garage feels heavy, almost silent except for the sounds of the mechanics working on the cars and bikes.
I keep remembering that night at her studio.
I came for my shipment and I got it.
And I wasn't going to go back to my apartment without her.
But I didn't expect her to be such an active participant.
I denied her, thinking I'd control the entire exchange, but the fucking troublemaker denied me too.
She really is one.
She felt like nirvana.
The fact that she didn't fully submit, even as I fucked her senseless and still managed to tell me, fuck you too, at the end?
She's something else.
I finally got her, and I should feel bored, like I always do with women.
But I don't. I can't get her out of my head, even after having her.
Maybe I need to see a therapist.
Scratch that, hell no.
I'd probably end up in the psych ward, locked alone in some silent room, away from the cars, the races, the blood—Her.
For the first time, in my twenty-eight years of living, breathing and killing, fucking her didn't end the twisted obsession I have—it made it worse.
But what she told me afterward?
About the night of the accident—what she could remember made me throw my steel table across my apartment.
I know what is like being hit by your own father.
Plus, that bastard Renji Akuro talked to her, got too close to her, and told her to contact him again.
He deserves to have his face buried in the fucking asphalt.
I rub my face.
I can't stop seeing her, those eyes burning with fire, with determination to get her brother justice, with unshed tears in her eyes.
When I mentioned the tears, she fucking kneed me in the balls.
Bitch.
Can’t even stay a day without hitting me.
I'm grateful for my pain dampeners, because otherwise I'd probably still be doubled over. Maybe I'd even have to drag myself into a Deadzone—or one of those illegal clinics in the Grid—and pay for a new pair of balls.
The questions Ren and I are trying to answer are simple.
How? Who? Why? What?
How did they know she would run downstairs?
Who targets a twelve-year-old child just to send a message? Who was Kyle, really?
Why her? Why Kyle?
What the fuck actually happened to Kyle?
Riven is working at her studio, she left after kneeing me in the balls.
I didn’t protest, I wasn’t in the shape anyway.
And I don’t want her to be in my way—or see whatever we will find.
I don't do it because I care about her.
I own her.
We have a deal, she doesn't let me go back to the silence, she stays and I help her.
Simple.
My jaw tightens and something in my chest twists.
I shake my head.
Varek and Neo are taking care of the gang, the business.
Ren is digging into the accident case.
“Boss,” Ren calls. “Got the pictures. Just a few. I can't access the file. It's encrypted like hell.” He pauses. “The case was reopened, yes. New evidence came to light.”
I walk around my desk and look at his Smart Panel’s floating screen.
“What is the evidence?” I put my hand on the back of his chair.
“A letter. An actual letter, no comms, no calls, making sure they can’t leave a trace. Smart.” Ren leans back in his chair, his shoulder tense “I can’t access it either.”
A beat passes. The silence stretches.
“So...” I pause. “You're telling me the guy who did that basically wrote a love letter to the Enforcers—or the government—with his own hands in our world?”
“Yup.” Ren says, emphasizing the p.
I reach up and swipe left. The first picture is just the aftermath.
When the second picture appears, I glance at it quickly and swipe again before freezing and going back to it.
In the picture, probably taken by medics or drones, is Riven, twelve years old, covered in blood, staring blankly at her hands.
Tears carve clean paths through the dirt on her face.
My grip on Ren's chair tightens so much that I break it.
“Swipe again.” I order, my voice tight and coiled.
Ren obeys.
The third picture shows Kyle's body being covered.
His dark brown hair is plastered to his forehead, matted with his own blood.
My eyes narrow.
“Zoom in, on the car covered in blood.”
The zoom gives us a serial number, all cars have one.
“Bingo, he can find the driver, or the one who owns the car.” I turn on my heels “Find me that car Ren. Now.”
Ren nods.
I walk back to my desk and drum my fingers against it, trying to answer the questions.
No one is going to use her as bait, over my dead fucking body.
I'll dismember anyone who tries.
Less than an hour later, Ren walks over to my desk with his results.
“Got the owner of the car,” he says, pulling up a picture. “He died three years ago, but—”
“How convenient that he's dead.”
I lean back in my chair, waiting for him to continue.
“I couldn't find shit. It's like everything surrounding Riven's brother's death is sealed.” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “I don't know, man. The system is even more encrypted than the Central Authority’s.”
I frown.
“But she said it was tied to the Lower Layers.”
He nods.
“It definitely is. It could be tied to a gang that wanted money from the heir, or he could've been living a double life.”
He pauses.
“But everything on Laordie Kyle, except the basic information, is locked down.”
“So, someone...” I clench my fist. “Someone doesn't want us to find out what happened to the son of one of the most powerful men in the city, and they used her when she was twelve as bait in their game.”
I sit there, in my Charger, watching her put her gloved hands-on other people, picking up that hellish machine and working on their skin.
It's fascinating how focused she is. I can even see the tip of her tongue peeking out in concentration.
I can't see what she's tattooing, but the fact that she doesn't use a printing machine is impressive.
I step out of my Charger and walk toward the door, unbothered.
The melody that rings out as I cross the threshold is a detail I didn't care to notice when I was with her, buried deep inside her.
My gaze lands on the girl at the reception desk—where, forty-eight hours ago, Riven's ass had been. Her smile falters for a second, and her skin pales.
I don't linger on it. Instead, I turn my head and see that Riven doesn't even look up to see who's entered her studio.
How rude of her.
“Troublemaker.” I say, my voice low.
She doesn't lift her head, but I see her shoulders tense.
“What do you want, freak?”
I grin.
“We need to talk.”
“About what? I'm busy.” she says, still focused on the vibrating machine she holds like a pen.
“Yeah, and I've got some information.” I take a step forward. “So get your ass up. I'm not a patient man.”
“I'm finishing my work.” She still doesn't fucking look at me. I can feel my blood boiling. “We'll talk later, so sit your ass down in a chair or go do your job.”
In three strides, I'm behind her.
I bend down, leaning close.
“Don't test me,” I murmur, breathing in her scent. “Because I don't give a fuck about your work. If I say you need a reminder, I'll bend you over your client's back and fuck you right here if you keep being a pain in my ass.”
“Try and I’ll stab you in the eye with my needle.” She says deadpan, not even looking at me.
I throw my head back and laugh.
It's not an amused laugh, it’s because it's thrilling, so specifically vivid and so fucking her.
When it subsides, I take a step back and lean against the wall.
“I'd actually love that.” I yawn. “I'll wait here until you're done then.”
I lower my gaze to the client, who clearly avoids looking at me.
Good.
You're lucky enough that I let her touch your skin without peeling your skin off your bones.
Just thinking about her touching other people's skin stirs something in me I don't like.
She touches them willingly, while since day one, we’ve been in a war.
The girl at the reception comes to me, she has black hair and two white streaks with grey eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re Evren?” She asks.
“Oh.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “So you've been talking about me to your friends?”
I straighten up and walk over to the girl, looming over her.
“Yes, that's me.” I tilt my head. “Why?”
She's pretty, but she doesn't have that spice Riven has.
“I’m Charlie, Riven’s best friend. Do you want something to drink, or are you just going to stand there like a creep behind her?”
She gestures toward Riven, who's still tattooing.
Both my eyebrows shoot up.
I'm surprised, she's blunt.
So Riven's friends are just as a pain in the ass as she is. Maybe I should arrange a meeting with my friends.
See how those Upper Layers girls handle real men.
“Nitro can.”
“We don't have that.” She crosses her arms. “Water or juice. Not that synthetic crap. Riv pays a fortune to keep real, organic drinks stocked for us.”
I don't even have time to say anything before she turns her back on me, bends behind the counter, and fucking throws me a bottle of water.
I catch it easily, thanks to my reflex boosters.
Is the last friend like this too? Because if she is, this is going to be very entertaining.
I take a sip, it's fucking good.
The fuck?
I think it's been months since I last drank water.
I mostly drink synthetics craps like Nitro, alcohol and the only water I get is in the shower.
I look at the other girl, she's piercing a man's nipple with a needle, gloves on, just as focused as Riven.
I resume my post behind Riven, the bottle of water still in my hand.
She doesn't say a word or even look around. It's like I'm not even here, and it pisses me off.
I hate being ignored, especially by her.
Fucking stubborn, infuriating little—
I take a deep breath because if I explode, I'll actually lift her, force her legs to wrap around my head, and eat her out until she can't even stand.
Just to make sure she remembers I'm here and that ignoring me just makes me more furious and hard.
Staying still for three hours is torture for me.
I've been stepping out back to call my gang and deal with business while she's been sitting on her ass, drawing on people's skin.
I've paced around the entire studio. The clients and her friends keep looking at me like I'm the crazy one.
I'm not.
She is.
By not fucking looking at me, by not even acknowledging my presence.
She chose tattooing this guy over me. Like I'm some random fucker hanging around when I fucked her so good she passed out on me.
Since the moment we met, we've been stuck in this fucked-up nemesis bullshit. Her time was mine, her attention was mine, her fists trying to cave my face in were mine.
I carried her from the Upper Layers to the Lower like some fucking hero—which I absolutely am not—and now she's acting like I'm just another client waiting in line?
Unacceptable.
She's got her priorities completely fucked.
I'm not going to just let her make that mistake while she's ignoring me.
I tried, but I can't. Simple as that.
My fingers drum against the counter, my eyes fixed on the back of her head.
Completely in her element.
Enough.
I stalk toward her from the reception, she's still not looking at me.
“Riven.” I growl.
Nothing.
Just nothing.
Not even a side glance.
I suddenly grab her upper arm and yank her to her feet.
“What the fuck?!” she shouts, startled.
“So God didn't fucking make you mute.” I lean in, staring into her furious, surprised eyes. “We need to talk. And I'm done waiting.”
I lean to the side, looking over her head. My eyes meet the client she was tattooing.
“Reschedule for another day. She's with me now.”
I don't wait for her to protest, I bend down, wrap my arms around her knees, and throw her over my shoulder.
That might be my favorite way to carry her. She gets to scream and pound on my back, I get to carry her and slap her ass.
Win-win.
She does—pounds on my back and screams like some horror movie scene.
Is she trying to bite my back now?
I wouldn't stop her, I like it when she marks me.
I cross the street, open the passenger door, and set her on her feet.
“Get in,” I order.
“Fuck off, Evren! I was working!” she shouts, her hand coming up to slap me.
I catch her palm just inches from my face and tilt my head before leaning in until my face is mere inches from hers.
“Yes, and I waited.” I take a step closer, making our body feel each other’s warmth “And you ignored me, so I stopped waiting. I’m not a dog.”
I let my fingers parkour across her hand, slipping off her plastic glove by sliding my fingers underneath it.
“I'm only going to say this one more time.” My voice drops to a murmur against her temple.
The cut on her is gone, leaving only a thin line with surface.
I see her breath hitch.
The corner of my mouth curls into a crooked, knowing smile.
“Get. In.”
She doesn't move, of course. Why would she obey now?
I grab her shoulder and shove her inside, climb into the car, grab the seat belt, and buckle her the fuck up.
“Evren, let me out.”
“Or what? You're going to kill me?” I chuckle. “Do it.”
I slide back out of the car and slam the door shut before rounding the hood and getting into the driver's seat.
“You can throw a tantrum. I don't give a fuck.”
I turn to face her and let my eyes travel down her body, taking in her outfit.
She's wearing baggy black jorts hanging low on her hips and an asymmetrical bodysuit with round cutouts at her waist.
Fuck, it suits her so well.
It gives me the savage urge to rip it out with my teeth and trail my mouth and tongue over every inch of her body.
Not yet.
“But you ignored me, and I don't like being ignored.”
She rolls her eyes, and my hand shoots out to grab her jaw, my fingers digging into her cheeks.
“Drama queen.”
“Roll your eyes all you want. Keep being a brat. It only makes me harder for you.” I tighten my grip just enough not to hurt her, but enough to emphasize what I'm saying. “Now you're coming with me, and we're going to talk.”
I let her go, but not before sliding my thumb between her lips and pressing against the inside of her bottom lip.
I rev the engine, and it roars like a purring cat.
I'm ready to have her full attention and show her exactly how I operate.