Chapter Seventeen
Autumn
I sit in my bedroom; it’s empty, silent. Some woman brought me lunch earlier; she barely said a word. I’m guessing everyone here was ordered not to talk to me. Fine. I don’t care.
Now it’s mid-afternoon, and I have nothing to do and nothing to wear.
My camera.
The thought hits, and I jump from the bed, striding down a hallway that seems to never end, down the stairs, and turn right into a living room, or at least one of them.
“Great. I’m lost,” I murmur.
“Flynn’s in his office.”
I turn fast. Kaden’s sitting on the corner couch, a cigar in one hand, a book in the other.
“Jesus—” I snap. “So you’re mafia too?” It sounds ridiculous the moment it leaves my mouth. I’ve seen The Godfather; that’s as close as I’ve ever been to this world. I half expect a horse head to appear one night just for the irony.
“Head of security,” he says around a slow exhale of smoke.
“Of course you are.” I roll my eyes. “Flynn?”
He points to the opposite side of the hall. I don’t say another word; I just follow the direction until I reach the double doors from early. They’re closed, so I push them open without knocking.
Flynn’s behind the desk in a white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Ink winds up both forearms, black lines cutting over muscle and veins.
His skin looks warm against the fabric, the veins on his hands thick and raised like cords when he sets down a pen.
He looks up, slow, lazy almost, and leans back in his chair, crossing those broad arms over his chest. The movement makes the fabric strain across his shoulders.
“Yes?” he asks, voice low, eyes locked on me.
“I need clothes. Warm ones. Pajamas, and underwear.” I stop, heat creeping up my neck. “And I need…women stuff.”
“Women stuff?” His mouth curves, just slightly.
“Come on, Flynn, you know what I mean.” I roll my eyes, but my voice betrays me.
He stands, and the air in the room shifts. He’s big, easily a head taller than me, all lean muscle under that white shirt. When he moves around the desk, his stride is unhurried, confident, and I step back as he comes closer.
“Pads? Tampons?” he says, tone even, and the heat in my face flares. I’ve never asked a man for this. Never stayed around one long enough to even mention it.
“Both,” I whisper.
He stops a foot away. The scent of his cologne, clean, dark, something expensive, wraps around me. The veins on his forearms flex as he crosses them, head tilted.
“Are you on the pill?”
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
“Are you on the pill, Autumn?” he repeats, voice low, laced with that Irish rumble that makes my knees weak.
“It’s none of your business!” I snap, spinning to leave, but he grabs my arm, yanking me back. My back slams against his chest, his hard muscles a wall of heat behind me.
“It is my business now,” he whispers, one hand splaying possessively over my hip, the other clamping my shoulder like a vice. His fingers dig in just enough to remind me who’s in charge. “Be a good girl and answer me. Or do I need to check myself?”
“Christ, Flynn.” The words tumble out shaken, my pulse thundering in my ears. “You don’t give up.”
“Oh, trouble,” he growls against my ear, breath scorching like branded iron, his grip ironclad to pin me still. “Wanna bet if I slide my fingers into those pretty panties, they’ll come out dripping for me? Bet you’re already soaked, thinking about how I’ll own every inch of you from now on.”
His hand dips lower, massive palm splaying over my belly, veins bulging thick and roped across his forearm as his thumb hooks the elastic of my leggings. I snatch his wrist, nails digging in. “Flynn, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He presses harder, that huge hand a wall of heat, thumb circling slow, teasing the edge. “You slipped into my shirt to tease me, trouble. Smelling like me, wrapped in me, and you think I wouldn’t notice, or was that the point?”
My body betrays me, shaking with adrenaline, thighs clenching. I cling to his wrist like a lifeline because if I let go, he’ll feel the truth, how the fabric is slick between my legs, soaked through.
His lips graze my neck, then his teeth sink in.
I wince, a sharp cry escaping as pain blooms hot, and in that split-second distraction, my grip slips.
He seizes it, sliding his hand down, rough fingers brushing the damp cotton of my panties.
The contact jolts through me like lightning; my knees buckle, control shattering.
No holding back now. My body arches into him, craving even as my mind screams stop. Memories flood of him stretching me that night; the burn, the bliss and the chaos of the last day melt away. Fear, anger, all of it. Just this twisted peace in surrender. I part my legs, subtle but desperate.
“Such a good girl,” he rumbles against the sting on my neck, vibrating through bone.
One thick finger traces the fabric, never breaching, circling my clit with agonising slowness. Veins pulse on the back of his hand, muscles coiling under inked skin as he works me.
“Flynn, please.” It spills out as a beg, my breath ragged.
“Beg louder.” It’s a command, not a request.
“Please—” I gasp, and he rewards me, finger speeding, pressure building.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers, then bites my shoulder, deeper this time, sucking the mark like he’s claiming territory. I melt, head lolling back against his chest, solid as carved stone, muscles flexing with every breath.
“You’re mine now, Autumn.”
The words sink in slow, but I’m lost, my hips grinding shamelessly, chasing the edge. Orgasm coils tight, so close I can taste it.
He pinches through the fabric, and I yelp, thighs snapping shut on instinct, but he slams me harder against the wall, boots kicking mine apart, trapping me open.
His hips roll forward; I feel him, all of him, rock-hard, throbbing against my lower back.
Girth that stole my breath before, now a promise of ruin.
“The more I hurt you, the wetter you get,” he snarls, a feral edge sharpening. Fingers fly faster; my panties are drenched, my body a trembling mess.
“I can’t wait for you to take all of it, trouble.” He grinds once, letting me feel the length straining his pants.
“I already did,” I shoot back, voice wrecked but defiant.
“Oh, baby, no, you didn’t.” He nips my earlobe, teeth grazing. “That night? I only fed you half. Half in that tight little cunt, imagine the rest splitting you wide.”
I arch, spine bowing, climax crashing closer, but he yanks his hand away, stepping back. Air rushes in; I sag against the wall, legs like jelly. I turn to glare through the haze.
He lifts those fingers glistening with me and licks them clean, slow, eyes locked, tongue swirling like he’s savouring victory. Forearms corded, veins popping under the ink, chest heaving under that shirt.
“Flynn?” My voice cracks, needy, furious.
“Yes, trouble?” He has a dark grin, all predator.
Realisation hits; he’s stopping. Leaving me edged, aching, owned without release.
“You’ll pay for this, Brady.” I warn as embarrassment floods my cheeks.
He shrugs, sliding those licked fingers into his pocket like a trophy. “I’ll taste you on my skin till dinner, and you’ll be dripping the whole time.”
He turns back to his desk, dismissing me. “Kaden will handle anything you need. Order online; he pays.”
I’m halfway out, ready to snarl fuck off, when I remember.
“My camera, do you have it?” He pauses, rises fluidly, muscles shifting under fabric, and heads to a closet.
Pulls a box, stalks over, thrusts it at me.
“Don’t snap at anyone in this house. Got it?
” He orders, but it sounds more like a threat.
I nod, clutching it like armour, and storm out.
That bastard just edged me to hell, and he’ll pay for it.
Kaden is still seated in the same place. I stop right in front of him. He doesn’t look up from the book.
“Need anything?” His voice is rough, a thicker Irish accent curling at the edges. I notice the skull tattoo on the side of his neck, with a symbol. Looks military. I never noticed it before.
“Flynn said you’d get me clothes. And… other stuff I need.” I say, looking down at him. He’s a little taller than Flynn, and his skin is tanned.
“Rangers?” I ask. That gets his attention. He finally looks up.
“What?” He frowns.
I point to the tattoo, now realising it’s a skull with a harpy on the left side.
He smirks, tilting his head. “You’re smart.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment. More like he’s filing it away for later. I cross my arms.
“Are you seriously just realising that now?” I wiggle my eyebrows, teasing.
He lets out a low chuckle. “You’ll drive Flynn insane.”
He stands, puts out his cigar in a marble ashtray.
“So. Rangers?” I press.
He looks down at me and just nods.
“Now I get why Flynn keeps you close all the time,” I murmur, trailing after him.
“It’s not only because of my good looks,” he says, deadpan.
I smirk. Kaden’s a beast. Rougher around the edges than Flynn or the Callaghans. He doesn’t look like money. He looks like he punched his way up.
“So, how did you two meet?” I ask, following him down another hallway, passing the closed double doors that lead to Flynn’s office.
“We went to high school together.”
“Wow. So you went to a school for mobsters.”
He stops. I crash into him, nearly faceplanting.
“A school for mobsters?” He turns, smirking. Shakes his head. “Just normal high school. Me, him, Declan. I went to the army after, and we met up years later. I needed a job. He offered one.”
He watches me, and something about the way he says it tells me there’s more. Kaden treats Flynn like a brother, not a boss. The way he moves around him, watches for him, it’s deeper than duty.
Interesting. I can’t wait to dig more into this; it’s not like I have anything else to do right now.
He opens a door. It’s another office.