Chapter Fifty-One
Helios
She burst through the stairwell door barefoot. “Helios!”
Rifles slung over my shoulder by their straps, I was already Oscar Mike.
Intercepting my Haven, grabbing her around the waist with one arm, lifting her off her feet, cupping her face, sinking my fingers into her hair, mission intent, I didn’t fucking hesitate.
I slammed my mouth over hers and fucking kissed her.
I kissed Feralyn Alva Grayson.
Sinking my tongue in, tasting my Haven for the first time, fucking jacked, not giving a goddamn about the gunpowder fumes, blood, and bodies, I kissed the hell out of her.
And my Haven kissed me back….
Until the second I tasted that sweet fucking victory of her tongue swiping against mine and growled.
Then she fucking froze.
I gripped her hair tight.
Her hands disappeared from the back of my neck.
I spoke against those lush fucking lips. “Haven?”
She dropped her head.
I jerked her closer.
Her arms fell to her sides.
A throat cleared.
I looked the fuck up.
Ares, Chaos, Saint. All staring.
All motherfucking judging.
I cut a warning glare across the room, then zeroed in on Saint. “Where the fuck are her shoes?”
“Bedroom. I’ll get them.” The slick prick turned toward our fucking room.
“No, you fucking won’t.” Sliding an arm under her legs, I picked her the fuck up. “I’m grabbing them.” I needed a goddamn moment alone with her, but a hand landed on my chest.
Then a voice so damn small, one I wouldn’t have recognized as hers if I hadn’t found her in an abandoned bunker eight years ago and heard a version of it then, hit me square in the chest. “Stop. Please.”
I fucking stopped.
But I sure as hell didn’t put her down. “Broken glass. You need shoes, woman.”
She curled in on herself, and Ares fucking moved.
Exfilling the destroyed main living area, aiming for our bedroom, Ares went AWOL for four seconds. Then the fucker reappeared.
Expression locked, holding her trainers, coming in hot, Ares aimed at us as he issued orders. “Counter. Behind you. Set her on it.”
Pivoting, I set her down. Then I stood between her legs to block her view of the dead motherfuckers and gave my own damn orders. “Hand the shoes over, then back the fuck off.”
Jaw ticking, staring at my Haven, Ares slapped her trainers into my hand.
Head down, body trembling, she gripped the edge of the counter.
Glaring at Ares, I fished her socks out of her running shoes.
Then three grown-ass men watched me slide pink fucking socks onto her feet before tying up her pink fucking trainers.