Chapter 2 #2
Of all the questions he could ask, this is the one I absolutely cannot answer.
“I’ll ask again. Who. Sent. You.”
I don’t answer. Let him waste his breath.
Garrett circles behind me. I track him by sound, boots scraping against stone. “You’ve been following me for days. Watching. Waiting. Why?”
I already told this fucker I’m here to protect him. What part of that is he not understanding?
“You could have killed me a dozen times over.” His voice stays level, controlled.
That calm commander tone that probably works on his soldiers.
“In the market square when I stopped to buy wine. At the Valorian meeting when I stood at that podium with my back to the gallery. In my own chambers while I slept.”
He pauses and takes a deep breath. “So what’s the contract? Information gathering? Blackmail? Leverage for some noble house?”
Still nothing. I keep my mouth shut.
“You’re not an ordinary assassin.” He’s in front of me now. I can feel him studying me even through the blindfold. “Someone paid a Grimsbane for surveillance to know my patterns. My vulnerabilities.”
Shit. I am so fucked. I can’t tell him the Silverra who hired me is his own father. I’ll lose the contract. The guild will mark me as a failure. Why can’t he ask literally any other question?
“Who. Sent. You.” Each word comes out harder than the last.
I say nothing.
“Answer me.” His voice drops dangerously low.
Nothing.
“Fine.” His patience finally cracks. “You said you’d answer questions, you lying piece of guild trash. But clearly that was bullshit. I should just leave you here to hang until you’re ready to be honest. You probably haven’t gathered anything useful on me anyway.”
I could stay quiet. Maybe I should stay quiet. But something in his tone pisses me off. That noble entitlement.
“Oh I’ve gathered plenty,” I say quietly.
The air goes cold.
“Everyone sees the perfect commander,” I continue, voice flat. “The noble lord with his spotless reputation. But I know what you really are.”
“What did you just say?” he asks sharply.
“I’ve been watching you for days, Lord Clayborne.
” I let his title drip with mockery. “I know your schedule better than you do. Morning sessions in the Valorian halls where you smile and nod at everything the Aeonians say. Training yard where you push yourself until your knuckles bleed. Evening rounds through the merchant district, playing the concerned protector. The perfect knight.”
“Stop talking.”
I don’t stop.
“You have dinners alone in your chambers because you can’t stomach sitting at that grand table anymore. I know the exact time when you start drinking. You stand on your balcony at night, staring out at nothing like you’re waiting for the world to end.”
“I said stop—”
“You put on a good show for everyone else. But when you think no one’s watching?” I laugh darkly. “You’re already half-dead inside.”
Silence drops heavy and absolute.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve watched you beat training dummies to splinters for hours because you can’t beat whatever’s eating you alive.” My voice hardens as I keep going. “You want everyone to think you’re holding it together, but you’re not. You’re barely holding on.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“You’re disgusting.”
The word makes us both pause.
“Disgusting?” His voice changes. Something raw and wounded bleeding through the control. “That’s what you think of me?”
Fuck. That came out wrong.
“I didn’t mean—” I stop myself.
Why am I explaining anything to him?
“Then what did you mean?” He’s closer now. I can hear the anger simmering underneath. “Please. Enlighten me.”
I don’t answer.
I hear the whisper of steel leaving a sheath.
I’m so dead. I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut.
“You think you know me?” His voice is different and much more dangerous. “A few days of watching from rooftops and you think you understand?”
The knife touches my chest. Cool metal against bare skin where my suit’s collar opens. Garrett doesn’t cut. He simply traces the blade down slowly.
“Let me tell you what I know about you, Wolf.” The knife slides lower, pressing against the reinforced leather over my sternum. “You’re good. Better than good, considering there were times I failed to spot you in those four days. That takes skill, training and discipline.”
The blade digs in slightly.
“But you’re also scared. I can hear it in your voice.” I don’t have to see his face to know there’s a smirk there.
“I’m not scared.” The denial comes out quickly.
The knife slices downward. My leather suit parts cleanly under the blade with a soft tearing sound. “You should be.”
Another cut. The suit splits further and cold air hits my bare skin.
“What happened to all that confidence?” he murmurs. “To calling me disgusting?”
The knife reaches my navel. My suit hangs open now and my chest is completely exposed.
“Am I wrong?” His voice drops lower, intimate. “Are you not scared right now?”
I don’t answer.
His free hand touches my bare chest. Palm flat against my sternum. “Your heart says you are.”
The touch sends unwanted heat through me. I tell myself it’s adrenaline. Fear. Anything but what it actually is.
“You sure you don’t want my help? Your cock is begging for attention.” His tone is mocking, cruel.
His hand cups me through my pants, squeezing. Shame burns through me. I bite down hard on my lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me react.
He notices anyway. “You can make sounds, Wolf. I want to hear them.”
I shake my head mutely.
His hand moves in slow circles through the leather, building friction. The pressure makes my hips jerk forward without permission.
“Stubborn.” His mouth finds my chest. Lips brush skin. Then teeth, scraping over my collarbone. “But I wonder... how quiet can you stay when I do this?”
He squeezes again, harder this time.
A moan tears from my throat before I can stop it. The sound is absolutely undignified.
“There it is.” Satisfaction drips from every word. “I knew you had a voice.”
Bastard.
This fucking piece of shit keeps touching me.
“You’re sick,” I manage.
“Probably.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the accusation. His hand continues working me through the leather, relentless.
Maybe if I slam my head into his, he’ll back the fuck off.
His hand strokes me again through the fabric. He then tugs and presses the heel of his palm against me.
“You’re a fucking crazy bastard.” The words come out strangled.
“Strong words for someone currently at my mercy.” His voice carries dark amusement.
“Go to hell.” I curse.
He laughs, low and warm. “There’s that fire. I was starting to worry I’d broken you already.”
It takes more than his fucking wandering hands to break me. I’ve endured worse than this. Burns and blades and bones snapping. Guild training doesn’t leave room for weakness.
“You’ll get nothing from me.” I snarl.
A dark chuckle escapes him. “We’ll see about that. Because I have all night. And you’re already giving me plenty.”
He pulls me forward by my hips, just enough that my weight shifts. My arms strain in their bindings. The angle forces me to arch into him, chest to chest.
His mouth touches my neck, just below my ear. I feel the barest brush of lips against skin and I freeze. His hand fists in my hair, holding my head in place before his mouth finds my throat again. This time he doesn’t just graze.
The fucker bites.
I gasp, the sound escaping before I can stop it.
“Well, feel like playing nice now?” he murmurs against my skin. His lips soothe where his teeth marked. Tremors run through me despite every effort to stay still.
Torture I can handle. But what the fuck is even this?
His mouth trails lower, following the line of exposed skin down my chest. He reaches my collarbone, teeth scraping across my skin. I bite back another sound. My cock throbs heavy between my legs, leaking into my leathers.
Every touch chips away at something I can’t afford to lose. My control and the walls I’ve spent years building. His hands map my bare chest like he’s memorizing every inch, every scar, every place that makes my breath catch.
“You have interesting marks,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes across an old wound on my ribs. “This one here... someone tried to gut you. But you twisted at the last second and took it across the side instead.”
I can’t answer through the haze he’s creating. Each brush of his fingers scatters my thoughts further.
Garrett’s fingers ghost over another scar just above my heart. “This one... blade. But the angle is wrong for combat. Someone you trusted got too close.”
He reads the history written on my skin, fingers tracing each mark like he’s learning a new language.
“You’re shaking.” His voice softens slightly.
I know I am. Fine tremors run through my entire body. I pull back or at least try to. The chains don’t give me anywhere to go.
His hand slides down my stomach. Lower. “You’re not used to this, are you? Being touched like this.”
“Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” His hand cups me through my pants and squeezes gently. “Don’t touch you? But you’re so hard for me already.”
His hand starts a rhythm. Each stroke through the leather makes heat coil tighter in my gut.
“What are you trying to do?” I manage between breaths.
“Make you feel good.” He sounds genuinely confused by the question. “Isn’t that obvious?”
This is a fucking nightmare. I shouldn’t even be feeling good from this. But I’m trapped in a haze I can’t think my way out of. Pressure builds low in my spine relentlessly. At this rate I’ll—
“If you keep doing that I… I’ll come…”
“Go ahead then,” he mutters. “Come for me, Wolf.”
His hand resumes its rhythm, firmer now against my cock. Heat builds until it’s the only thing I can feel. His mouth finds my nipple, teeth closing around it and something inside me snaps.