CHAPTER 53
A balance of power is always at play.
Raven’s compliments don’t compute. Her mouth is moving, saying something about tonight’s dance.
They’re words spoken in plain English. However, they make no sense when they’re not the ones I want to hear.
Because I only have one burning question that needs to be answered, and she’s deliberately dancing around it, fucking torturing me.
As soon as I finish zipping up my dress, I turn and give her a glare that promises bodily harm if she doesn’t tell me what I need to know.
“Where’s Finn?”
She grins knowingly, glances at her nails, and frowns. “What’ll you give me for this information?”
I huff, grab my heels from my bag, and step into them.
When I’m fully ready, I fan myself. Yes, I’m sweating.
I’ve been brimming with nervous excitement all day, but this is next level.
My body is buzzing, like it’s plugged into an outlet—fried and overheated.
The thrill of finally getting to see him has been building to the point I’m about to snap.
And I will if Raven doesn’t stop teasing me.
“He’s waiting for you in his office,” she says at last. “Try not to scare the clients with all the screaming you’re about to do. They might think someone’s being murdered back there.”
“See? Was that so hard?” I sigh.
“No, but seeing you all flustered is bringing me and the girls great joy after all of those insane practice sessions you put us through.”
“Hope you’re not in too much trouble,” Olivia chimes in.
I couldn’t care less if anyone hears us.
And trouble? God, I want trouble. The worst kind there is—with him. I want him with a force capable of tearing down every wall between us. This is a secret to no one, which is clear from the slew of raunchy taunts they throw my way as I exit the dressing room.
“Get it, girl!”
“Ride that stick shift like you stole it!”
“No dismounting before eight seconds!”
“Oh, Captain, my Captain!”
Alone in the hallway, I finally voice my answer. “I plan to. And yes, he’s my Captain.”
Halfway there, my steps falter. I could blame it on the sky-high, rocker-chic stilettos, but the truth is, anticipation is getting the best of me.
Wearing leather probably wasn’t the smartest choice—but the black, strappy dress felt right. Simple. Sexy. A little daring, since it barely covers my ass and clings to every curve—plus, it’s easy to slip out of and shows off my ink, most of which is on full display.
I took the time to freshen up a bit and dabbed perfume on my neck and wrists. My makeup is natural—just a smoky eye and a bit of shimmer on my lips. The jewelry I usually wear for luck and mental strength is absent.
There’s only one piece I chose to wear, and my hope is he’ll take the gesture as intended and understand its meaning.
That I’m coming to him bare of all my armor, my masks, and as a woman who no longer has anything to hide. One who accepted the role I played in our destructive journey.
While Finn was in rehab, I spent some time in therapy, reliving what I had to do to survive.
Revisiting the past wasn’t pretty. It was downright brutal at times—like walking through hell, landmines at every step—but I realized something while doing it.
I’d bottled a lot of the past up and refused to face it.
I’d denied that it had any bearing on my present or future, but that wasn’t true.
I had to dive in, relive it, bleed it out so I could heal. And, somehow, find my most authentic self on the other side.
Because the blame for our separation didn’t rest on Finn’s shoulders, and it didn’t rest on mine.
Life happened.
Fucking life, in all its messy, brutal chaos, threw roadblocks in our way. It forced us to navigate around so many detours and obstacles before we could find each other again.
And therapy helped me see how my own actions changed us, changed me.
I spent weeks alone in nature, self-reflecting. I’ve been trying to forgive myself for the poor choices I made that led me to do what I’ve done to Finn. I forgave Finn when he was in the hospital. But forgiving myself has been much harder to do.
Am I there yet? No. Not fully. But it’s a journey I’ll keep walking until I do.
I’ve made peace with all the versions of myself I used to survive, and laid some to rest. The ones I need, the essential parts, I’ve fused into who I’ll be going forward—who I want to be for him.
The woman who’s strong enough to stand beside him, soft enough to take care of him when he lets me.
Honest and whole, or at least, I will be for him.
The dog tags around my neck are a piece of our history—a symbol of what didn’t break us, and proof I’m his as much as he’s mine.
His door is wide open when I get to it.
I take a fortifying breath before sliding my hand up the frame and striking a pose so he can take in the view. I cover the dog tags with my fist and tease them along the chain. “Hey, Boss Man. I heard you wanted to see me. Hope I’m not in too much trouble.”
He’s sitting on the edge of his desk, hands gripping it beside his thighs, ankles crossed as he waits. His hair is down, tucked behind one ear. The black jeans and black Henley look sexy as fuck on him, and I eat up the vision that is my man.
His gaze snaps up, eyes raking over me. “Woman, you are trouble wrapped in one delicious package.”
“Is that right?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, and you damn well know it.”
Maybe I do. But Finn? He’s everything that weakens me.
His sleeves are pushed up, revealing his metalcore jewelry and tattoos.
The veins in his thick forearms? Sinfully delicious.
He’s masculine to the core—silent, broody, possessive.
And there’s a wicked complex mind behind it all.
The extra muscle he’s packed on is a bonus.
But honestly? I’d take him any way I could get him.
He’s stitched himself onto my heart, and there’s no coming back from it. Like before, his love is this all-consuming thing that I can’t get enough of—unforgettable, irreversible.
But it’s not just the love he gives—it’s who he is. I’m in awe of the way he’s faced the darkest parts of himself and fought to survive. I’m inspired by the way he lives by his own code, cares for those who need a savior, and sees through all of life’s bullshit.
That’s what sends my attraction into overdrive.
Because he’s one of the good ones. A good man—flawed, but selfless. Intelligent, but humble. An addict and a lethal killer, but honorable. The kind of man who’d go above and beyond for someone in need—and who I know, without question, would lay down his life for mine.
He’s everything I always knew I wanted, but never had the courage to claim, until now.
He’s it. My person. And tonight, I plan to take what’s rightfully mine.
Trailing a finger down my thigh, I let my dress ride up, revealing the barest hint of the garter beneath.
He stands slowly. “Come the fuck here, Lil’ Bird.” His voice is pure gravel. That hunger? It tells me I’ve misjudged who the hunter is in this scenario, which threatens to turn my fantasy on its head.
“Nuh-uh. You need to appreciate all the effort I put in before you rip this dress off me.”
“Is that right?” He licks his bottom lip, his gaze dragging over me slowly, pausing on the curve of my thighs.
“I did go to a lot of effort.” I lean against the door frame, crossing my legs.
He groans—low, guttural, barely contained—and bites down on his thumb, eyes locked on the lace of my thigh-highs. He eyes me with pure hunger, like he’s fighting the urge to pounce. “Jesus! Look at you.”
I smirk, but I can feel the tension rising. My bones tremble under my skin, vibrating like a tuning fork at his nearness.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask, my voice coming out sweet and sugary. “You seem a little…” I shrug, “on edge.”
“You have no fucking idea,” he rasps. Getting up slowly, he takes his time striding toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. He leans over me, plants his arm bent above my head. “You don’t know what you do to me, Lil’.”
Smirking, I say saucily, “Maybe I do.” Every inch of me is pulled tight, coiled, waiting. My heart is racing like I just ran a few laps, and there’s a good possibility I might go off like a Roman candle the moment he touches me.
When he entered rehab, I agreed to his “no sex” rule—no sex with anyone else ever again, and none with each other until he finished the program. He said not until he felt like himself again.
So the last few weeks have been a lesson in patience.
That doesn’t mean we kept our hands to ourselves.
No. If his time in rehab taught me anything, it was how intoxicating and thrilling restraint can be—and it gave me a thorough education on what those muscles are capable of.
I also relearned a few things about foreplay and found all the ways you could bend the rules without actually breaking them.
Thankfully, the “no sex” rule has flown out the window. We’re finally free to do what we want.
No more rules.
No more barriers.
I reveal the dog tags, drag them down, and slip one between my breasts. The other hangs beside it, there for his viewing pleasure.
At the sight of them, the heat in his eyes turns molten. The tension builds until the air hums—crackling between us. I let the moment stretch. Let it simmer.
Then I reach out and toy with the buttons of his shirt.
He visibly shudders beneath my touch. Not stopping there, I drag my nails down his chest, skimming over those newly defined abs.
I take a second to appreciate the work he’s put in, then hook a finger into his belt, give it a quick, deliberate yank—and unlatch it.
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Yes. I was under the impression that the no sex rule is ancient history. Was I wrong?”
“If it weren’t, it would have been obliterated the second you walked in wearing this outfit.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”