Chapter Fifteen
TOREN
The look in his eyes is one I have never seen before.
He's looking at me, but for the first time, it's like he's actually seeing me. Not the daughter of the man he hates. Not the sister of the guy who ruined his life.
Just me.
Toren.
The girl he refuses to admit he feels anything for.
I steel my spine and hold his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. I need his help. Without it, that bitch wins and I refuse to allow that. She used my friends for her own gain, and that is not something I will stand for.
The fact that I'm hiding the truth about Cas from Xaden sits like a stone in my gut, but I won't rat him out and sign his death warrant. Xaden needs Cas. Without him, I fear Xaden would lose what little humanity he has left.
“You know that Meekan covered up that night in order to protect our fathers.” My voice is steady despite the fear thrumming through my veins. “What you don't know is that Meekan wasn't the only one covering it up.”
His face slackens. He stands there immobile, staring at me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm, but I don't.
I won't give him the satisfaction.
“There is another player in this war. One neither of us knew about.”
“Who?” His tone is harsh and commanding, but I ignore it and push on.
“You once told my brother that you'll always be ten steps ahead, and I believed that.” I take a breath.
“Until a few nights ago when I met the bitch who rivals the devil himself.
She isn't like you, Cas, Masen, or even our fathers. She plays between the gray areas of the law, bends the rules enough that she can never be charged, but make no mistake, Xaden, she is fucking dirty.”
“Who the fuck is it?” he grits out through clenched teeth, taking a step closer. “If this is some fucking ploy to keep me distracted while your masked freaks and new lover boy try to take out my men, I'll slaughter you, Toren. Right where you fucking stand.”
The fact that he called me by my name—not Tink—means he's serious.
And I believe him.
Because the dark look in his eyes promises so much pain.
“Deputy Director Fiona Williams of the CIA.”
The transformation is instantaneous and terrifying.
Pure malice shadows his features. The shadows he loves so much encircle him, shrouding him in their darkness. His eyes burn with the promise of pain and vengeance, cold and calculated.
I can see the cogs in his mind whirling, working overtime, trying to formulate a plan without knowing all the details.
“Get in the car,” he grits out, then tries to move around the hood.
I reach out and grip his arm. He yanks it free and whirls on me. I brace for him to try and choke me.
Instead, he uses his body to pin me against the front of the car.
Memories of the night at the cemetery flash through my mind and I begin to ache for him. I slam the lid shut on those thoughts, knowing this isn't the time to be thinking about how amazing he feels inside me.
He dips his head down until we're eye level, leaving barely an inch of space between us. I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips, taste him on the tip of my tongue.
Suddenly all thoughts flee. I can't focus on a single thing except for him.
Need overrides all rational thought.
He's the devil.
But I see through the darkness. He wasn't born to be a monster, he was forced to become one in order to survive.
“Tell me something, Tink.” His voice is low and rough, sending shivers cascading down my spine. “Did your new friends tell you about the Director?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
His face doesn't change, he's walled off his emotions from me completely.
“Hmm. How'd you find out about this bitch?” His tone is sinful and suggestive.
I want to remain silent, but when he grips my hips and pulls me flush against him, the fight drains from my body. His heat bleeds into me and I find myself wanting to give him whatever he wants so long as he keeps holding me.
When he buries his face in the crook of my neck and nibbles on the tender flesh, I gasp.
“Don't make me ask again,” he mumbles against my skin.
Heat engulfs me as he places tender kisses along the side of my neck, working his way up. He peppers kisses along my cheek and across my face to the other side.
I pout when he purposefully avoids my lips. I need to taste him.
He shifts his hold and grips my ass in both hands, making me moan.
“Answer or I fucking stop.” His tone is firm and unyielding.
I obey his demand, my voice breathy. “I have a file on her.”
He growls his approval, then grips the hem of my shirt and peels it off me in one swift motion.
I stand here in the middle of this haunted road in nothing but my pants and bra. I can't find it within myself to give a fuck if someone drives past and sees me half-naked.
All I care about is the way he's looking at me with hunger burning in his eyes.
His hands travel all over my body, never settling on one spot. For a moment it feels amazing until I realize what the fuck he's doing.
He's searching me for a wire.
I smack his hands away and shove against his chest and the movement sends a wave of nausea through me so sharp I have to clench my jaw and breathe for two seconds before I can speak.
He clocks it.
Of course he clocks it. He clocks everything about me with the infuriating comprehensive attention of a man who made it his business to know his enemy and never fully stopped, even when the war changed shape.
His eyes drop to my face and something flickers, so brief I would miss it if I wasn't watching and then it's gone behind the anger.
I refuse to let him use it.
I refuse to let the pregnancy be a vulnerability he can reach for. It is mine. Ours, if he ever decides to acknowledge it. But in this moment, on this road, it is mine alone and I will not let him see that my body is fighting me while I'm trying to hold my ground against him.
I breathe.
The wave passes.
I lift my chin.
He grabs my arm and drags me toward the passenger side, shoving me inside the car.
I sit there fuming, crossing my arms over my chest and refusing to utter a word as he claims the seat beside me.
He drives the rest of the way to the beach in tense silence.
The moment he parks, I don't wait for him to say anything. I climb out and stalk down to the water's edge.
I grit my teeth and fight not to shiver from the cold as I kick my shoes off and push my pants down. I feel his presence drawing closer behind me.
I leave my bra and thong on as I push forward into the ocean, hissing when the ice-cold water laps at my feet.
I clench my fists at my sides and force myself to keep moving. Once the water is just below my chin, I turn to face him, ready to give him a piece of my mind.
But the words die on my tongue when I watch him begin to strip.
My mouth waters when he removes his shirt and I see his glorious body on display. He's pure evil and sin wrapped in a delectable package, but I can't stop feeling the way I do.
He wove a web and caught me in it.
I'm trapped.
When he moves to remove his pants, my breath hitches. I suddenly don't feel the icy bite of the water anymore. I'm hot all over, filled with desperate need.
A pulse begins to beat between my thighs and I'm powerless to fight against it.
He stands there in his briefs with his gaze locked onto me, then he stalks forward without so much as a shudder when the cold water touches his skin.
I stand here immobile as the God of darkness makes his way toward me.
He's an enigma. A sinner through and through. Yet I see none of that when I look into his eyes.
All I see is the boy who was forced to change in order to seek the truth. Monsters aren't born, they're created. And Xaden is a product of that. His pain and grief shaped him into the man he is today.
He stops a couple steps away from me, towering over me, yet I don't feel small at this moment.
I feel strong. Powerful. Almost like some of his strength has seeped into me.
“I'm not wearing a wire, Xaden,” I say clearly.
His eyes narrow slightly. He reaches out and grips my waist, then pulls my flush against him, drawing a gasp from me.
The heat of his skin against mine is a drug. I want to melt into him and savor this moment of peace between us.
He runs his fingers through my hair, tugs on the strands and forces me beneath the surface of the water.
I fight against his hold, panic flooding through me.
When I break the surface, I gasp for air and strike out, slapping him across the face.
He retaliates by wrapping his hand around my throat and getting right in my face.
Before he can spew threats, I cut in. “I'm telling the fucking truth! I'm not here to frame you or hurt you. I'm trying to help both of us!”
He remains impassive and tense. The silence between us stretches like a rubber band about to snap.
I refuse to break it. He needs to see that I'm not here to betray him, I'm trying to help us both win.
I don't think as I reach up and cup his face between my hands. He jolts in surprise but doesn't pull away as I press forward and place a chaste kiss to his lips.
I draw back enough to look him in the eyes. “I'm not your enemy,” I whisper, stroking his face with my thumbs. “I'm trying to save us both. I don't want to fight you, but if I have to…”
I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes, breathing him in for a second before I finish.
“I will. I'll tear your world apart. Burn your empire to the ground and force you out if you make me.”
His free hand bands around my waist and anchors me against him, making me gasp. His gray eyes darken. The grip on my throat vanishes. Instead, he tangles that hand in my hair and tips my head back, giving himself the advantage of staring down at me.
“There has to be something left inside me to kill, Tink.” His voice is raw, anguished.
“I have nothing left worth living for. All I am was torn from me, buried under mountains of dirt. The person who would have cared about you and wanted what you're offering died when my sister did. What you’re looking at is the only part of me that’s left.
Even Emery wouldn't recognize this black soul.”
His words shatter something inside me. I've never heard him be so open, so honest before.
I fight the tears burning behind my eyes.
“A world where you don't exist isn't a world I want to be in,” I whisper fiercely. “You have something worth living for and we created it together. It may have been out of spite on your part, but not mine.”
“You're a fucking idiot.” The cruelty in his voice makes me flinch. “That thing inside you is a reminder of my fuck-up. Do you really think I could ever look at it and not see the cunt who murdered my sister and best friends?”
The words are like a sucker punch.
The air rushes out of me. Everything inside me screams to run back to land.
But I know him. I know what he's doing, trying to push me away with cruelty because he doesn't know how else to protect himself.
Words aren't working.
So I do the only thing I know how.
I mesh my lips to his and show him without words that I'll fight for both of us, even if it means I wind up getting burned in the end.
Because not all love stories are flowers and roses.
Some are born from hate and thorns.
And ours?
Ours is forged in fire, darkness and the kind of desperate, devastating love that destroys everything in its path.
Including us.