CHAPTER 14
The heavy, reinforced deadbolts of the Delaware safehouse slammed into place with a series of loud, brutal clacks.
Zade Prescott leaned his forehead against the solid oak door, his massive chest heaving.
The sheer, overwhelming exertion of dragging a waterlogged life raft through the freezing surf, navigating the chaotic shoreline in absolute darkness, and evading the perimeter patrols had drained the final reserves of his adrenaline.
The interior of the safehouse was stark, heavily fortified, and entirely silent. A massive fire roared in the stone hearth at the center of the living room, the flames casting dancing, erratic shadows across the dark leather furniture and the heavy, exposed wooden beams of the ceiling.
Zade turned around.
Knox stood in the center of the room. He was completely, devastatingly soaked. The dark burgundy velvet jacket he wore hung heavy and ruined, dripping freezing seawater onto the expensive Persian rug. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his skin pale and completely drained of color.
Knox was shivering violently, the tremors racking his frame so aggressively his teeth audibly chattered.
He shrugged out of the ruined velvet jacket, dropping it to the floor with a wet, heavy thud. He stood in the ruined, sheer silk shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.
The adrenaline that had sustained them through the firefight and the plunge into the ocean was entirely gone. The reality of their survival, the absolute, world-ending danger they had just navigated, crashed down on them in the quiet, isolated room.
Zade moved. He crossed the living room in three long strides, grabbing a massive, heavy wool blanket from the back of the leather sofa. He stepped into Knox’s immediate physical space, entirely ignoring the puddles of seawater forming around their boots.
Zade threw the heavy blanket over Knox’s shivering shoulders.
He pulled the edges of the wool tight, his large hands gripping the fabric near Knox’s throat. Zade stared down into Knox’s face.
Knox looked up. His dark eyes were wide, completely wild with the lingering high of survival. The freezing seawater tracked down his cheeks, mingling with the rain and the sweat.
"We have it," Knox gasped, his voice a frantic, breathy rush. He grabbed the edges of the blanket, his knuckles white. "We have the proof, Zade. The ledger is secure. We can destroy him."
Zade’s eyes darkened. The lightless voids dilated entirely, swallowing the amber reflection of the roaring fire.
The tactical victory, the data drive resting heavy in his waterproof pocket, the complete dismantling of Arthur Iver’s empire—it all instantly evaporated from Zade’s consciousness.
It was completely irrelevant. The only data point Zade could process was the violent, chaotic hammering of Knox’s pulse, the desperate heat radiating from the boy’s freezing skin, and the terrifying realization that he had almost watched Knox die twice in the last three hours.
The sociopathic control, the rigid, impenetrable armor the Supreme Leader relied upon, completely and utterly shattered.
"I don't care about the proof right now," Zade rasped.
He didn't give Knox time to process the statement.
Zade’s hands tightened on the edges of the heavy wool blanket. He pulled Knox violently forward. The movement was entirely aggressive, stripped of all careful consideration.
Their chests collided with a heavy, physical thud.
Zade crushed his mouth against Knox’s.
It was a savage, bruising desperation. It was a kiss born of pure, unadulterated survival, a frantic, raw demand to prove they were both still breathing. Zade’s lips were cold, tasting of sea salt and heavy exhaustion, but the heat burning behind them was apocalyptic.
Knox made a fractured, desperate sound deep in his throat.
He entirely abandoned the blanket. The heavy wool dropped to the floor, forgotten.
Knox wrapped his arms tightly around Zade’s neck, his freezing fingers tangling frantically in Zade’s damp hair.
He kissed back with equal, devastating ferocity.
He opened his mouth, entirely surrendering to the invasion, his tongue meeting Zade’s in a chaotic, desperate duel that demanded absolute consumption.
They stumbled backward, entirely blind to their surroundings.
Zade’s heavy boots caught the edge of the Persian rug. He drove Knox backward until Knox’s spine hit the solid wood paneling of the living room wall. The impact rattled the frames on the wall, but neither man noticed.
Zade broke the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged, tearing breath.
He buried his face in the crook of Knox’s neck, his jaw scraping heavily against the sensitive, bruised skin of Knox’s collarbone. He inhaled the sharp, salty scent of the ocean clinging to Knox’s skin, completely overriding it with his own heavy, aggressive presence.
"You belong to me," Zade groaned, the words a low, vibrating demand that echoed directly against Knox’s pulse point. The absolute, terrifying possessiveness of the mafia boss was fully unleashed, completely unchecked by logic or consequence. "Tell me you are mine."
Knox arched his back, pressing his hips flush against the heavy, solid wall of Zade’s thighs. The friction was immediate, heavy, and undeniable.
"I'm yours," Knox gasped, his hands gripping Zade’s broad shoulders, his nails biting into the wet fabric of the tuxedo. "Completely. I'm yours."
The absolute surrender in Knox’s voice tore through the last remaining shred of Zade’s restraint.
Zade shifted his grip. He wrapped his massive arms entirely around Knox’s waist, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. Knox wrapped his legs around Zade’s hips, entirely anchoring himself to the larger man.
Zade carried him away from the wall, moving directly toward the massive stone hearth.
He lowered Knox onto the thick, soft expanse of the Persian rug, directly in front of the roaring fire. The heat radiating from the flames was intense, violently combating the freezing chill of the seawater still clinging to their clothes.
Zade followed him down, his heavy frame blanketing Knox entirely.
The urgency of the initial collision began to slow, morphing into something infinitely deeper, heavier, and more profound. The frantic, adrenaline-fueled grappling transitioned into a deliberate, agonizingly thorough claiming.
Zade stripped away the ruined, soaked silk shirt, discarding it onto the floor. Knox reached up, his trembling fingers making quick work of the buttons on Zade’s tuxedo, pushing the heavy, wet fabric off Zade’s broad shoulders, careful of the bandaged wound on his left side.
They lay bare against the rug, bathed entirely in the flickering, orange light of the fire.
Zade moved over Knox. His large, calloused hands mapped the lean, elegant lines of Knox’s torso.
The touches were no longer frantic; they were worshipful.
He traced the bruises on Knox’s ribs, his thumb brushing gently over the swollen tissue, a physical apology for the violence of their existence.
He memorized the texture of Knox’s skin, entirely erasing the cold, replacing it with the heavy, consuming heat of his own body.
Knox arched into the touch, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy and ragged.
He gave himself over entirely, completely shedding the intellectual armor, the defensive calculation, the deep-seated paranoia he had carried his entire life.
He anchored himself securely, irrevocably, to the terrifying, magnificent man hovering above him.
The lovemaking that followed was intense, possessive, and entirely devoid of the transactional nature of the underworld.
Zade did not take; he claimed. He made love to Knox with the desperate, thorough devotion of a man staking an eternal claim on his soul, ensuring that every nerve ending, every breath, every heartbeat Knox possessed belonged entirely to him.
They moved together in the firelight, the heavy, rhythmic friction a physical manifestation of the absolute, unbreakable loyalty they had forged in the dark.
Hours later, the adrenaline entirely depleted, they lay tangled together on the rug.
The fire had burned down to a low, glowing bed of embers, casting a dim, red light across the quiet room. Knox was asleep, his head resting securely against the thick, tattooed muscle of Zade’s chest, his breathing slow and entirely peaceful.
Zade lay awake, staring at the heavy wooden beams of the ceiling. The profound, heavy weight of the man sleeping in his arms settled deep into his chest, entirely displacing the paranoia that had defined his life.
He carefully shifted his weight, ensuring he did not wake Knox.
Zade sat up, reaching for the heavy wool blanket they had discarded earlier. He pulled it up, covering Knox entirely, tucking the edges securely around the younger man's shoulders to ward off the chill of the dying fire.
He stood up, walking naked across the dark room toward the entryway.
He gathered their discarded, ruined clothing, intending to move it closer to the hearth to dry. He picked up the heavy velvet jacket, the ruined silk shirt, and Knox’s waterlogged custom oxfords.
As Zade picked up the right shoe, he noted the heavy, structural damage to the heel. The violent plunge off the side of the sixty-foot cruise liner had severely warped the leather, causing the thick rubber heel cap to pop loose from the base.
Zade turned the shoe over, intending to inspect the damage.
The dim, red light of the dying embers caught the reflection of something metallic nestled inside the hollow cavity of the heel.
Zade went entirely still. The air in the safehouse instantly dropped twenty degrees.
He reached into the cavity, his large fingers extracting a small, circular device.
It was a high-grade, federal GPS tracker.
The tiny red LED light on the face of the device blinked steadily. A slow, rhythmic pulse in the dark.
Zade stared at the blinking light. The air completely left his lungs, a sudden, violent vacuum in the center of his chest.
The tracker was active. It had a long-range internal battery. It had been active since the night Knox Iver was abducted from the alleyway in Manhattan. It had been active in the holding room. It had been active in the Atlantic City penthouse.
It had broadcast every single secure location, every movement, directly to Arthur Iver’s servers.
The absolute, profound peace Zade had found on the rug minutes before violently shattered. The cold, sociopathic paranoia he thought he had shed returned with an apocalyptic fury, screaming a single, terrifying truth in his mind.
He had let a federal spy into his bed.