Chapter 15
Emmett
Sirens wail in the distance.
I hear them before I see the flashing lights, cutting through the night like a warning. The police are closing in, and we don’t have much time.
Raine is still gripping the gun, her breathing ragged, her body frozen in place as she stares at Dante’s lifeless form. Blood pools around his body, dark and glistening under the dim warehouse lights.
She just killed him.
And I don’t know if she’s processing it yet.
I step toward her, placing a hand over hers, gently prying the gun from her fingers. "Raine. We have to go."
She blinks, like she’s just realizing where she is, and nods numbly. But the haunted look in her eyes sends something sharp through my chest.
Behind us, Ryan mutters a curse. "We’re out of time."
I glance at him. He’s already moving toward the exit, scanning the perimeter like he’s calculating how much time we have left.
"You need to go. Now. I’ll handle the cops."
"Ryan—"
"No arguments," he cuts me off, his expression unreadable. "I’ll tell them this was a covert op, that we were working to take down Moreau and his men. It won’t be clean, but it’ll buy you time."
I hesitate. This is a risk, even for him.
He must see the doubt in my eyes because he sighs. "I got this, Em. Just get them the hell out of here."
I nod once. "Be careful."
He smirks, but there’s something tired behind it. "Always."
I turn back to Asher and Vince, who are already leading Raine and Mia toward the back exit. Asher gives me a look that says, Move it.
I grab Raine’s hand, pulling her with me. She follows, silent and shaken, while Mia clings to her side. We need to get the fuck out of here.
Asher’s office above my bar is dimly lit, the faint scent of whiskey lingering in the air. The tension in the room is suffocating.
Vince is leaning against the desk, his arms crossed, watching me with narrowed eyes as I slump into the chair with a groan. The adrenaline is wearing off, and every injury is making itself known now. My ribs ache like hell, my knuckles are raw, and my head is still spinning from Dante’s last blow.
Asher walks in, tossing a first aid kit onto the desk. "You look like shit."
"Feel worse," I mutter, pressing a cloth to the cut above my brow.
"Hold still," Raine says softly, stepping forward. She takes the cloth from my hand, dabbing at the wound carefully.
Her touch is light, but I see the strain in her face. She hasn’t spoken much since we left the warehouse.
Mia sits beside her, wrapped in a blanket Vince must’ve found. She looks small, fragile, but she’s watching Raine closely, her fingers wrapped around her sister’s hand like she’s afraid to let go.
I watch them both, something heavy settling in my chest.
What the fuck happens now?
Asher clears his throat. "We need to talk about next steps. Moreau’s dead, but that doesn’t mean this is over. His people might retaliate."
"They will," Vince agrees. "Power vacuums don’t stay empty for long."
I exhale, shifting forward. "Then we handle it if it comes. Right now, I only care about making sure they’re safe."
Raine tenses slightly but says nothing.
Asher watches me carefully. "What’s your plan, Emmett?"
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, I don’t know.
I glance at Raine again. She’s free. She should be able to go wherever she wants. But I don’t like the thought of her leaving. Not when she still looks like she’s carrying the weight of everything that just happened. Not when I don’t know if she’s okay.
She finally looks at me then, her hazel eyes searching mine, as if she’s trying to figure out the same thing.
And for the first time in a long fucking time—I don’t have an answer.
The house is quiet.
The kind of quiet that feels heavy, filled with the weight of everything that’s happened. The boys left an hour ago. Mia is asleep in the spare bedroom, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. And Raine…
I thought she went to bed, too.
I should be sleeping. My body fucking needs it. But instead, I’m lying here in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my mind refusing to shut off.
Then my door creaks open.
Soft footsteps pad across the floor, barely audible. I don’t move, don’t even breathe as Raine crawls onto the bed beside me.
I shift, turning my head to look at her. She’s wearing one of my shirts, the fabric swallowing her frame, her hair still damp from a shower.
"Raine," I murmur, my voice rough from exhaustion. "What are you doing?"
She doesn’t answer at first. Instead, she inches closer, until I can feel her warmth pressing against me, until her fingers graze my chest, right over my heart.
"I don’t want to be alone," she whispers.
I exhale, my fingers curling against the sheets. "You’re safe here."
"I know." A pause. Then, "That’s not what I meant."
I fucking feel it then—the shift between us. The way the air thickens, charged with something heavier than just exhaustion. Something raw. Something desperate.
She leans in, pressing her forehead against my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. "Tell me I’m not crazy for wanting this."
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are wide, searching, needing.
"You’re not crazy," I say. "You’re mine. And I’m yours."
I don’t wait for her to respond.
I close the space between us, capturing her mouth with mine. It’s slow, deep, filled with everything words can’t say.
And for the first time in a long fucking time—I know exactly what I want.
Her lips are soft, warm, parting beneath mine like she was always meant to fit against me this way. Unlike the last time, there’s no frenzy, no desperation—just something slow and deep, something that sinks beneath the skin and settles in the bones.
I cup her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek, memorizing the shape of her. She sighs into me, her fingers sliding up my chest, over the bruises and cuts I haven’t tended to, as if she can take the pain away with just her touch.
I pull back just enough to breathe her in, my forehead pressing against hers. “Are you sure?” My voice is hoarse, the weight of the night still thick in the air between us.
She nods, but it’s not just a nod—it’s a promise.
“I want this,” she murmurs. “I want you.”
A slow exhale leaves me, and I brush my lips against hers again, softer this time, savoring the moment. My hands slide down, over the curve of her waist, feeling the way her body shivers beneath my touch.
Her hands slip beneath my shirt, her fingers dragging over my bare skin, tracing the bruises and scars like she’s reading me, memorizing the story carved into my flesh.
“You’re hurt,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Not enough to stop.”
She exhales a soft laugh, her forehead resting against mine. “Good.”
I roll, pinning her beneath me, careful with my weight, but the second I settle between her thighs, she arches up, pressing against me like she can’t stand the space between us.
I groan, dipping my head to her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her pulse. Her breath hitches when I nip the delicate skin, then soothe it with my tongue.
“Emmett…”
Fuck, I love the way she says my name like that—breathless, needy, like she’s unraveling beneath me.
My hands find the hem of my shirt that she’s wearing, and I pull it over her head, exposing every inch of smooth, golden skin. I take a second, just looking at her—flushed and bare, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her eyes dark with want.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, trailing my fingers between her breasts, over her stomach, watching the way she shivers at my touch.
She watches me, something vulnerable flashing in her eyes. “No one’s ever looked at me like that before.”
I freeze, my fingers stilling on her skin.
Like she’s something to be taken, used, discarded. I know what she’s saying, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.
A slow burn of anger flickers in my chest, but I swallow it down, because that’s not what tonight is.
I dip my head, pressing a kiss to the space between her breasts. “Then they were fucking blind.”
Her breath shudders out, and I feel her fingers in my hair, tugging me closer.
I take my time worshiping her, my lips trailing lower, across her ribs, her stomach, my hands tracing the curves of her body, learning every inch of her. She’s so soft, so fucking perfect, and when I spread her thighs, she opens for me without hesitation.
I groan at the sight of her, wet and aching, ready for me.
“Emmett,” she breathes, her voice a quiet plea.
I slide my hands under her thighs, lifting her hips, and then my mouth is on her, my tongue gliding through her slick heat, tasting, savoring.
Her body jolts, a sharp gasp leaving her lips, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
“Fuck,” she moans, her hips rolling against my mouth, chasing every stroke of my tongue.
I take my time, dragging out her pleasure, sucking her clit into my mouth, sliding two fingers inside her, feeling the way she clenches around me.
She’s already close—I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble, the way her breath hitches, the way she whispers my name like a prayer.
“Come for me,” I murmur against her, my voice vibrating against her swollen, sensitive flesh.
She cries out, her back arching, her body locking up as pleasure crashes through her. I keep my mouth on her, drawing out every last tremor, until she finally collapses against the bed, boneless, wrecked.
I crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
She’s still panting, her fingers skimming down my stomach, to the waistband of my sweats.
“Take these off,” she whispers, her voice still shaky from her orgasm.
I chuckle, kicking them off, and the second I settle between her thighs again, she wraps her legs around me, pulling me in.
Her warmth envelops me, the slick heat of her pressing against my cock, and I have to grit my teeth, breathing through the sheer need to just take her, fast and hard.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I need to feel her.
I reach between us, guiding myself to her entrance, sliding just the tip inside, teasing her.
She whimpers, her hips lifting. “Emmett—”
“I got you, baby,” I murmur, my lips brushing against hers.
And then I push inside, slow, deep, sinking into her inch by inch until I’m buried to the hilt.
She gasps, her nails digging into my back, and fuck, she’s tight, gripping me like she never wants to let me go.
I don’t move at first, just breathing her in, savoring the feeling of being inside her, connected in a way that’s so much more than just physical.
I brush her hair back from her face, kissing her slow, deep, as I start to move, rolling my hips in a steady rhythm.
She meets me stroke for stroke, her arms wrapped around my shoulders, holding me so fucking close, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
She tilts her head back, giving me more access to her throat, and I take it, my lips and teeth marking her, claiming her.
“Tell me this is real,” she breathes. “That it’s not just tonight.”
I still inside her, my forehead pressing against hers. “It’s real,” I murmur. “You’re mine, Raine. Always.”
Something breaks in her eyes, something raw and unguarded, and then she kisses me, her hips rising to meet mine, pushing me deeper, harder, like she wants to carve me into her soul.
I let go.
I thrust into her harder, deeper, drinking in every gasp, every moan, every whispered plea of my name.
Her nails rake down my back, her thighs tightening around me, and then she’s trembling, clenching down on me as she comes again, her entire body shuddering beneath me.
I follow, burying myself deep, my release spilling into her as I groan against her neck, my body tensing, then slowly, slowly unwinding.
We stay like that, tangled together, our breaths mingling, our bodies slick with sweat, and for the first time in a long time—I feel something like peace.
I press a kiss to her forehead, pulling her against me, keeping her close.
“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” she whispers, tracing a slow line down my spine.
I tighten my grip on her, my lips brushing against her temple.
“Yeah, baby,” I murmur. “It does.”
And I’m never letting her go.