19. Hudson
HUDSON
I felt way too relieved when Martin’s business trip got extended.
I didn't like what that said about me.
Eva was supposed to be a job.
Leverage.
Nothing more.
Instead, every time I pictured Martin alone in that house with her, something twisted in my gut.
That alone felt like a betrayal.
To the club.
To my family.
Maybe even to my mother.
So I did what I always do.
I ignored it.
Focused on hockey.
Focused on winning.
Focused on anything except the redhead living rent-free in my head.
It didn't work.
Somewhere during our last road trip, I caught myself checking my phone between periods.
Then after games.
Then whenever I had a spare minute.
Like some pathetic asshole waiting for news that mattered.
Lucian kept the updates short.
All good.
She’s fine.
Nothing exciting.
Then one afternoon, completely out of nowhere, he sent me a picture.
A giant pile of chocolate chip cookies.
Fucking weirdo.
I stared at the photo longer than I should have, trying to figure out why the hell it bothered me so much.
Fresh off the plane, I drive straight to the mansion.
I move through the house without stopping, planning to check Eva’s injuries before getting a few hours of sleep.
Except she isn’t in her room.
I stop in the doorway.
The bed’s empty.
“What the fuck,” I mutter.
It’s late, past eleven.
I doubt she’s in the kitchen at this hour. I check anyway.
Dark.
Spotless.
Empty.
A bad feeling crawls under my skin.
My thoughts immediately go somewhere ugly.
The basement.
Martin's rooms.
Cold slides down my spine.
Martin's gone, but there are plenty of sick bastards in this club.
All it takes is one of them deciding she's alone.
I move before the thought can go any further.
Down the stairs.
Through the concrete hallway lined with keypad doors.
Every room is dark.
I shove open one door after another anyway.
Nothing.
“Lucian?”
My voice echoes off the walls.
No answer.
I head back upstairs, irritation mixing with something a hell of a lot less comfortable.
I find him in his suite.
The door is cracked open.
Video game sounds spill into the hallway.
Laughter.
Voices.
I shove the door open.
And stop.
Lucian stretches out on the floor in front of the TV, controller in hand, leaning forward as if the outcome of this race determined national security.
And beside him is Eva, curled into one of his bean bag chairs.
Playing fucking Mario Kart with my little brother.
I stare.
“What the fuck is this?”
Neither of them looks at me.
“Eat my dust,” Lucian crows as his character drifts around a corner.
“Please,” Eva shoots back. “You're barely winning, cheater.”
They keep bickering while the race continues, like I’m not standing there trying not to lose my shit.
My hands clench automatically.
For one brief moment, I seriously consider ripping the console straight out of the goddamned wall.
Finally, the race ends.
Lucian jumps to his feet and pumps a fist into the air.
“Never bet against me, sucka!”
Eva laughs.
The sound hits me like a punch.
I've never heard her laugh before.
And the way my body reacts pisses me off immediately.
“Hey, Hud,” Lucian says, finally noticing me. “How was the trip?”
I point at Eva.
“What is this?”
Lucian blinks.
“We're playing Mario Kart.”
I grind my teeth.
“Yes. I can fucking see that, dumbass. Why is she in your room?”
“She was bored.”
Like that explains everything.
“And you told me to keep an eye on her.”
Then, completely unbothered, he adds,
“We made cookies, too. Want one?”
“I do not.”
Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft, messy curls, and she’s wearing a flannel, along with Reaper’s sweatpants.
I force my expression to stay neutral.
“Come on, then,” I tell her.
She steps forward and hands the controller to my brother. “Thanks, Lucian. That was fun.”
Then she heads for the door without waiting for any response or another verbal command.
I glare at my brother on the way out and shake my fist.
The little shit is trying not to smile.
For a second, I seriously consider punching him.
Instead, I follow Eva down the hallway.
The fact that she navigates the house this easily is not comforting.
It means she’s been wandering around all week.
By the time we reach her room, my irritation has sharpened into something meaner.
She sits on the edge of the bed, posture stiff.
“I watched your games while you were gone,” she says.
I shut the door behind me.
“Did you?”
“You played well,” she says. “Two wins, one loss. Not bad.”
I stare at her.
“Lady, I am not interested in your hockey analysis.”
“Lucian was a nice babysitter,” she says smoothly, like I didn’t just bite her head off. “Big improvement from getting punched in the ribs and sliced open by your uncle.”
“Martin will be back tomorrow,” I say.
“Goody.”
My attention drops to the oversized flannel hanging off one shoulder.
“Whose clothes are those?”
“Your brother’s.”
A sharp pulse of irritation hits me before I can stop it.
“I think he liked seeing me in them.”
That does it.
My jaw locks so hard it aches.
I take a step closer without realizing it, my vision narrowing in on her.
“Did you fuck my brother?”
The question comes out raw and sudden.
Completely insane.
Eva stares at me for half a second.
Then she laughs.
It scrapes across every nerve I’ve got left.
“No.” She scoffs. “He’s like twelve. I don’t fuck children.”
“He’s nineteen. And he has a crush on you.”
“Does he?” She asks this with mock-surprise in her voice. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Bullshit.
She notices everything.
“What did I tell you?” I bite out.
She tilts her head, assessing me.
“To stay away from your brother,” she says. “Whom you then asked to look after me.”
That shuts me up for exactly half a second.
Then the irritation comes roaring back.
“He can look after you without actually engaging with you.”
“He asked me to teach him to make cookies, Hudson, not run away with him to Vegas to get married.”
“He’s young.”
“He’s an adult.”
“Barely.”
“Still an adult,” she says. “And for the record, your brother was nothing but kind to me all week.”
That bothers me even more than it should.
“So?”
“So,” she says evenly, “I wasn't manipulating him. I wasn't trying to escape. I wasn't using him for information.”
She folds her arms.
“We made cookies and played video games because he was trying to be nice to someone locked in a room all day.”
“Did you forget you’re a fucking prisoner here?”
“You left me in his care,” she shoots back. “What did you think would happen?”
“I didn’t think you’d...”
I stop myself.
“Oh, I’m not,” she says quietly. “I think you’re the one confused here.”
Then she steps closer.
Right into my space.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of her.
“You don’t care about your brother,” she says quietly. “Not like that.”
“Watch it,” I growl.
Her eyes don’t waver.
“You care that I’m wearing his clothes,” she goes on. “That I’ve been in his space.”
She pauses.
“And that you weren’t here.”
My pulse quickens.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
She’s poking one finger lightly against my chest.
“I think you’re jealous,” she says softly. “That’s what I think.”
“Jealous?” A dark laugh tears out of me. “Of what? Mario Kart? Chocolate chip cookies?”
“I think,” she says, voice low, steady, “that you don’t like the idea of anyone else touching me.”
That’s it.
I step into her space fully now, backing her up a half-step without even meaning to.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Am I?” She says calmly. “I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.”
I stare at her with my mouth open. Her chest rises and falls quickly. Her shirt is open between her breasts. Her lips are pink, and freckles dot her pale skin in a way that makes me painfully aroused.
Want slams into me so hard it makes me angry.
“Careful,” I warn.
“Or what?”
That challenge in her voice snaps the last thread of restraint I’ve got left.
I kiss her hard.
Anger and attraction finally snap under the pressure.
She kisses me back just as fiercely and rubs against the outside of my jeans.
My hand snakes up that damn flannel shirt to cup one of her perfect, heavy breasts, fingers rolling the hard nipple at the center.
She moans into my mouth, and my cock jerks instantaneously.
All instinct tells me to stop.
It’s a mistake.
A disaster.
But neither of us stops.
We crash backward toward the bed, mouths still locked together, all sharp breaths and raw heat.
I shove my hand down the front of her joggers, and I find her pussy sopping wet. She wants me as badly as I want her.
My middle finger finds her clit, and her hips push off the bed, a gasp slipping from her lips, finding its way into my mouth. Two fingers inside, and my cock is aching for attention.
She unbuttons my jeans, unzips, and reaches into my boxer briefs. Her hand is cool on my hot skin as she strokes me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, kissing along her jaw, up to the skin below her ear. She arches into me, meeting every thrust of my fingers inside her slick, hot pussy. I pound into her, thumb circling her swollen clit. She writhes and moans, and then her pussy clenches around my fingers, pulsating.
Her hips go rigid as she comes. It’s like time stops or her soul vacates her body or something.
Holy fuck, what a sight.
What a feeling.
I could probably come just looking at her as she finds her pleasure.
I want her.
That realization lands hard and vicious inside my chest.
I can't have her.
The thought hits like cold water.
Suddenly, I push myself up, forcing distance between us before I completely lose the damn self-control I have left.
“I can’t want you,” I blurt, like a fucking idiot.
Eva stays stretched across the bed, flushed and breathless.
“Can’t,” she repeats softly.
“What?”
“You said you can’t want me,” she says. “Not that you don’t.”
“Who cares?” I ask, nearly delirious with lust. “Of course, I want you. Or at least my dick does. Wanting isn’t in the cards here.”
“Because you’re going to kill me.” Her voice is flat, not a question. “Because I’m marked for death once Martin is done playing with me.”
I nod once.
That’s all I can manage.
My heartbeat is hammering so hard it feels painful.
Eva sits up, adjusts her clothes. Then gives me a flat look.
“You’re a pussy,” she says.
My head jerks back slightly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”
Her voice sharpens.
“You’re big and scary and intimidating, but when it comes to your uncle, you cower.”
Heat rushes in me.
“Careful.”
“Why?” she fires back. “Because the truth hurts?”
She swings her feet off the bed and stands.
“Martin is a monster, Hudson. You know that. Maybe my father’s a bad man too, but your uncle enjoys hurting people. He gets off on it.”
“And what exactly does that have to do with this?” I ask, gesturing angrily between us.
“Everything.”
She steps closer again, fearless in a way that makes me crazy.
“You’re a professional athlete with a real career. I run my own business. We don’t have to be like them. The only things keeping you here are loyalty and fear. You could just walk away.”
I laugh bitterly.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“No?” Her eyes lock onto mine. “Then prove me wrong.”
Silence stretches between us.
Thick.
Ugly.
Dangerous.
“You know what I think?” she says finally. “I think you hate yourself for wanting something better.”
That lands like a knife between my ribs.
I scoff and shake my head.
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
I hold her stare for another few brutal seconds, then wrench the door open.
I walk out before I do something even more reckless than kissing her.