Chapter 9 #3
I wish staying was the answer. I wish I could let this man wrap his arms around me and keep the world on the other side of those iron gates.
But my father's murder file gathers dust on a detective's desk while that same detective dines with Edgar and laughs over wine my father kept for special occasions. After tonight, there’s no way Edgar won’t move all those ledgers and papers in the safe.
All I need is to get them and then I can find a lawyer.
I shake my head. "Staying or going. It's never that simple, Samuel."
“It can be. You can let us take care of this our way.”
“But that would mean Edgar would never have to live with the consequences of his actions.”
I step out from behind Samuel. “Thank you for tonight. I mean, I could have been in and out without anyone ever knowing, but all the same. Thank you for putting yourself between me and all the danger."
I turn from Samuel to face the three men who bled tonight because of me.
"Thank you to all of you." My hands are shaking at my sides, but my words are steady. "I don't know why you did what you just did. You nearly died tonight protecting me. But I'm afraid you did it not knowing I placed myself there because I had to."
Samuel's hand finds the small of my back. "You haven’t been introduced. This is Oliver. Bastian. Valerian."
Samuel points to each man in turn.
Each name comes with a nod from the man attached to it.
Oliver extends his hand first, his grip firm and careful around my smaller fingers.
Bastian takes my hand next, his calloused palm swallowing mine, and the gold wedding band catches the landscape light.
Valerian removes the cigar from his mouth long enough to shake my hand, and the scars across his knuckles are rougher than Samuel's.
"I spent five months planning on how to get to this.” I reach into the car and pull out the Beretta, handing it to Samuel. “Tonight was my shot and I got part of what I came for."
“If you’re up for it, I need a new way to access the safe. There are more documents, financial records linking Edgar and my stepmother to my father's death." I point to the Beretta in Samuel’s hands. "It just depends on if you want to take him down my way or…"
“...Our way,” Valerian offers when my voice trails off.
With a frustrated grumble I agree. “Yes, or your way.”
“Like you said, sweetheart. Nothing is as simple as we’d like it.”
I huff out, “Ain’t that the fucking truth.” I lean back against Samuel’s car, as the adrenaline fades in my veins, leaving me a bit shaky.
Heat floods my cheeks. “I am under no illusion that the four of you will do what you want. All I’m saying is don’t step all over me when you do it. My father was a good man and he deserved far better than the ending he received.”
Tears swim along the rims of my eyes and I fight them back just before they start falling.
Warm hands close gently around my waist. Samuel pulls me against his chest, his arms banding across my belly, and his chin comes to rest on top of my head.
I bite the inside of my cheek to tell myself to stop being so sentimental and be realistic, but it doesn’t work. I'm pregnant, not stupid. Tonight wouldn't have been dangerous if Samuel hadn't stormed in with enough firepower to start a war.
Damn it. I was so close. It’s not easy having your plans ripped from your hands when they were so close to coming to fruition.
"The four of us knew enough about your father to agree."
Samuel’s voice rumbles through the crown of my skull and down my spine.
"The mother of my child and my wife will never be in danger again. I swear to that fact on my very life. So you will have to come to terms with that. Justice comes in many shades of death. Remember that."
I hear a lot of words but my heart latches onto only one…wife.
My pulse trips over itself and heat floods my face despite the cold October air biting my bare legs. Behind us, the iron gates of his fortress stand open. Not locked. Open. Wide enough for me to walk through if I pulled free from his arms and kept going.
He's not caging me in.
I turn in his hold. His arms loosen enough to let me face him, his hands settling at my hips. The black hole tattoo is right there, at my eye level, my name curving along its edge.
Instead of throwing me over his shoulder and demanding I obey, he lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss is warm. Slow. His lips move over mine with a tenderness that strips the armor off me, layer by careful layer until I'm standing bare in front of him with nothing left to argue with.
His hand cups the back of my head, cradling me close, and my fingers press flat against his bare chest. His heart thuds under my palm, strong and steady.
I’m unable to think or breathe. All I can do is feel for the first time in months.
His warmth. The strength of his arms holding me like I’m precious to him. The taste of whiskey and smoke on his lips. The rough drag of his beard against my chin. The low sound he makes in the back of his throat when I press closer, barely audible.
Five months of surviving on willpower and the flutter of my baby, reminding me to eat, to rest, to keep moving when nothing else could.
And now his mouth is on mine, the word "wife" ringing in my ears.
My hands are flat against his chest. All I have to do is push him away and walk out. I keep full control.
Instead, I pull him closer.