Chapter 16 #2
We leap over what looks like one of the two blonds from earlier. Soon we’re closing in on the door.
“Robby!” Marco yells. “He had the briefcase. Where’d he… FUCK!”
The lanky guy who I believe is Robby is dashing toward the pub door like we are, but he gets intercepted by a burly Bratva enforcer who tackles him to the floor. The two men crash down while the briefcase flies out of Robby’s hand and skitters out of reach.
It’s been cracked open, the hundreds upon hundreds of bills inside spilling out.
“The money!” Marco shouts. “Jesus fucking Christ, grab the money!”
“NO TIME!” Lochlan roars. “WE LEAVE NOW!”
We make it to the door as more bullets whiz through the air, and we narrowly avoid one by a few inches.
Lochlan’s pushed me down as we sprint by, one arm crowded over me and the other still clutching his pistol for return fire.
An SUV is waiting for us, the engine running and backdoor propped open.
I dive inside, quickly followed by Lochlan.
Marco and Robby aren’t far behind. Marco climbs into the front passenger seat. Lochlan’s already shut the rear door when Robby throws himself through the window.
I’m breathless and dizzy and dazed all at once. It’s as if I’ve just gone down a steep rollercoaster, the way adrenaline courses through my veins.
I’m not even seated properly as Lochlan’s large, one-eyed enforcer slams on the gas and the SUV peels out of there.
No one speaks for the first minute we’re fleeing the scene. It seems we’re equally as taken aback by what’s happened.
I spot blood on Marco’s shoulder which suspiciously looks like his, and Robby’s sporting several bruises that are swelling up.
Lochlan’s still gripping me. That’s when it fully hits me.
He came back for me.
It happened so quickly, it seems he never really left. He immediately regretted his decision.
“Five million fucking dollars!” Marco yells. “Down the fucking drain! All that work, and for what? What do we got to show for it? What do I got to show for it? A bullet in the arm!”
“Lower your voice,” Lochlan commands.
“How can I when this… this fucking scarafaggio ruined it!” he rants. He twists in his seat up front and starts reaching for Robby in the seat behind him. “You imbecile, why the fuck did you bring the briefcase back into the pub? You had one job, and you found a way to fuck that up!”
“How was I supposed to know how things were going down?” Robby shouts back. “We had already cut the deal; I didn’t know Loch was about to go back on it!”
“All of you—shut the fuck up!” Lochlan snaps. “Or keep talking and find out what happens.”
Both Marco and Robby obey their superior’s command, though both do so openly disgruntled. Marco twists back around in his seat up front, the back of his neck redder than a sunburn. Robby’s lips move as if he’s muttering to himself, his hands groping at the bruises he’s sustained.
Lochlan manages to look more pissed off than both of them put together.
His jaw is clenched, brow heavy and creased. He glares out the window as if even he’s chastising himself.
Yet he still doesn’t release me.
My gaze drops to our laps where he’s holding onto me by the wrist.
It occurs to me that Lochlan’s still firing off on all cylinders right now; his adrenaline’s rushing him and he’s in fight mode.
…he’s in protective mode, clutching me as if he’ll never let go.
My heart flutters staring at us joined in this way for the rest of the drive out of the city.
When we return to Lochlan’s old family estate, I assume we’ll go our separate ways.
…that’s how it usually works, right? He acts like a psychopath, I get upset about it, and then we retreat to our respective corners of this Victorian hellscape to lick our wounds until the next round of psychological warfare begins.
It’s become our twisted little routine, and after the night I’ve just had, I’m more than ready to collapse in my lumpy bed and mourn my old life until I pass out from exhaustion.
But apparently Lochlan has other plans.
The SUV barely rolls to a stop in the gravel driveway before he’s out of the vehicle and yanking me along with him.
Marco and the others are still climbing out, sniping at one another, but Lochlan doesn’t even glance in their direction as he pulls me toward the house.
“Lochlan,” I pant, stumbling every few steps. “What are you—”
“Not here,” he growls in interruption.
It’s the only explanation I’m offered—if you can even call it that—as we rush through the front doors and then start up the staircase.
Dread trickles into me.
Is he angry with me? Does he blame me for the money they lost? Is this where he finally snaps and thinks up an even worse punishment than selling me to traffickers?
We reach his bedroom door in the east wing, and he shoves it open, pulling me inside before slamming it shut behind us.
The room is dark except for the single bedside table lamp and the strips of moonlight streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows across the heavy furniture.
We stand only inches apart as I look him in the face for the first real time tonight and see the heaviness caged in his dark emerald gaze.
The thousand different things on his mind he’s yet to vocalize.
A tingle runs down my spine as it dawns on me he doesn’t know if he should. He’s warring with himself whether to go there.
So I push him on it.
I do what I’ve always done and challenge him.
“What is this?” I snap. “First you’re selling me. Then you’re popping back up to take me again. Now you’ve dragged me up here? What the fuck do you want, Lochlan? What am I supposed to—”
He grabs hold of my face and wrenches me toward him, shutting me up with a deep kiss on the lips. His way of answering my question as his warm lips press firmly against mine and I’m left curling a fist against his chest, half tempted to shove him away.
But I’ve already admitted Lochlan’s an excellent kisser.
He’s intense and hungry as his lips trap mine and his tongue demands entry.
The next thing I know, I’m losing my breath and any damn sense about me. I’m giving in, parting my lips and letting him kiss me even deeper.
His rough hands hold my face between them, and he angles my head up toward his. He pushes his long, solid body into mine and kisses me as if he plans to consume me whole.
It’s sooo easy to get swept up in the intensity of it all—the extra flutter he brings to my heartbeat and the pulse he gives life to between my thighs.
…but that doesn’t mean the nagging little voice in the back of my head has vanished.
She screams at me to wake the fuck up and fight him on it.
Make him use his damn words and tell me what the hell is going on!
I’ve spent my entire life accepting gestures from men to excuse their shortcomings.
It started when I was young and Dad would show up with a gift to make up for the fact he was busy campaigning on my birthday.
A damn pony or a life-sized Barbie Dream House.
It continued into womanhood with my silver fox boyfriends who bought me a gift from Tiffany’s or took me on vacation to shut me up about the cracks that had formed in our relationship.
I’m sure as hell not going to accept it again from my fucking captor!
“Wait!” I pant, dodging him. I come out from under his kiss, hands on his chest to push him back. “Kissing me isn’t an answer! I already know you like to fuck me. That you’re attracted to me. But I need to know what else this is. What the hell is going on, Lochlan? Tell me!”
His gaze darkens even more than it already has, emeralds turning into onyx stones. He takes a step toward me, backing me up to the nearest wall. He goes slowly, at a pace that leaves time and space for escape, yet I don’t.
I find myself locked in and peering up at him, held captive by how intently he’s studying me.
My back brushes the wall, and he braces his arms on either side of me, officially caging me in a different way than I was at the Vodka Room.
“You need to understand something,” he says, voice lower and huskier than it’s ever been. “I’m nothing like the suit-and-tie Wall Street fucks you’ve been with. I’m nothing like your father or any other asshole you’ve dated.
“I’m not a good man and have never pretended to be. I’m a murderer, a goddamn fucking menace who is out to kill his own blood. But I’m also fucking loyal. More loyal than you can ever comprehend—and when something, someone is mine, they’re mine forever.”
“What does that have to do—”
“I knew the moment I set foot outside that pub it was the biggest mistake of my life,” he interrupts again.
His features draw tighter, a deep scowl forming.
He releases a ragged breath as he only leans closer and his gaze bores into me.
“I realized I… I couldn’t go through with it.
I couldn’t fucking leave you there, because I want you to be mine… only mine.”
My brows jump in surprise. “But yours as in… Lochlan, I’m your captive.”
“It’s complicated,” he admits, gritting his teeth as if pained.
He runs a quick hand through his hair and then thumbs my cheek.
“I fucking know it is. I know I’ve taken you and kept you prisoner and you’ve got every right to hate my guts, brat.
But that doesn’t change how I’ve started to see you.
That I can’t bring myself to do what I should.
When it comes to you, the rules are different. You’re different.”
Blinking at how dazed and surreal I feel, I realize I’ve done the impossible.
…or at least I’ve started to.
Lochlan Callahan’s walls are crumbling. They’re tumbling down, leaving him in a state of disarray and confusion he can’t even really explain.
But what’s even more startling than that?
As I meet his gaze and my heart flutters inside my chest, I realize I’m not far behind him.
These complicated feelings that have started to rise for my captor can’t just be explained away as me flexing my sexuality and playing the game to my advantage.
When Lochlan left me at the Vodka Room, I was hurt. I was more heartbroken than I ever was when Greg betrayed me, and he was my actual boyfriend!
And right now, as Lochlan makes his confession, it dawns on me how I believe him.
This is different and it’s complex and it’s such a damn gray area neither of us even know what to call it anymore.
But it’s been a long night, and we’re both exhausted.
We seem to reach the same conclusion together. Lochlan clips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and drops a kiss on my lips.
Then he draws back, still holding my gaze, and says, “Spend the night with me, brat. Here in my room. In my bed.”
I rise up on tiptoe to brush my own kiss to his lips and nod.
The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to something this much…