23. Denver
Chapter 23
Denver
R anger places his hand on the small of my back as we’re guided through tables of greedy onlookers. The soft music in the restaurant plays quietly, but conversation from the other patrons feels stilted as we make our way to a booth at the back.
I pause once we’ve reached our table and glance back at the other customers obscured by a stained-glass room divider and large, exotic potted plants. Usually, Ranger would choose a table situated so paparazzi can see enough to take photographs. Even though Ranger had said this dinner was just for us, part of me assumed that was a lie.
Ranger’s lips brush my ear. “Didn’t believe me?”
“No,” I say, and he laughs as he guides me into the red leather booth. He sits beside me and picks up the menu.
I tug off my jacket. The waiter offers to take it, but I decline—my phone is in my pocket, and I’ve just texted Sebastian. He’d told me that he, Ethan, Zeke, and Ace are going to Pulse tonight, and I’d said I’d get him seats in VIP. I don’t want to miss his response, but I also don’t want Ranger to see who I’m texting, so I keep my phone hidden away but close enough to feel it vibrate.
I also hope this could be my chance to see Ethan without having to speak to him. Our phone call earlier is still at the forefront of my mind, and even though I’d told him what he needed to hear, the guilt is tearing at my heart.
I remain quiet as Ranger orders for us. I used to argue against him doing it, insisting I could pick my own food and drinks, but truthfully, he always orders what I want anyway. I wonder how he always knows what I’m craving, whether I’ve had a bad enough day for a glass of wine or feel a tenseness that only whiskey can ease. But he knows. He always knows.
Our drinks are delivered, and Ranger turns his attention to me.
“What is it you do on dates?”
I almost choke on my wine, a droplet running down my chin. I wipe it away with my napkin and clear my throat. “Excuse me?”
Ranger is expressionless. “I don’t date. Women approach me. I take them home. This…” He gestures between us. “…isn’t something I do.”
My neck heats. I swallow again, the wine burning my throat still. “This is a date?”
He frowns. “Forget it.”
“No, no—” I exhale. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised.” Ranger ignores me, focusing on his drink before he sips it.
I’ve accepted my fate with him, haven’t I? I’ve ended things with Ethan, so if this is my life, then I should be grateful that Ranger is trying.
I move closer. “You’d ask me questions.”
Ranger arches a brow. “That's pointless.”
“How romantic.”
His exhale is closer to a growl. “I mean, I already know everything about you.”
I tut. “No, you don’t.”
He narrows his gaze, and the ice in his drink sings against the glass as he places it down. He rests an elbow on the table as he angles his body to face me.
“Denver DeLuca. Twenty-seven. Five foot six. You love running, but only in the gym because humidity makes you crabby. You tell everyone you love horror movies, but you secretly watch Beauty and the Beast in your room after to help you sleep.”
My mouth drops open. “Did Cal tell you that? Judas!”
He keeps going. “You love pistachio ice cream, but you cover it in so much chocolate sauce it pretty much drowns out the flavor. You get heartburn from it, too, but it doesn’t stop you. You first fell in love when you were sixteen with a prick called Danny Leighton. He broke your heart when he said your braces made you look weird.”
A laugh bursts from me, and I cover my mouth.
Ranger’s eyes dance with the kind of light he keeps for me, and my chest warms. He reaches out to me, moving my hair over my shoulder, and shivers creep down my arm. His gaze tracks the small bumps, but his fingers graze the hollow at the base of my throat.
“You like being kissed here,” he says, his voice low. I hold my breath. “You prefer being on top.”
I exhale quickly. “Ranger.”
“Isn’t that true?”
Yes. It is. I like the control, the feel of a man between my thighs, of knowing I have a say over the rhythm of sex, the push and pull of our bodies. Only two men have ever taken me any other way. Ethan and Ranger.
I nod silently.
Ranger laces his fingers through mine. “And when you come?—”
“Risotto!” the waiter announces, and I almost sprain my neck turning away from Ranger.
He levels a glare so heated at the waiter I’m surprised the poor guy doesn’t drop the dishes and run.
Once we’re alone again, we eat quietly, but my stomach is twisted too tightly to eat much.
I’ve known Ranger for six years, but he’s never divulged just how much he knows about me. I assumed his obsession took root the day we met and hadn’t grown from anything other than Ranger’s inability to let go of what he deems as his. But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe he’d quietly listened and learned things about me that he actually liked. Silly little facts that, to everyone else, mean nothing.
“What do you think of Pulse?” he asks.
“It’s fine. I like Harley.”
He nods, continuing his meal. “She works hard.”
“So… how is work for you?”
He eyes me before placing his fork down and wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Busy.”
I hum thoughtfully. “What does busy mean in your world? Too many drugs? Not enough drugs?”
His mouth softens, and I wonder if he’s fighting a smile or words. “You say that like you don’t know.”
“Answer the question, Ranger,” I tease.
Now, he does smile, but he hides it poorly as he sips from his whiskey. “Some brothers from the East Coast are trying to muscle their way in. The Harlands. They're attempting to break away from the Irish and make a name for themselves here.”
My first instinct is to tease him, but the subtle tapping of his finger against the table makes me pause.
“Are you worried?”
“I don’t worry.” He takes another sip. “I just dislike using resources on trigger-happy wannabes.”
My lip curls into a smile. “Kids these days. Don’t they know who you are?”
“Apparently not.”
I smile at my wine glass, running the tip of my finger around the rim until it sings. “What will you do about it?”
“What would you do?”
My gaze snaps to his, and I cease my finger on the glass. “What?”
He takes a breath and another sip of whiskey. “Denver, when I told you that you’d be great, I wasn’t lying to you.” He places his drink down. “You’re a powerful woman.”
Something Ranger has said often. That I belong in this world, that I should immerse myself in it. Stand by his side.
“How?” I whisper.
“You’re Nico DeLuca’s daughter.”
“Haven’t I always been?”
“Yes, well, now you’re also mine,” he says, and the thrill that courses through my veins almost stops my heart. The muffled conversation of the other customers and piano music softens further, and I focus on his voice, the rough timbre of promise. “It’s one thing to be a DeLuca. It’s another to be a Luxe. You’re both. Though I loath to consider you a DeLuca at all anymore.” He frowns at his own words and locks his gaze on mine. “You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You’re a survivor. And you make the tough decisions that other people would run from. There are men who have lived and breathed this world and who have only a fraction of what you have. I didn’t bring you home to pander to you, Denver. Will I look after you? Always. Are you mine? Forever. But I want you to stand beside me, not in my shadow.”
The devil is promising me power. And I can’t deny the allure.
My heart thunders when I imagine a world where I stand side-by-side with the man who rules a city. Ranger is feared. Revered. A steadfast shadow unyielding even against the night that threatens to vanish him.
He is power. And he wants to pull me into that power, too.
“So, what would you do?” he repeats.
I swallow. “Well, if they’re able to use any muscle at all, I’m guessing they’ve made a name for themselves in New York?” Ranger nods tightly. “But there’s a reason they want to move here. More power?” He shakes his head. “They’re running?”
“Their money comes from guns, always has, and they’ve refused to let the Italians or the Russians use their shipping routes to move drugs alongside weapons. It’s caused a little… animosity.”
I doubt that’s all it has caused.
“They don’t want to deal in drugs?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “The money in it is limitless, so I can only assume it’s morals or stupidity. By the sounds of Wilder Harland, it’s the latter.”
I focus on my glass, running the tip of my finger around the rim again. “So, if they’re running, then they’re panicking. Wilder won’t accept no for an answer, and I doubt he can be reasoned with.”
“Correct.”
“But just killing him outright might cause issues with people out there.” I know Ranger has contacts on the East Coast because my father had, too. Nico DeLuca left New York long before I was born, but people out there knew him, and business ties were likely never severed. Ranger might have even strengthened them. It’s smart to have friends everywhere because enemies are everywhere, too. “The Harland brothers might have caused problems, but they’ll still have some people’s loyalty, though, right? You’ll need to speak to the Italians and the Russians in New York before you act.” Ranger says nothing, so I gather I’m on the right track. “But since when do you ask for permission to do anything?”
Now, he smiles. A wicked, beautiful smile.
“I would provoke him.” I say. “Then you can retaliate without angering the other families. You’d be protecting yourself.”
“That’s one of my options. I haven’t decided yet. Either way, the Harland brothers will die.” He takes another sip of his drink. “And you’re right. Permission isn’t really my thing.” An understatement. Ranger Luxe has taken everything he’s ever wanted. Including me. “But you see, most people would have gone for the kill without thinking. Without considering the consequences. You came up with options that removed the Harland brothers while maintaining even tenuous relationships with the families in New York.”
“That feels like a fairly obvious thing to do,” I mumble.
“You’d be surprised how many people prefer to spill blood than use their brains. You’re smart, Denver.”
“Is that why you love me?” I raise my eyes to meet his, and the softness in his gaze wars with pride.
“Partly, yes.”
I tilt my head. “Partly?” He doesn’t respond. “Because sometimes, it feels like you love me because you think you’re owed me.”
He refocuses on his drink, and it unsettles me that, despite being a man who looks men in the eye as he kills them, he can’t look at me when he next speaks.
“You’re the only person who touches me.”
The words stall my heart, and it becomes a low, rhythmic song in my chest, as if he’s timing the beats. “What?”
He rolls his jaw. “Men don’t shake my hand. Angelina slept in another room for most of our marriage. And it’s not like Axel hugs me… not that I’d want him to. But I never realized that no one touched me until you did.” My heart picks up, and I resist the urge to comfort a monster just because he’s allowing me to see the man beneath. “You’d tug on my tie, or poke me in the chest, or hug me. Although most hugs were because you wanted something,” he says pointedly, and I smile. “I started to notice the days you weren’t there, like my soul would… itch for the closeness. I thought maybe I was just starved of it for so long that the scraps felt like feasts. But it wasn’t that. It was you.”
Every word rings true, and it was only weeks into my time living with Ranger that I noticed it, too. I’ve never had an aversion to touching people, but even I noticed how eager I was to feel Ranger, even in passing moments. At the time, I shied away from the notion that I enjoyed it and told myself I was just trying to create some kind of relationship with my new host.
As the years passed, I knew better.
“My love for you has layers, Denver. It isn’t just love. It's respect. Adoration. Awe.” He angles the rim of his glass toward him, the amber liquid catching the dim light, creating patterns on the table. “It starts with love, but it’s more. It’s?—”
“—Obsession?” I used the word tentatively, and his smile tells me he picks up on that unease.
“Yes. You’re my only vice.” His smile teeters dangerously close to a smirk as he says it. “One I don’t plan on giving up.” My chest shouldn’t warm at such a possessive statement, but it does. And when he finally meets my eye again, more warmth ripples across my skin. “I’m proud of you. You went through something difficult, and you came out the other side.”
My smile is forced. “I dealt with it by running.”
“You dealt with it in a way that didn’t kill you,” he corrects me. “Even if it did kill a piece of me in the process.”
The warmth on my skin quickly frosts over—and shame fills me.
For the first time since coming home, it dawns on me just how terribly I’ve treated him.
Something awful happened to me, yes, but I used Ranger to help me through the night. Knowing he loved me, I took that love and twisted it into my own form of self-care—and then I ran. While he fixed the mess, I’d taken Ethan to bed, and I’d fallen for him, too.
Ranger had been protecting me.
I hurt him in response.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
His dark gaze burns into me, and a well of words overflows between us. Thank you. I’m sorry.
I love you, too.
Instead, he says, “Come here.”
The rush of blood in my cheeks overtakes the guilt. My body bursts to life, my chest gripped tight by two words, by his cologne, his eyes, his presence. I move close. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, his fingertips soft as he cups the back of my head.
He kisses my cheek and groans softly, the sound a rumble through my heart. A gasp almost falls free as he whispers, “How long do I have to wait until I can have you again?”
Have me. As if he doesn’t already own every piece of me.
“Ranger—”
“You’re fighting it, and I don’t know why.” He kisses my earlobe. “Wyatt is gone. So is Ethan. And even if they weren’t, we both know you wanted me long before either of them.”
My toes clench, my shoe thudding to the floor. Ranger’s hand sweeps up my calf, lifting my leg onto his lap.
“Stop fighting me,” he whispers, and when he bites my neck, I press my palm to his chest. His hand creeps higher, squeezing the back of my thigh, massaging the skin there. He tugs me closer so abruptly that I gasp, my leg now over his lap. He kisses my cheek, my neck, my shoulder. “I think about that night. The sounds you made, the way you felt. You took me so well, didn’t you?” My body thrums with delight at the praise, and I grip his tie to steady myself. “You were so fucking powerful, and I’ve never wanted anyone more.”
I’m drifting into a dream world because I felt the same about him. Every fantasy I’d had about Ranger came roaring to life that night. I’d come against his mouth, his fingers, his cock, and he’d been relentless in pleasing me. Our need had torn free and destroyed everything around us. As the world burned and bullets were swept up, he’d devoured me, and I’d let him.
“Would you let me fuck you on this table?” he asks, and I whimper. He chuckles softly against my shoulder. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
I swallow. “I think they’d probably ask us to leave.”
“I’d make you come first.”
I had no doubt he would. I run my hand down his arm, squeezing his hand tightly, when I notice the dark thread protruding from beneath his watch. I turn his hand palm up and hold my breath when I see the bracelet I made for him years ago.
“You still have this.”
He nods and kisses my temple.
“But… it’s crappy.”
Ranger laughs, his breath warm on my skin. “You made it for me, so I kept it. I always will.”
Now, it’s my turn to groan. My forehead drops against his shoulder. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Being fucking sweet. It’s unnerving,” I grumble, and he laughs again. “You’re making me like you.”
He inches back and lifts my chin. His smirk is beautifully confident. “No, I’m reminding you why you fell in love with me in the first place.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
My cheeks warm as I lock eyes with Cal, but I don’t pull from Ranger’s grasp.
“The paparazzi have doubled,” Cal says. “You can’t leave through the front, so I’ve parked in the alley behind the restaurant.”
Ranger hums. “Fine. We’ll be out in five.”
“Can you drop me off at Pulse?” I ask quickly.
Cal gives me a thumbs up and heads for the door.
“To be continued,” Ranger whispers in my ear, finally releasing my leg.
I slip my shoe back on before standing and shrugging on my coat. I lean across the table, pick up his drink, and finish the last of the whiskey.
“The table wouldn’t be sturdy enough anyway,” I whisper, placing the glass down.
His grin is a silent agreement. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“There’s such a thing as paying a check.” He stands, towering over me. “I’ll teach you about it someday.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a seductive smile. “Don’t bother.”
His rumble of a laugh echoes behind me, and I bite back my own smile as I walk away, heading to the back entrance that we’ve used in situations like this before.
I push the door open into the cool air, the limo car waiting in the moonlit alley, and take out my phone.
Sebastian: Thanks. I’m sure Zeke will appreciate being treated like a VIP.
I smile. It’s small thing that I hope will make them smile—a pathetic way to apologize for hurting Ethan.
It does nothing to ease the guilt for how I’m acting with Ranger, though. I feel like I’m cheating, but I’m not sure who I’m being unfaithful to. Wyatt or Ethan?
I open the back door of the car but freeze when I see movement in the blacked-out window.
Whirling, I have no time to scream as the waiter lifts the knife. My breath catches, and I seize his wrist, his strength sending a twinge of pain shooting through my fingers as he forces the knife closer.
“No—” I breathe out the word, my phone clattering into the footwell.
He’s younger than me, eyes flashing with rage, and he utters one word: “Murderer.”
I bring my knee into his groin, and he grunts. I fall into the back seat of the car, scrambling to reach for the gun Ranger keeps in the compartment beneath his seat. I won’t die like this. Not sliced to pieces, bleeding to death in an alleyway behind a restaurant I don’t even like that much.
The attacker seizes my leg and pulls, my knee slipping on the leather seats. He flips me over and yanks me closer to the door, the knife glinting in the yellowed lighting behind the building.
I kick his chest and scream. “Get the fuck off me!” He lets out another grunt of pain but seizes my ankle, and the knife, oh god, the knife?—
My eyes widen, the moment collapsing into seconds, my heartbeat counting down.
And then, he’s gone.