Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Christian
“Remember who’s in charge here,” I remind her, my voice ragged, coming too close to revealing just how much I need her. “If I want to fuck you again, and again, and again, then that’s what’s going to happen.”
Her pink lips curve upward into a smile that cuts straight through my defenses. She reaches up and brushes her fingers over the beige bandage on my neck. The cut is healing, and I could probably take it off.
She purses her lips at me. “Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I imagined stabbing you again. I woke up happy.”
My heart pounds. “You’re welcome to try killing me again,” I whisper, leaning in, brushing my nose across her soft cheek. “A little knife play might actually be fun.”
She laughs, the delicate sound floating around me like a melody, and I smile. I fucking smile. I can’t help it. The sound wraps around my heart and squeezes like a fist, pumping the useless organ back to life.
Seeing her comfortable and relaxed makes me happier than I’ve ever felt. I mean, fuck, I’d sink a knife into my own damn chest if that’s what it’d take to keep a smile on her face.
We’ve been fucking for days, and I already want her again, my balls aching—but if I take her again so soon, I’m going to cause some serious damage.
So, instead, I settle in next to her and pull her warm body against me. She rests her head against my chest, and I stroke her arm gently, the tips of my fingers skating over her soft skin.
This feels so good. So fucking perfect it’s terrifying.
Silence drifts over us like a warm blanket, and I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her slow, steady breaths, feeling my own heart beat in time with hers…
“I didn’t open the envelope, because...I’m afraid,” she says quietly.
The comment comes so out of the blue that for a second, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then I remember—she’s talking about the large manila envelope I gave her. The one on the nightstand. Still unopened.
“I get it.” I tighten my arm around her. “But avoiding the truth doesn’t make it less real.”
The information in that envelope is fucking gnarly, and my instinct is to I protect her from it, but she deserves to know. She deserves the truth.
“If I don’t know, then I can ignore it. Pretend it doesn’t exist.” Her voice is small, vulnerable, and it claws at something deep in my chest.
“Nah.” I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. Her sweet coconut scent makes my head swim. “Not knowing will eventually eat away at you. Trust me.”
She twists her head to look up at me, one eyebrow lifted, a spark flashing in her eyes. “So you’re an expert on me now?”
“I’ve been watching you for months,” I admit. “Since that day in class when you told me not to touch you.”
Before then, actually. And I haven’t just been watching her. I’ve been completely consumed by her. Obsessed. But after that first taste, she filled every thought in every shadowy corner of my mind.
“You mean the day you finger-fucked me in the hallway,” she corrects.
The memory of her pressed against that wall, shocked and angry, makes my heart beat faster. I flash her a lazy smile, trying to hide the effect she has on me. “You liked it.”
With a playful squint, she plops back down onto my chest. “I plead the 5th. You can’t prove anything.”
Right. Aside from the fact that her body lights up like a neon sign for me. The way she responds to my touch, my cock—it’s like she was made for me and only me. We fit together so fucking perfectly.
Shifting, I reach over and grab the envelope off the nightstand, holding it up between us. “We could look at it together.”
Sitting up, she takes the folder from my hand and stares at it. Finally, she pushes out a harsh breath. “Yeah, okay,” she says with just a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Let’s do it.”
I sit up next to her as she takes a deep breath, opens the envelope, and pulls out the stack of papers. I already know what she’s going to find—surveillance reports on Shadow and Ash, financial records, new articles, witness testimony, and...finally, the information Vaughn found on Eve…and her mother.
Skipping Vaugh’s lengthy report, she thumbs through the first several pages with stoic detachment, until she gets to the police report, written on the day her mother was killed. She pauses.
“This is the police report on my mom’s death…” Her throat bobs, and I feel my own throat thicken in sympathy. “I’ve always wanted to see this, but my brother told me it had been destroyed…” She glances up at me, her eyes filled with confusion that cuts me to the bone. “...by the Burning Crown.”
“My guy got it from his contact in the Sheriff’s Office,” I say, my hand smoothing over her thigh, lending her my strength, because I know this will split her open. “So it clearly wasn’t destroyed.”
Eyebrows pinched, she reads the report. Seconds feel like years as I watch her face, heart in my throat, waiting for her reaction. Tears stream down her cheeks as she silently takes in the information. Goddamn. I want more than anything to wipe them away, take her pain, and make it mine.
When she’s done, she looks up at me, shell-shocked. “This isn’t true,” she says, shaking her head, rejecting the information that’s right in front of her. “There’s no way.”
“There’s one more piece of the puzzle,” I whisper, indicating the last group of stapled papers. “It’s about your birth mother.”
Her dark eyebrows pinch. “My what?”
“The woman you thought was your mother...she adopted you,” I say softly, watching a fresh wave of confusion and disbelief cross over her face. “Your biological mother was actually a seventeen-year-old girl named Elena. She was kidnapped and trafficked…” My words trail off because that’s not even the worst of it, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the rest.
“Kidnapped by who?”
“Shadow and Ash. Twenty years ago, they had a human trafficking ring. It’s been disbanded, but back then, several local girls went missing. Elena was one of them.”
With a curt nod, she flips through the documents. My brave Little Fox. Seeing her like this—vulnerable, in pain—feels like a fist through the chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs, ripping me to shreds from the inside out. And the worst part? There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
She quickly reads through the documents—DNA results, witness statements, and an article about Elena’s disappearance. Eve’s finger traces over a photocopied picture of a young woman that looks so much like her—same eyes, same dark hair. There’s no question Elena is her mother.
“This article says Elena’s last name was Rush,” she says, glancing up at me, startled.
“She was Roman’s aunt,” I say quietly. “He never met her. She went missing when he was just a toddler.”
“What about my dad?” Her voice breaks with each word, and I hesitate, knowing what I’m about to say will destroy her.
“Your dad…” My jaw clenches when I remember Vaughn’s report and the way he laid this whole twisted thing out. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, but his research was extensive, and the backup documents confirm everything. “He was the one who killed your birth mother when she tried to escape. And years later, when your adoptive mom discovered the truth…” Again, I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
The blood drains from Eve’s face. “He killed them both…” she whispers, horror filling her eyes.
I nod, wishing none of this were true. “They were about to charge him with murder, but then he took his own life…”
“It wasn’t grief…it was guilt,” she says, nearly choking on the words.
“I’m sorry.”
Sobbing, she buries her face in my chest. I wrap my arms around her tightly and whisper, “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay,” over and over, not even knowing if it’s true, just trying to ease her pain in any way I can.
This is all so fucked up. I have power, money, and influence, but right now, in this moment, all that’s useless—I never thought I’d say that. But nothing can take this pain away from her. Nothing. And that makes me feel fucking helpless—an emotion I’ve never felt before.
Her tears soak my bare chest, and I just hold her, rocking gently, whispering against the top of her head as I try to anchor her.
When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are rimmed red, and she struggles to catch her breath. She wipes the dampness from her cheeks, sniffling. “I just...I don’t understand why my family would lie to me.”
I stroke her arm, the tips of my fingers brushing over her soft skin. I could tell myself it’s to comfort her, but I know better. Eve Savano is a force I can’t fight, and I’ve stopped trying. I need to touch her, breathe her in, devour her....and still, that wouldn’t be enough. It will never be enough.
And that’s when it hits me with terrifying clarity—this feeling I have for Eve isn’t just an obsession. It isn’t just a need to be with her, around her, inside her. It’s love.
Fuck , I love her.
I’m in love with Eve Savano.
The revelation nearly stops my heart. Aside from my brother, I’ve never loved anyone. I’ve never been loved—not even my parents could muster up that emotion for me.
Suddenly, I feel vulnerable, exposed—because the truth is, I’m at this girl’s mercy. She has my whole heart in the palm of her hand.
Vulnerability is pain.
But…is it? Honestly, I’m willing to find out…
“I’m sure, in some way, they were trying to protect you,” I offer, reaching for something— anything —that will ease the pain in her eyes.
“No. That’s bullshit.” Sniffling, she shakes her head, rises off the bed, and starts sifting through her duffel bag. She uses her arm to wipe the tears that are still falling. “She was my mother . The only mother I knew.”
Pulling out a pair of jeans, she tugs them on, followed by a hoodie—no panties or bra. I climb off the bed as she reaches for her phone and flip-flops.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I just…I need some fresh air,” she says, her voice small. “Maybe a walk on the beach to clear my head.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, moving past her to grab my clothes.
She holds her hand up, stopping me. “I need to be alone for a while.”
Oh.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, trying to hide the hurt in my voice. “Of course.”
The selfish part of me wants to stop her from leaving, pull her back into bed. But I know I can’t. She’s hurting, and she needs the freedom to process this in her own way.
And I have to let her, even if it tears me apart…