Chapter 22
Mynx
Aknock came—low, deliberate—just before she unraveled completely.
The darkness had swallowed the room, and with it, her sense of place. Alone, uncertain, she sat suspended in the quiet, unsure of where she stood in the wreckage of the night.
The sound pulled her back..
Mynx moved like gravity was failing, her limbs slow and clumsy as she pulled herself from her thoughts. By the time she reached the door, she was sure it was him. The air shifted. The ache had narrowed its focus to what stood on the other side of that door.
Raven.
The smell of jasmine and tobacco enveloped her as the door widened. Raven pushed past her into the room.
He stood there, and the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding broke free in a sigh. She yearned to wrap her arms around him, hold him close, and be consumed by him. But the look on his face stopped her cold.
He didn't speak. Didn't smile.
His knuckles were raw and battered, covered in blood.
His shirt was wrinkled, crusted with dried blood and sweat, the fabric stiff where violence had soaked in and hardened.
But it was his face—hollowed, unreadable, quiet in all the ways that typically showed confidence—that made Mynx's stomach twist, ache for him.
She prayed none of the blood was his.
"Found you—Butterfly," he said. His voice was soft, tired.
And she folded. Didn't think. Didn't ask for permission.
She just stepped into him, hands finding the bruises, forehead to collarbone, trying to memorize his shape before grief stole it away. He didn't pull back.
His fingers found her back—slow, uncertain, like he didn't know if he deserved this. Like touch was a language he'd almost forgotten how to speak.
"What do you— need?" she asked against his neck.
"To get lost in you—, to forget." The words vibrated against her, low and deep.
She held him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the rise and fall of his chest. Succumbed to the constant beat of his heart against her ear.
He walked them into the room, holding on like he didn't trust himself to speak. Like touch was the only truth he could manage in the moment.
Even as he stepped back from her, he didn't speak.
Moonlight turned her skin to silver, ethereal and exposed.
It wasn't until then—until his eyes met hers—that she felt the weight of being bare.
Raven's gaze caught on the lines of her collarbone, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands instinctively folded over her chest.
"I'm sorry, I should put on some clothes." As she turned to do so, he stopped her, catching her hand in his, stepping closer.
"You don't need to apologize," he said, voice low, rough as if it had been sifted through gravel. "You don't need to cover anything."
Mynx felt the way he tried to eliminate her vulnerability in the moment. Mynx realized that. He saw everything in that moment she'd been holding back—the hunger, the helplessness, the fear threaded through all her quiet strength—and didn't recoil. Didn't flinch.
His fingers moved up her body, grazing her arm. Mynx watched the motion, felt the heat in his gaze on her skin— its hunger, unflinching—as if he were trying to memorize her body. Then his lips found hers, demanding and urgent, without hesitation. He took what he needed and returned it fiercely.
His mouth claimed hers with a force that bordered on desperation. His tongue pushed past her lips, exploring, demanding, taking everything she had to offer. He wasn't gentle, nor was he careful. It was the kind of kiss that came from desire wrapped in deep need.
Mynx's fingers moved instinctively, tracing the contours of his chest beneath his filthy shirt.
She felt the tension in his muscles, the way his body held itself rigid as if he couldn't fully let go.
As she worked the buttons loose, her eyes didn't leave his face.
She took in every detail of him, memorizing the moment.
His lashes were thick and dark, closed in silent surrender to the kiss.
His cheekbones were sharp, carved like defiance.
The stubble along his jaw and chin was like sandpaper against her skin, grounding her in the moment—reminding her this wasn't a dream, wasn't a memory.
It was Raven. Here— Now. He was hers, and she was his.
"You're so beautiful," he said, the words a raspy whisper, a quiet confession. "I want you so badly it scares me." His hand tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
She leaned down, her lips brushing his—not to claim him this time, but to reassure him. To say I see you without words.
His hands found her waist, tentative at first, then firmer, anchoring himself to her as if he were afraid she might vanish.
She could feel the tremor in his grip—not from hesitation, but from restraint.
He was holding back, barely. Mynx wanted him to lose himself in the moment.
In her. To find sanctuary in the raging heat between them.
Mynx shifted her hips, slow and deliberate, feeling the friction build between them.
She felt his hardened length pulse between them as it begged for her attention.
She rubbed her core slowly and deliberately against him, the friction slow and deep.
His breath hitched. She watched his face as she moved—watched the way his control frayed with each rotation of her hips, the way his eyes darkened with need. Still, he held back.
"You don't have to hold back—." She whispered, her voice low, steady. "Not with me."
That was all the permission he needed.
His hands slid across her, the roughness of his palms moving with a slow friction against her skin, tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. She arched into him, her breath catching as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, then the edge of her collarbone, each kiss a vow, each touch a reckoning.
Felt each stroke of his luscious, full tongue as it lapped at her nipples, first one and then the other.
A deep moan fell from her now parted lips as she allowed herself to surrender to his touch.
She peeled the shirt from his chest, revealing the bruises, the scars, the stories etched into his skin. She kissed each one like a promise. He groaned, low and guttural, and the sound went straight through her. Her core clenched with the desire to be filled by him.
Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his pants, urgency rising like a tide. He reached up, cupped her face, and for a moment—just a moment—they paused. Eyes locked as their breathing synchronized in their shared need.
"Just so we're clear, this isn't just sex. It's everything." His words were raw and lust-filled at the same time. Raven unchained the last bit of her restraint with those words. He watched her, waiting for her reaction.
"I know. I feel that way too."
"Are you sure this is what you want —Mynx? Me—? The man about to crawl into your sheets wearing the blood of three dead men—and not hesitating. The Capo of the Kings."
She should've recoiled. Should've told Raven to leave, to wash the blood off, to be someone else. But she didn't. Because the truth was, she'd never wanted anything more. Not despite the blood. Because of it. It meant he was strong. Fierce. Unapologetically lethal. And that made him sexy as fuck.
Mynx didn't say the words out loud. She didn't need to. What she said was simpler. She reached for his hand—blood still tacky on his knuckles—and laced her fingers through his.
"You said I was yours. Now hear it back. You're mine, Raven. Blood, scars, sins, and all."
He rolled her over, pinning her wrists to the bed. The weight of him pressed down, awakening something primal—desperate—in both of them.
His mouth found hers savage and unrelenting. Teeth bruised Mynx's lips as he devoured her like he could consume every piece of her and still never have enough.
Then he released one hand, reached down, and wrapped his fingers around her throat—tight.
"Mine." The word came in a growl, his eyes locked on hers.
Chaos swirled in those eyes that were now almost black in their desire. It wasn't lust or love. But something deeper. Darker. As if he'd entirely surrendered to the storm she'd awoken inside him. His grip wasn't cruel—it was worship twisted into possession—primal need.
His clothes were gone before she could blink. Yet somehow his touch never left her. Mynx writhed in the pleasure of it.
His hands were everywhere.
Cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Raking down her stomach with his hands, he pulled at her, kisses trailing down her stomach, her navel, and her hips.
His hands stopped at her hips, steady and sure, pulling her forward until she perched at the edge of the bed.
Her body paused there—bare, waiting, exposed.
She looked down and found him on his knees, watching her as if she were something sacred.
His fingers slid inside—long, deliberate—pushing deep, stealing her breath and unraveling her composure in one motion.
When his mouth found the inside of her thigh, he lingered there, lips grazing, tongue tracing slow, reverent paths toward her center.
His mouth was velvet, his hums of approval low and resonant, vibrating through her like a promise.
She felt herself tipping, pulled toward the rising wave of need, his fingers deepening their rhythm, coaxing her closer to the edge.
Her hands were grasping at him and then the sheets as she rode the wild waves of pleasure he was creating with his every touch.
Mynx cried out, her body arching as he took her into his mouth—his lips closing around her, sucking with deliberate hunger.
It shattered her last thread of restraint.
She came undone, the sound torn from her throat as release surged through her, raw and unstoppable.
Before she could refocus, she felt the crown of his dick at her entrance.
He pushed in hard, fast, and deep in one motion.
It rocked Mynx's body against the bed. He pulled back slowly, inch by inch.
Before his need overcame him, he raised her legs, placing her feet on his chest, rolling her upward, before his strokes began again.
His thrust was unhinged as he dived deeper.
His breaths were frantic and unchained as he lost himself inside her.
Mynx grasped at the sheets. At him, lost in her delirium as the wave of a second orgasm crashed into her.
Raven flipped her to her stomach and then onto her knees, forcing her head to the bed. He gripped her hair at the base, the palm of his hand holding her to the bed. Before he became wild and unrestrained, he pushed her to the limits. Stretching her, molding her insides to accommodate his size.
Mynx couldn't think, only feel. And the wild abandon he brought forth in her made her cry out for more.
Scream his name as he pushed her past every limit she thought she had.
His release came with a roar. His fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her so close to himself that not a breath could pass between them.
Raven's breath was ragged, his body slick with sweat as he collapsed against her, forehead resting between her shoulder blades.
He wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her tightly—as if he needed her to anchor him to reality.
His heartbeat thundered against her spine, wild and uneven.
She lay still, her breath shallow, her body trembling from everything he'd taken—and everything she'd given.
Neither of them spoke.
But in the silence, something shifted. Something permanent.
"Are you ok? I didn't mean to hurt you. I was lost in the moment— in the pull of you."
Raven asked as he pulled his body away from hers.
"More than ok. Deliriously tired but fully sated."
He nodded, relief flickering across his face. But something deeper lingered in his eyes—something that hadn't yet found words.
Raven moved to lie beside her, the sheets rustling beneath his weight. Mynx turned her head, studying him—not the sculpted body, not the sharp lines of his face, but the quiet beneath it all.
He looked different than when he arrived.
Better.
Grounded, somehow. Like something inside Raven had stopped running.
"Can I ask you something"? She spoke. "Why do you call me Butterfly"?
Raven shifted and rolled to his side. His face turned to her before he answered.
"The first time I saw you was at Cover Girls.
It was before—I knew who you were, who your father was.
You came onstage looking hesitant, like you weren't sure you belonged there.
But only for a second. Then you lifted your eyes, stared off into the distance, and began to move.
Soft. Effortless. It wasn't dancing—it was gliding.
Like your body knew something your mind hadn't caught up to yet.
You were bold. Beautiful. Even if you were afraid.
You would do what you needed to, until the moment you could escape your cocoon. That's why I call you, my Butterfly."
Mynx swallowed the lump in her throat. There was so much she needed to learn about this man. Raven was so deeply thoughtful, complex. Nothing like she'd expected him to be. Not just a ruthless killer or thug. He was unapologetically Raven, and that was what she loved most about him.
She kissed him softly. And whispered, "Thank you— for seeing me, Raven."