Chapter 12 Kage
Kage
THE EXECUTIONER
“Tell me you’ve got something useful, Jimmy.” I lean back in the office chair, boots propped on the edge of Lennox’s desk, cleaning my pistol. Lennox stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the dance floor below us, trying to set it on fire with sheer force of will.
The line crackles before Jimmy answers. “Depends. You gonna call me something stupid again, or is this an actual business call?”
“Relax, Sugar Tits,” I say dryly. “I wouldn’t waste my breath if it wasn’t important.”
Lennox snorts under his breath and I grin. I knew I could get that uptight bastard to crack.
“You know I’m keeping a list, right?” Jimmy mutters. “There’s an actual document. It’s titled ‘Ways Kage Disrespects Me on a Cellular Level.’”
“Be sure to italicize ‘cellular’,” I say. “Give it some flair.”
“Jesus,” Jimmy sighs. “Anyway, yeah, I’ve got something. But it’s weird.”
“That’s your love language,” I mutter. “Telling us weird shit. But go on.” I can practically hear Jimmy's eyes roll through the phone, causing me to smile. I’ve been pissing in Jimmy’s cheerios for years, and it never gets old. I don’t think it ever will. He’s too easy to piss off.
“I pulled Richard’s financial records. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get a peek. He’s been pulling out cash. Lots of it. Always under ten grand and from different branches. There’s no real pattern, but it’s consistent. Like he’s prepping for something.”
Lennox turns towards the desk, interest flaring. “How recent?”
“Last two weeks. And get this. He’s been making trips out to some busted up property headed south off I-5. Real middle of nowhere type shit. Looks abandoned.”
“What’s out there?” I ask.
“Not much, mainly just mountains,” Jimmy says. “But the buildings in some guy's name. Donnie. That’s all I’ve got for now. First name only. Records are messy as hell.”
“Donnie?” I repeat, eyebrows lifting. “Who the fuck is Donnie? And what kind of name is Donnie anyways?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Could be nothing. Could be something. I found a few old records with the guy's name tied to them, but without a last name, we can’t be sure.”
“Send me all you’ve got,” Lennox says. “And keep digging. I want to know who Donnie is and why Dick’s sniffing around his property.”
“You got it.” Jimmy answers, before the line goes dead and I watch Lennox stiffen at the window, his eyes fixated to the floor below him. What the fuck is he looking at?
I follow his line of sight until I see her.
Wren.
Walking through the crowd, owning it as if it’s her kingdom. Not yet, it isn’t, but I’ll gladly hand her the reins. Her hair is down in loose curls, her lips are painted red, and she’s got on a little black dress that hugs her body like a second skin.
I go still, my cock already growing hard just from looking at her.
She’s not looking up, or even looking for us, which is fucked. Considering the last time I saw her, she was riding my fingers, desperate to wring every last drop of pleasure from me, moaning my name with zero fucking shame about who heard. Then she vanished out of nowhere.
Now, she’s out at a club, dressed like that, acting as if none of that ever happened. She’s really going to pretend we’re not buried under her skin the way she’s buried under ours. Can she not fucking feel us here, watching her every move?
“Fuck,” Lennox mutters, already pushing off the glass. He doesn’t need to say anything, I already know what he’s thinking. She fucking belongs to us, and right now, all eyes are on her. We can’t have that.
I follow behind him before I even realize it. We head for the upstairs VIP lounge that overlooks the dance floor. It’s where the rich assholes sit and watch the desperate grind themselves into sweat soaked oblivion. Tonight, though, it’s where we watch her.
We slide into the center booth, the one with the best view and built specifically for us, as the waitress brings us our usual drinks.
Dead center of the dance floor, hips swaying to the beat, arms lifted above her head and offering herself to the music, is our girl.
She’s not alone, her friends are dancing all around her, but no one’s touching her. Not yet.
We sit there, watching her until her rhythm falters.
Her movements are slow and intentional, proof she finally feels us in the room.
Like I knew she would. The smoke around her frame makes her seem ethereal, as if she was from another world entirely.
Her gaze climbs the stairs, sweeping across the second floor, already knowing exactly where we are.
Then it lands right on me, like a fucking bullet.
Wren’s eyes are wide, her lips moving to the lyrics of the song like the little songbird she is.
I don’t move or even dare to blink, worried that I’ll miss even a second of her moving her body, already knowing exactly how to please us.
I just sit here, hard as a fucking rock, with my arm slung across the back of the booth.
One hand is still wrapped around my glass, the other resting on my thigh, watching her like I’ve been starving for weeks.
A single week without her already feels like a lifetime, and I’m ready to feast.
Nox doesn’t say a word beside me, but I can feel the energy rolling off him in waves. His jaw locks when Wren’s eyes flick to his, holding his gaze in challenge. No one has ever looked at him the way she is, other than me.
Wren starts to dance again, but it’s different now.
This isn’t for fun. This is for show, to taunt us.
Her spine curves, her hips rolling with each beat.
The red light bathes her skin, a wicked little offering meant for the devil's altar, and we are her devils, ready to burn for her. She’s moving like she’s imagining our hands on her, and fuck me, I wish I was on the floor right now, dragging her onto my lap so she remembers exactly who she’s tempting.
Then I see someone's hands at her waist. Some guy behind her, trying his fucking luck.
Lennox and I are on our feet at the same time.
A slow, cold pulse of rage courses through me, and all I can picture now is his blood seeping into my skin and his teeth scattered across the floor.
It’s not just jealousy. It’s far deeper than that.
Darker. It’s the bone deep urge to erase him.
To carve him out of existence. Because no one fucking touches what belongs to me.
Even if she doesn’t wear my name, at least not yet, I feel it in my fucking marrow. She’s meant to be ours. One way or another, she will be a Monroe.
The weight of my knife in my boot feels heavier. It’s calling to me, wanting the taste of blood as much as I do. The very idea of carving his flesh while she watches what I would do for her has my cock straining against my zipper.
Most women would run from someone like me.
They’d call this madness, psychotic even, but she wouldn’t.
I know she would understand the darkness within me.
She would stand there, her eyes wide and chest heaving, watching me paint the floor red in her name.
And I swear to Lucifer, I don’t think she would look away.
She was made for this. For me.
She just doesn’t know it yet. But she will.
Because love doesn’t always look like flowers and fucking sonnets. Sometimes it looks like bones breaking in your hands. Sometimes, it looks like death, and I would give her both if it meant she kept looking at me the way she is right now.
I tear my eyes off her just long enough to glance over at Lennox again.
He stands beside me at the railing, his grip curled so tight around the metal I swear I hear it groan.
His knuckles are bone white, tension rippling up his arm as if he’s physically trying to tear out of his own skin.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, and we’re both falling for it.
“She likes the attention,” Lennox mutters, his voice low and strained. “She wants us to see.”
I smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “She’s begging for it.”
He doesn’t respond, but I can see the war in his eyes. Rage. Lust. Restraint. It’s all there, boiling just beneath the surface. Same as mine.
Fuck.
I can’t take it anymore. The way she moves is lust personified.
Every sway of her hips is a sin just waiting to be committed.
I step away from the railing as if I’ve been yanked on a leash.
My body’s not mine anymore. It hasn’t been since she walked into this club like a fucking offering.
Every nerve is lit, wired straight to her, and all I can think about is how it’s going to feel when she’s pressed up against me.
Making my way down the steps, my mind races with thoughts of how my little bird feels.
How wet she was for me the last time I saw her.
The way she was about to sit that pretty little pussy right on my face and drown me.
I could kill my brother for ruining that moment for me.
One taste wasn't enough, but tonight that will change. My little bird will sing for me.
I make my way onto the dance floor and that’s when I really take her in. She’s out there, wrapped in smoke and strobe lights, hips swaying to a rhythm that goes straight to my dick. The crowd pulses around her, faceless and forgettable, but she's a beacon I can't look away from.
She doesn't look back as I head right for her. She doesn’t need to.
It’s almost as if she knows I'm coming for her and she can feel my very presence. The pull between us is electric. I’m gravity and she's the center of it all. Her hands lift above her head, that sexy as hell body twisting with an ease so raw it’s almost violent.
Wren doesn't flinch when I step into her or check to see if it's me, she just moves closer and grinds against me as if she's been waiting this whole time to feel my touch again.
My hands find her waist and pull her even closer and fuck, my dick is about to bust out of my goddamn pants.
With the way she moves against me, plotting her next move, I know she can feel it too.
We fit so well together, she was fucking made for me.
She is a current, and I’m drowning in her storm.