Chapter Eight
~ Disobedience ~
Soren
I push through the heavy front doors of the estate, the scent of gun oil, blood, and smoke still clinging to my clothes and skin.
Ray already peeled off with the hostage, taking the long route around the back to the basement entrance.
We never bring them through the main house…
blindfolded the second they’re in the car, dragged straight into the soundproofed hellhole where their screams will never reach the upper floors.
Armen stays at my side, still wearing that half-smirk like the whole day has been entertainment.
We’ve barely made it ten steps into the foyer when Selina rounds the corner.
The moment she sees me she stops dead, crosses her arms, and lifts her chin.
It’s such an unusual stance for her, normally she’s sharp, respectful, and one of my most reliable, that I actually frown.
Armen clears his throat beside me; the sound loaded with guilt he’s trying to hide.
I cross my own arms, raise one brow, and wait.
Selina takes a careful step closer. “Me and Lorraine went out today.”
I nod once, still waiting for the point.
She swallows. “We took Kit.”
My blood ignites instantly. A low, dangerous growl tears from deep in my chest.
Before I can speak, she continues, voice firm but careful. “He had a panic attack.”
That does it. I surge forward, wrap my hand around her throat, and slam her back against the nearest wall hard enough that the painting above her rattles. “I told you to leave him the fuck alone.”
Armen shifts beside me. “Hey… whoa, boss…”
I slowly turn my head toward him, eyes flat. “Something you’d like to add, Armen?”
He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was… partially my idea.”
A sharp, humourless laugh escapes me. “So, you’re telling me you’re all disobedient fuckers now?”
I release Selina, letting her drop to the floor in a controlled heap. I lick my teeth, tasting the leftover blood from earlier, and watch her push herself back up. She tries to hold onto her confidence, but I can see the respectful fear flickering in her eyes.
“He doesn’t know how to socialise anymore, boss,” she says, voice steadier than her hands. “You’ve kept him inside for two years. He got really upset. We made sure he got some treats for himself but… by the time we left he was sweaty and pale and shaking.”
My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Where is he?”
Selina’s answer is too quiet; I don’t catch it.
“Where the fuck is he?!” I shout, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings.
Before I can take another step, a small figure suddenly appears right in front of me. Kit’s standing there in fresh pyjamas, soft grey ones that are slightly crumpled, like he’d been asleep. Lorraine probably told him to rest.
His voice comes out quiet and trembling, but it still cuts straight through the red haze in my head. “Don’t hurt them, Soren.”
I stare at Selina and Armen for one more beat, jaw tight. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
They don’t need to be told twice. Both of them hurry down the hallway without another word, probably heading straight for the nearest bottle to drown their regrets.
My fists are still twitching at my sides as I stare down at Kit. The sight of him does something dangerous to the storm still raging inside me.
Then he speaks again, and even though his voice is scared, it soothes something raw and ugly in my chest. “You didn’t tell me you were going out.”
I stare at him for a long minute, letting the words sink in. He noticed. He cared enough to be upset that I didn’t tell him I was leaving the estate. A slow, genuine grin spreads across my face, sharp and possessive.
Without warning, I reach down, wrap one arm around his waist, and haul him up like he weighs nothing. I throw him over my shoulder in one smooth motion, his legs kicking weakly against my chest as I start heading straight for the stairs that lead to my private floor. Exactly what I need right now.
Honestly, I’m thrilled he’s bothered that I didn’t tell him. It means he’s thinking about me. It means he’s waiting for me. It means, even through all that fear, some part of him is mine.
Kit
Soren kicks the bedroom door shut behind us with his heel.
The heavy click of the lock sounds far too loud in the sudden quiet.
He doesn’t throw me down this time. Instead, he gently lowers me until my bare feet touch the floor, one large hand steady on my waist like he’s making sure I don’t collapse.
I swallow hard and tilt my head back to look up at him.
Something annoyingly warm and comforting flickers inside my chest the moment I realise he’s really back.
My crippling anxiety from the day… the panic attack in the store, the overwhelming noise, the way I felt so small and out of place…
eases just a little more. It’s sick that his presence can do that.
He’s the one who causes most of it in the first place.
I don’t let myself think about it too deeply.
My eyes catch on the blood; it’s everywhere.
Streaked across his cheek and jaw, smeared on his neck, soaked into the collar of his shirt and down one arm.
I’ve never seen Soren like this up close.
He’s always clean when he comes to me, maybe on purpose.
The sight reminds me exactly who he is to the rest of the world: the cold, ruthless man who walks out of rooms leaving bodies behind.
My stomach twists, but I can’t look away.
Soren’s voice snaps me out of the daze, low, demanding, and edged with that dangerous grin. “Strip.”
I barely register the word at first. My mouth moves before my brain catches up. “You…”
He tilts his head, waiting. I usually obey instantly, even though shame still prickles under my skin whenever I compare my smaller, softer body to his powerful, inked frame. I still can’t comprehend how he finds any part of me attractive.
“You’ve got blood on your face,” I whisper.
Soren lets out a short, rough laugh and starts unbuttoning his shirt with blood-stained fingers. “Does it bother you, little mouse?”
Little mouse. Another pet name to add to the growing list. I blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”
He lets the shirt fall open and then drop to the floor entirely.
My eyes immediately lock onto his tanned, heavily tattooed chest…
broad, muscled, the black ink shifting with every breath.
I hate how attractive he is… or rather, I hate that I like it so much.
I hate that my body is already reacting, heating up, even while my mind screams that this is wrong.
He clearly wants to fuck me right now, and I know I’ll enjoy it.
But I wish it meant something. I wish I could have sex with someone who actually cared about me in a way Soren never could.
He undoes his trousers and lets them fall too, stepping out of them. My gaze shamelessly drops to the growing bulge in his boxers before I force it away, cheeks burning.
“Aren’t you going to wash it off?”
Soren growls softly and steps closer, crowding me until I can feel the heat rolling off his body. “Not right now.”
A shiver races down my spine.
He reaches for me, gripping the hem of my pyjama top and pulling it up and off in one smooth motion.
The cool air hits my skin, and he growls again, low and appreciative, eyes raking over me.
I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, arms hanging uselessly at my sides.
I like that he likes my body, but I still can’t understand why.
It upsets me how small and insignificant I feel next to him…
like a fragile doll he could break without even trying.
Maybe that’s exactly what he enjoys most.
Before I can process anything else, his big hands grab my hips, and he throws me onto the massive bed. I gasp at the sudden motion, bouncing once on the silk sheets.
Then he’s crawling over me, gloriously naked, all tanned skin, dark ink, and hard muscle. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and boxers and yanks them down in one swift pull.
I yelp, instinctively closing my legs, suddenly shy. Soren grunts in disapproval and grabs my knees, parting them firmly again until I’m completely exposed to him.
I stare up at the ceiling, heart hammering, but then he’s there, taking up my entire view. His broad shoulders and chest block out everything else. If he dead-weighted on me right now he would slowly crush me. The size difference is overwhelming… in every manner.
It makes my own seven inches, which I’ve read is actually decent… feel completely insignificant next to his thick, heavy length. I only know the exact comparison because he once measured me when he couldn’t fit all of me easily in his mouth. He seemed pleased, but who knows with him.
Soren reaches over to the nightstand, grabs the bottle of lube, and pops the cap. His voice is rough but quieter now. “Tell me what happened today.”
My eyes widen slightly. Why does he want to know?
I don’t usually talk much with him at all, but after what happened with Selina and Armen earlier, ignoring him feels like a terrible idea.
“I… I don’t want to…” I mumble.
He squeezes the bottle and cool lube drips directly onto my ass. I gasp at the sudden cold. He drops the bottle aside and starts circling my entrance with one thick finger.
“You didn’t cope very well?” he asks, pressing just the tip inside.
I close my eyes, shame burning hot across my cheeks, and shake my head.
He pushes the finger in slowly. The familiar burn and resisting stretch hits first. I try to relax through it, breathing steadily.
Then he curls that finger and drags it perfectly over that spot inside me.
My eyes fly open, my back arches sharply off the bed, and a broken moan tears from my throat before I can stop it.
Soren groans, pleased, and keeps stroking that same spot while he leans down and nibbles at the side of my neck.
“You think you’d have done better if I were there?” he murmurs against my skin.