29
Cade
I feel her withdrawing, those walls I just broke through rising back up brick by brick. Can’t blame her—I stripped away more than just clothes tonight. More than she was ready to give.
After a full minute of silence, my fingers spear into her hair and I lift her head from the crook of my neck, forcing her to look at me.
“Was any of that too much?” My voice stays neutral. “Pain? Pleasure?” I pause, then drop my tone to a whisper. “Submission?”
She has to know she can tell me, although the way her spine stiffens on that last word tells me she won’t.
Her chuckle comes out forced. Like a shield snapping into place. “It was just sex, Cade. We had it coming. No need to get tangled up in the fine print.”
There it is—the retreat when she feels exposed. Yesterday, I might have let her run. Now? Now I’m tempted to pin her down a nd fuck that defiance right out of her. Make her see there’s no hiding from this.
“You’re right.” In a deliberate provocative move, I drag my fingers through her folds, gathering her wetness, savoring the way she trembles.
Keeping my tone too casual for what I’m about to do, I ask, “We’ve got other things to focus on. Such as how you’d like your next orgasm.”
She’s still for a heartbeat, as if she’s weighing her answer, then opens her mouth to respond, only to have her words instantly die on her lips, her eyes widening as soon as she sees what I’m doing.
I hold her gaze as I slowly lick my fingers clean.
“Jesus, Cade.” The words stumble out, caught somewhere between horror and arousal. “You’re . . . it’s bloody.”
“I know. I was there.” My voice stays lazy, but I don’t miss the flush creeping up her chest.
I let the silence thicken for just a beat before tilting my head. “And I asked you how you’d like your next orgasm.”
She swallows hard, her eyes darting anywhere but at me. “I, um . . . I need a shower.”
Something in her tone sets off warning bells.
“No, you don’t, Luciana. You’re perfect with my cum all over you.”
Her lips part as if to argue, but the words never come. Instead, something flickers across her face—hesitation, maybe fear. Then she lowers her head, eyes fluttering shut like she’s making some internal decision I’m not invited to hear.
When she looks back up at me, the fire is gone. Her gaze is distant, closed off. Walls firmly back in place.
“I should go to bed,” she pulls away completely.
I l et her go, watching as she scrambles to her feet and walks away—bare, beautiful, and so fucking mine—until she disappears up the spiral stairs.
Luna is hiding, something bigger than just fear of being exposed and vulnerable. The urge to find out with a single phone call to Kat beats down on me but I resist.
I sit there for a moment longer, before finally pulling my vibrating phone out of my pocket. Scar’s message lights up the screen.
Do your thing, Pretty. Just be careful.
I huff out a laugh. Too late brother. I’m already fucked.
Two hours.
That’s how long it’s been since Luna disappeared up the steps and behind the bedroom door.
I lean back on my couch, the dim glow of the surveillance tablet screen in front of me casting shadows across the otherwise dark room.
The satellite feeds from the Romano mansion grounds indicate a meeting was held there, and after half an hour, six men loaded into black SUVs. Which means he’s made the stupid choice of trying to find me.
Understandable. It’s only day one of seven. Besides, a man like that doesn’t take kindly to his daughter being kidnapped. Too bad he’s just wasting his time. Not unless I’ve left a deliberate crumb for them to follow, there’s no finding me.
My fingers move on autopilot, rerouting satellites and adjusting angles to check on Gertrude Willoughby on Pond Street, and my asinine brothers-in-law, Nico and Dante Vitelli. I’m about to complete my routine with Phoenix and the clubhouse in Harmony, when Saint’s whining breaks my concentration.
For the third time.
He’s up pacing again, the rhythmic clicking of claws on polished hardwood louder and more frantic with each pass.
He’s been pacing since Luna went upstairs, his massive form a dark shadow moving back and forth at the edge of my vision. Every few turns, his eyes lock on the staircase, and a low whine builds in his chest.
“Sit down, mate,” I mutter.
This time he ignores me, his eyes darting between me and the staircase. I shoot him a glare and he immediately flops down but doesn’t stop growling under his breath, eyes darting back and forth toward the stairs like a fucking pendulum.
Fuck.
A familiar itch crawls up my spine—the same one that’s kept me alive all these years. There’s no threat on the property, nothing on the feeds, no movement in the perimeter—I’ve checked a dozen times.
I power down the tablet. “Okay, what is it? You want to tell me something?”
Saint springs up, ears forward, and bounds upstairs, making a beeline for Luna’s room.
“Hell no,” I call after him “You can’t bother her.”
He ignores me, pressing down the door handle with practiced ease. A moment later, he returns, carrying something in his mouth.
A boot.
I scoff as he drops it in my lap. “The fuck? All that aggravation over a boot?”
The n I spot the hidden compartment in the chunky sole. My brows knit as I work my fingers into the slot.
They close around smooth plastic.
A credit card. Fuck.
Ice floods my veins as implications stack up. She must have used it in the store; otherwise, Saint wouldn’t have known about it.
Hawkins and the bureau, her father. Every hunter in the game now knows where to look. One purchase at that store has left breadcrumbs leading straight to us.
Unless . . .
What if she deliberately did it? What if she wants someone to find her because she changed her mind and wanted to get away?
My jaw clenches. Still doesn’t matter. Whether she’s betrayed me or not, she’s mine to protect now.
“Good job, St. Michael”
He meets my gaze, his body still vibrating with tension. Those red eyes hold too much understanding—like he knows exactly what storm’s coming.
Unless they’re amateurs, whoever they’ve sent after Luna is already here, but knows better than to wade into the surveillance field of this fortress. They’re waiting until we pull out of here so they can corner us on the road.
Meaning, I need to draw them out and find them. Tonight.
I stroke Saint’s jowl, trying to steady the rage building under my skin.
“Let’s go hunting.”