Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I wake slowly, warm and tangled in something solid. For one horrible second, I think I imagined it. The balcony. The music. Him. My fingers twist in cotton, and a groan answers me.
Karson. He’s still here.
His chest rises under my palm, steady and real.
My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, his arm still heavy around my waist as if we haven’t moved an inch.
The room smells like rain, smoke and him.
Lightning doesn’t crack this morning, the storm having passed sometime in the night.
Everything feels quieter. Softer. Like the world exhaled.
Last night wasn't chaos. It wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't a spiral. It was a choice. I chose him. I’ve spent so long trying to outrun what I knew was inevitable. I chose to stay put, to give my tired legs the reprieve they’ve been begging for. And what’s more, he didn't slip away before sunrise. He stayed.
I swallow.
That might be scarier than anything else.
His fingers flex slightly against my hip, instinctive, tightening when I shift.
Even asleep, he doesn't loosen his hold. I tilt my face just enough to look at him. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, lips slightly parted, lashes resting against skin that looks almost peaceful. It’s unfair how calm he looks when I know what he’s capable of.
My fingers absentmindedly trace along the edge of his collarbone as I look at him.
He doesn't wake, but his grip tightens again.
My bladder interrupts the moment, and I curse under my breath.
Slowly, I slide my hand from his chest first, little by little, like I’m disarming a nuclear bomb.
Carefully, I lift his arm gently from my waist, guiding it to create just enough space.
His jaw tightens and I freeze. When his eyes don't open, I try again.
This time I manage to untangle my leg from his. The mattress dips as I put weight on my elbow, preparing to sit up. His hand snaps back around my middle. Not violent, not panicked, but firm. His eyes open, gray and sharp, even through sleep.
“Where,” he asks, voice rough and gravel-thick, “do you think you’re going?”
Heat floods my face. “Bathroom.”
His gaze drags over me slowly. Assessing. Checking. Then his hold tightens slightly again.
“You’re trying to sneak off to the bathroom?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” he tells me and I roll my eyes. Of course he wasn’t. At this rate, I’m starting to think the man is a vampire. Never sleeps, only comes out at night, devastating good looks?
Yeap, fits the bill.
His thumb traces the curve of my hip under the blankets. “You don't get to slip out of my arms without warning anymore,” he adds quietly. There’s no threat in it. Just facts.
I raise a brow. “Are you always this dramatic in the morning?”
A corner of his mouth lifts.
“Only when you try to escape.”
“I wasn’t.”
His eyes soften, but only slightly.
“Good.”
He releases me slowly, but not before his fingers drag across my waist, creating a wave of goosebumps across my flesh. Sliding off the mattress, I make my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Flushing the toilet, I step to the sink. Turning on the faucet, my eyes lift to my reflection in the mirror. My hair’s a mess of red waves, tangled from sleep. My lips are swollen. There’s a faint bruise blooming near my collarbone, half hidden by the neckline of his shirt.
I look…claimed.
My lips pull into a small smile. The word should scare me a little, but it doesn't. My fingers grip the edge of the counter as I really look at myself. My blue eyes are clear. Not hollow. Not shut down, but alive. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.
After washing my hands, I cup them again under the stream and splash some cool water on my face, the droplets clinging to my lashes.
When I straighten again, I tame my hair as best as I can with my fingers and pat my face dry with the towel that hangs neatly next to the sink.
Squaring my shoulders, I take one steadying breath and open the door.
Karson stands near the window, phone in one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck.
He’s in low-slung gray sweats, now shirtless, ink crawling over every inch of muscle.
His posture is loose, but there’s a hint of tension under it.
His thumb scrolls once. Twice. His jaw tightens.
I step into the room quietly, but his head lifts immediately.
Gray eyes lock onto mine. There’s a split second where he checks me over–face, shoulders, stance–making sure I’m still solid.
“All set?” he asks.
I nod once. “Yeah.”
His gaze lingers on me a second longer, then he lowers his phone.
“Come eat downstairs with me.”
Leaning against the door frame, my arms cross loosely over my middle.
“Are you asking,” I tilt my head, “or telling?”
His lips twitch. “Both.”
His phone buzzes again. His expression doesn’t shift–but something in the air does. His fingers tap on the screen then locks it before tossing it onto the bed. He crosses the room in three strides, stopping close enough that my pulse trips.
“Stay close,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb once over my jaw. Not possessive. Not gentle. Certain. Then he steps back.
“Get dressed, then we’ll head down.”
The elevator ride down is quiet, but the second the door slides open, the world feels louder.
The building buzzes with life. Slot machines sing softly in the distance from the gaming floor, footsteps echo over polished floors, voices overlap in low conversation.
It’s a jolt to my senses after leaving the bubble of the quiet penthouse.
Karson doesn’t reach for my hand. Instead his palm settles at the small of my back–warm, firm, impossible to ignore. He guides me forward with ease through the crowds, and people notice.
Heads turn, staff who usually smile at me suddenly look unsure of where to put their eyes.
Uniformed security guards nod at him before glancing at me, trying to go unnoticed.
Some of them don't look at me at all. Karson doesn’t acknowledge any of it, but I feel the way his fingers flex any time one of them looks a second too long.
We pass beneath the towering black and gold arch of Abaddon, and he steers us into a restaurant tucked at its base.
It’s quieter here. Dimmer. Intentional. He chooses a booth in the back without asking for one.
Always the back. Always the vantage point.
He gestures for me to slide in first, then takes the seat across from me–facing the entrance.
A waitress approaches our table, but before she can get our order someone slides into the booth beside Karson. She throws up her hands in irritation then turns back toward the kitchen. My lips tug in a small smile when I see a familiar set of blue eyes.
“What’s for breakfast?” Cole sighs as he settles into the seat.
“Is there a reason you’re in my seat and not in the Pit for shift change?” Karson grits out, staring Cole down.
“On our way there now and saw you two through the window.” Cole tells him, giving me a playful wink. I shake my head, and I don't miss the way Karson’s jaw ticks. Cole just grins, completely unbothered. “Relax, I’m not trying to steal your girl. She’s my bestie. Plus I value my life.”
“Hendricks,” Karson growls.
Before I can say anything, another shadow falls over the table. Looking up, I vaguely recognize him from that night in Rapture. He just stands for a second watching the three of us.
“Kellen,” Karson nods at him. “Everything smooth this morning?” he asks, tone even.
Kellen nods, eyes flicking over to me. Not in an appreciative way, just measuring.
“Yes, sir. Rapture’s reopening went smoothly. Smaller crowd than usual. Made for an easy night.”
“Good,” Karson clips. The silence at the table stretches, almost uncomfortably slow before someone else walks up.
“Jesus fuck,” Karson groans. “The morning meeting is in the pit, not at my fucking breakfast table.”
This face I recognize, but I’m not sure of his name. He chuckles.
“Sorry. I actually stopped in for a coffee and saw you guys as I was leaving,” he lifts the cup in his hand.
My phone vibrates on top of the table, but I ignore it. The newcomer glances over to me and smiles.
“I’m Owen,” he tells me and I nod politely.
“Nice to officially meet you,” I say. “Thanks for the other night.” Karson’s spine stiffens in my peripherals.
Owen nods. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He slaps Kellen on the back, and the two turn to exit the restaurant.
Karson shifts in the booth, giving Cole a pointed stare. Cole’s hands raise in surrender and he stands.
“Consider me gone,” he rolls his eyes, “See ya, Ash.”
I wave at him, and the waitress reappears to take our order. My phone vibrates again, this time I flip it over, my shoulders dropping when I see the text preview on the screen.
Melissa
We’ve secured your seat for the Children’s Legacy Gala this Friday. Please confirm your attendance.
Your father and I would hate to have to reconsider the financial arrangements in place.
Of fucking course.
Letting out a sigh, I flip the device back over a little too roughly. I’ll deal with that after food. I snort at the irony. Them hosting a gala to show off as the saints who fund foster homes?
“Pricks,” I mumble.
“Who was that?” Karson asks, his eyes watching me intently.
“Melissa,” I clip, taking a sip of my water the waitress dropped off.
His eyebrows pull together. “Who’s Melissa?”
“If you ask her? My mother.”
He pauses, confusion flickering in his gaze. It vanishes in a millisecond.
“Is everything okay?”
I huff.
Nope.
“Yeah, she just expects me to be at an event she and her husband are hosting on Friday. I’ve kind of skipped the last three.” I shrug, and give the waitress my food order when she returns again. Karson does the same, his attention quickly back on me when she leaves.
“So, we’ll go.”
My heart pounds in my ears and I blink at him.
“We?”
His expression doesn’t change. “Yeah. We.”
A hundred thoughts slam into each other. Melissa’s tight smile. Jack’s assessing stare. The way they parade me around as proof they’ve done something good in their lives. Bringing Karson into that house would be like a lit match to gasoline. Part of me hesitates.
The other part wants to watch it burn.
I lift my chin. “It’s black tie.”
The corners of his mouth curve slowly. Dangerous. “Good.”
My pulse kicks harder. He doesn’t ask if he’s invited or if they’ll approve. He’s already decided.
Picking up my glass again, I steady my voice. “They won’t like it.”
His gaze sharpens, something dark flashing behind it.
“I don't care.”
Picking up my phone, I respond to Melissa, letting her know I’ll be there, then turn it off.
And just like that, I’m not walking into that house alone.