Chapter 18
AERIANNA
When we got back, we unloaded the two men from the back of Zach’s SUV, and Capone had them strung up in a secret room toward the back of the property. I wanted first crack at them, but my priorities shifted when we found Elise in the basement and saw the pain in Trigger’s eyes. Their well-being was at the forefront of my mind. That’s what I get for taking my eyes off the finish line. Instead of following my head, I followed my heart and went to check on Trigger. That’s when I saw it.
“Son of a bitch!” I shake my hand. I punched that skank with. It’s starting to swell. When I saw her draped all over Trigger and him almost kissing her, I lost it. I’ve never lost my cool with anyone before, but seeing that sent me into an uncontrolled rage.
After everything Trigger and I have been through, and he wants that bitch, well, he can have her. I finally opened my heart and started trusting, and he had to shatter it.
I passed Zach on the way out, and instead of walking back to my apartment, which I was going to do, he tossed me his keys. No words were spoken between us. A part of me didn’t want to go, but the logical part of my brain made me get the fuck out of there before I did anything more I’d regret.
Now, I’m nursing a possible fractured hand from it connecting with that bitch’s face while driving myself back to my apartment.
I park the SUV in one of the visitor's parking spots and turn it off. I sit back in the seat and take a deep breath. Did I do the right thing by leaving like I did? Should I have stayed and talked to Trigger? What does this mean for us now?
All these questions swirl inside my head as I climb out of the SUV and head to my apartment. I unlock my apartment door in a daze and drop the keys in the bowl by the door. I unstrap my service weapon and place it on the stand next to the bowl.
I shake out my aching hand and head toward the kitchen for ice, but a sudden chill prickles across my skin. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
The apartment is silent, too silent.
I stop mid-step, holding my breath. The air feels off. Heavy. As if something unseen is pressing against my chest.
Slowly, I turn toward the living room. My pulse thrums in my ears. Nothing looks out of place, but the wrongness lingers, coiling in my gut like a warning.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
I reach for my service weapon, gripping it in my left hand. It’s going to suck if I have to shoot someone, but I did teach myself how to be ambidextrous just in case something like this happens.
The cool metal grounds me, but my nerves remain on high alert.
Nothing appears to be out of place, but the creepy feeling that someone is watching me still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
A soft creak causes me to whip around, gun raised.
I cautiously walk to my bedroom and notice the door is closed. That’s weird because I always leave my bedroom door open, even when I’m sleeping.
A cold sweat beads at my temple. Every instinct screams at me that something isn’t right.
I step forward cautiously, my heartbeat thundering in my chest. The doorknob is cool beneath my fingertips, but as I grip it, pain shoots up my arm from my fractured knuckles. I grit my teeth and push through, twisting the knob.
The hinges groan as the door swings open slowly. I flip on the light and look around. Nothing is out of place, but my gut is telling me something is off.
I scan the room, and nothing is out of place. My bed is untouched, the bathroom is empty, and the closet doors are shut. I crouch, peering under the bed. No movement. No shadow lurking in the dark.
The uneasy feeling remains. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe I’m overthinking. Or maybe I’m not.
I head back to the refrigerator and grab some ice out of the freezer. I wrap it in a towel and sit on my couch. I set my service weapon on the coffee table and turn on the T.V. Once I find something brain-numbing to watch, I sit back and relax, placing the ice on my hand. It stings at first but eventually stops throbbing.
I close my eyes trying to get some sleep, but images of Trigger, Allison, Elise, Rauel, and even the Ol’ Ladies from the Royal Bastards come at me.
Allison's voice echoes in my head, a whisper at first, then a scream. Why haven’t you helped me?
I see her. Not the laughing, carefree girl I once knew. Her body, Zach and I found crumpled in the alleyway, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, blood soaking through torn clothes. Her eyes are empty, accusing, locked onto mine.
Rauel is standing over Allison’s abused and broken body, his dark eyes are accusing me of not keeping my promise. You failed, he mouths into the darkness.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My lungs burn. I need to scream. I need to speak. But my voice is gone, swallowed by the darkness pressing in around me.
Allison and Rauel are screaming at me for help, and I can’t help them. I can’t stop what’s happening.
Then, when I can’t take it anymore, Trigger appears. His intense gaze, hot and demanding, lingers on my body, making me crave him.
When I reach out to touch him, his face twists. His eyes burn with rage. Rage from leaving him, rage from not getting there on time to prevent his sister from being hurt.
I try to speak, try to tell him I did the best I could, but nothing comes out. My voice is a whisper across a loud ocean.
I take a step forward, but the ground beneath me crumbles. The Ol’ Ladies are behind him now, their expressions unreadable. Allison and Rauel join them, their mouths moving, telling me I’m not doing a good enough job.
The distance between us stretches. I try to run, but my feet won’t move.
No. No. No.
A shrill, inhuman wail fills the space around me. It’s mine. But I never opened my mouth.
The world fractures.
A loud thump jolts me awake.
My body jerks upright, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. My lungs burn as I drag in a ragged breath, but there’s not enough air in the room. My skin is damp with sweat, the thin fabric of my shirt clinging to me like a second skin.
My fingers tremble as I reach for my gun, but my grip is weak. My right hand throbs from the earlier punch, but the pain barely registers over the lingering terror clawing at my chest.
A shiver rips through me. My muscles ache, locked so tight I can feel the strain in my shoulders, my back, and my jaw.
I press my palm against my sternum, trying to slow my breathing, but my heart is still hammering, the echo of the dream refusing to fade.
The apartment is dark and silent, but my pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything else. I squeeze my eyes shut. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
But my body doesn’t believe me.
My stomach twists violently, nausea rolling through me in waves. The scent of sweat and stale air clings to me, suffocating. I push off the couch, my knees nearly buckling as I stand. My head pounds, a dull, insistent throb behind my eyes.
My fingers curl into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I just need a second, a breath. I need some control. But as I stare at the darkened room around me, the lingering weight of unseen eyes settles against my skin.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel truly alone.
I reach for my phone with shaky fingers when another thump, followed by a pounding, echoes through my apartment.
A deep, gut-churning dread lingers in my chest, the nightmare still clinging to my skin like sweat. My body feels wrung out, the phantom echoes of screams still ringing in my ears.
Another thump. I freeze, my breath catching. The sound isn’t coming from inside but just beyond my door.
Thump. Thump. Boom. A full-on pounding shakes the wood. My stomach knots. Is someone out there? Watching? Waiting?
My fingers tighten around my service weapon, still damp from my sweaty grip. The nightmare felt so raw, so real. Another sharp knock makes my pulse slam against my ribs, but I force myself to move.
Slow, deliberate steps take me toward the peephole. My bare feet are silent against the hardwood. My body still hums with adrenaline, instincts screaming at me to be ready.
“Aerianna, open up.” Trigger pounds on my door again, causing me to jump.
I check the peephole. When I see it is Trigger, the relief is so overwhelming my knees nearly give out. His broad shoulders fill the narrow hallway, his jaw clenched, his fist raised to pound again. I set my service weapon on the table and throw open my door before he wakes my neighbors.
“Trigger, what the…” My words are cut off when Trigger’s lips crash onto mine.
It isn’t gentle. It isn’t careful.
It’s desperate. Demanding. Consuming.
The nightmare still clings to me, poisoning my thoughts, but Trigger shatters it in an instant. His lips are fire, searing away the icy fear that wrapped around my heart. His hands are rough, unrelenting, sure, holding me in place as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
A whimper escapes me, unbidden, and Trigger groans into my mouth, deep and primal. He presses closer, his body a solid wall of heat and strength, the scent of leather, gunpowder, and something uniquely him drowning out everything else.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him harder, closer, as if I can crawl inside his skin and forget the darkness that still lingers in the corners of my mind. Trigger answers with a growl, his grip tightening, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming me in a way that’s more than physical.
It’s a promise. A warning. A brand.
His body pins me to the wall, every muscle coiled with restraint, but barely. He’s holding back, but only just. I feel the hard press of him against my stomach, the proof of how much he wants this, and a deep ache coils low in my belly.
My nails dig into his shoulders, and that’s all it takes for his grip to tighten. A warning. A dare.
"Little Kitten," he murmurs against my mouth, voice thick with lust and something darker. "If you ever walk away from me again, I will hunt you down and make you wish you never did." His words should terrify me, but instead, they make me shiver.
"Trigger," My voice is breathless, needy.
"Shh." He kisses me again, this time slower, deeper, a promise laced with punishment. His hands skim under my shirt, sliding over bare skin, fingers branding their way up my sides. I arch into his touch, and he grins against my lips.
"You’re shaking," he whispers, his breath teasing my swollen mouth. "Tell me, are you still scared, or is this something else?"
I should answer. I should say something, anything. But I don’t.
Instead, I pull him closer until there’s no space left between us. I crush my mouth against his, kissing him harder, deeper like I can drown out everything I don’t want to feel. The nightmare. The fear. The ache.
Trigger growls low in his throat, his hands sliding up my sides, fingers rough and possessive against my skin. I feel the tension in his body, the way he’s barely holding back.
When I break away, I’m gasping, my lips tingle, and my heart pounds against my ribs.
“I don’t know what came over me,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I’ve never lost my temper like that.”
Trigger’s hand slides into my hair, his grip firm but careful, tilting my head so I can’t look away.
“While it was a huge fucking turn-on watching you put that skank in her place,” he murmurs against my jaw, his lips ghosting over my skin, “I want you to talk to me instead of reacting and running, Little Kitten.” His mouth trails lower, slow, teasing, his breath hot against my throat.
“Then you would’ve learned she came on to me.” His teeth graze my pulse point, making me shiver. “And you handled it before I could.”
My fingers dig into his shoulders, needing something solid to hold onto. Something real.
“Looks like you’re rubbing off on me,” I groan, my breath hitching as his fingertips trace a line of my spine.
“I’d rather be rubbing something else off.” Trigger’s voice is thick with hunger.
He kicks my door shut with the heel of his boot. The moment his lips crash back onto mine, we’re lost, all heat, all need, all recklessness. He carries me to the couch, his body pressing me down into the cushions, his weight deliciously heavy against me.
I widen my legs, welcoming him in. Trigger nips at my bottom lip, his mouth claiming, demanding, intoxicating. Then he kisses lower, down my throat, along my collarbone, between my breasts. Each press of his lips brands me, staking his claim.
“This,” Trigger murmurs against my skin, his teeth scraping as he yanks my shirt over my head, “is mine and only mine, Little Kitten.”
His shirt follows mine, ripped away in one fluid motion.
“Jesus, you need to warn me when you do that,” I rasp as heat pools low in my belly, a desperate ache I can’t ignore.
He smirks, his eyes dark with amusement and something far more primal. I barely have time to think before he shifts his hips, grinding into me, a low, wicked groan spilling from my lips at the friction.
“That’s what I love to hear, Little Kitten,” he growls. “Keep making those noises, and I won’t take my time with you.”
I arch into him, my nails biting into his back. “I don’t want slow and gentle, Carter.” My voice is a breathless plea. “I want you to fuck me.” The way his body tightens, the way his pupils blow wide, I know I’ve snapped whatever restraint he had left.
Trigger moves fast. My jeans and panties are gone before I can process it, and the rest of his clothes are discarded just as quickly.
I lean back against the couch, exposed, open, ready. Trigger’s gaze devours me, dark and heated, like he’s about to consume me whole.
“Come take what you want, Carter.”
He does. One thrust, and we’re joined together as one. It’s not just sex. It’s desperation. Possession. A silent promise wrapped in fire and friction.
He moves with purpose, with force, with need, and I match him, my body arching into his, taking everything he gives.
I don’t know where I end and where Trigger begins. All I know is that I don’t want this to stop. Because for the first time tonight, since waking up in that suffocating darkness, I finally feel something other than fear.
I feel alive.
The heat between us lingers in the air, thick and charged, but as the last waves of pleasure ebb, something colder creeps in.
Reality.
I lie against Trigger, my body still humming, my heartbeat trying to settle. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, his breath still ragged against my temple. For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then, just when I think he’s asleep, his arms tighten around me.
"You were shaking when I got here," Trigger murmurs, voice rough but laced with something gentler now. "Not from me. From before."
I don’t answer. I don’t want to talk about the nightmare, the feeling of failure, the accusations that I didn’t help, the screams that never make it past my lips. I don’t want to admit that I woke up feeling like I was drowning, my mind a cage I can’t escape.
But Trigger sees through me. He always has.
His fingers trace slow circles on my bare back, grounding me with silent reassurance.
"You don’t have to say anything," he finally whispers. "Just don’t shut me out, Aerianna. I can’t." He stops himself, but I feel the tension in his jaw where it rests against my forehead. He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to.
Because I feel it, too.
I exhale shakily, my fingers curling into his side. "I wasn’t going to walk away for good. I just needed space." The confession comes out softer than I expect.
Trigger pulls back just enough to look at me, his piercing blue eyes searching mine, like he’s looking for the cracks, the places where I might still be breaking.
"Good," he murmurs, brushing his lips against my forehead. "Because I wouldn’t let you." His grip on me tightens, creating a silent vow.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to take me before the ghosts do.
This time, when darkness comes, it’s warmer. Safer.
This time, I’m not alone.