Chapter 10 #2
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me. “You win.”
“Ethan,” I whimper and then buck the fuck up, because I did fucking win and that’s a first. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“No, it isn’t. But I’m not sitting here with you in a mess because you think I’m letting my brothers down by not going to find them. If I come back here and you’re dead, or worse, gone, do you know what that will do to me?” He pulls out and zips himself up briskly.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“No, I don’t think you do. Do you know why? Because this isn’t an infatuation for me anymore, Annabelle. It’s moved so far past obsession, I’m not even sure what it is.” His chest rises hard, then settles by force. “So don’t ask me to gamble with you.”
The words hit somewhere deeper than fear. They lodge under my ribs and stay there.
I slide off the island on shaky legs and pull my knickers and leggings back on, my fingers clumsy. He watches every movement like he wants to stop this even now. I can see the fight in him. It would be easier for him to lock me in here and call it protection.
Part of me wants him to.
“I’m not asking you to gamble with me,” I say quietly. “I’m asking you to trust what you made me into.”
His expression shifts. It goes still. “That’s a dangerous fucking sentence.”
“I know.”
He drags a hand over his face. “You stay in this penthouse. Doors locked. No opening for anyone but me, Aidan, or Callan. If anyone tries to get in, you shoot them in the face and ask questions later.” He picks up the gun and hands it to me.
I stare at it like he just handed me a ball of alien goo. “I don’t know what to do with this thing.”
“Point it and shoot.”
“Not helpful.”
He smirks and moves behind me. He lifts my arms and places my free hand over the grip, correcting my hold with maddening patience.
“Finger off the trigger until you mean it,” he says against my ear. “Stance wider. Don’t lock your knees.”
I try. It feels ridiculous. Heavy. Wrong. My heart is still thudding from him being inside me two seconds ago, his cum flooding my knickers, and now I’m holding a gun in his kitchen while his body heat presses into my back.
“This is insane.”
“Yes,” He adjusts my wrist. “But if someone gets through that door, I’d rather you be insane and armed than frightened and polite.”
“Fair point.”
He steps around me and takes up position in front of the island, coffee gone cold behind him, expression flat and focused again. The switch in him is brutal. One second, he is all sex and possession. The next, he is strategy and violence. “Have you got it in you?”
“If your mad mother is coming at me, I’ve got it in me.”
“And Jack?”
“I already hit him once, shooting him is a natural progression.”
He snorts. “You have no idea how much those words turn me on.”
“I’m an adult, and I might’ve lost my way, but I’m back. At least back enough to protect myself if I have to. I hope I don’t have to.”
“That makes two of us. You do know that Aidan is going to kick my arse into next week when he knows I’ve left you.”
“I’ll apologise when you are all back here with me.”
“You really want me to do this?” It’s a serious, fair question.
I lower the gun and give him the attention he deserves. “Yes. I’m not being too stupid to live, or arrogant, or demanding. I’m being practical, responsible, and I know you are worried about them.”
“I’m more worried about you.”
“I’m not bleeding out and missing.”
That gets to him. His jaw sets. He knows that I’m right.
For a long second, he says nothing. He just stands there staring at me with that hard, unreadable look that means something violent is happening inside him and he is forcing a lid on it.
Then he nods once.
“I know,” he says at last. The words sound dragged out of him with pliers. “That’s the problem.”
Relief hits so fast it makes me dizzy.
“In return,” he says, stepping closer again, “you do exactly what I told you. No wandering about. No opening the door because someone sounds convincing. No fucking heroics.”
“No heroics.”
“You stay in the en-suite.”
I nod. That had been my plan anyway.
“Good.” His eyes drop to the gun in my hands. “Show me.”
I lift it again, trying to remember the angle he gave me. My grip is awkward. My arms feel too stiff.
He watches for half a second, then reaches out and nudges my elbow down. “Better. Safety.” He goes through the process of flicking it off and on.
His hand slides to the back of my neck. He pulls me in and kisses me once. Hard. Quick. Possessive. “That is to remind you what you’re staying alive for.”
I look at him. “Don’t die.”
Something dark moves across his face. “I won’t. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I won’t either.”
“If anything feels wrong, you do not investigate. You lock yourself in and call me.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Don’t make me regret this, Tinks.”
“I’ll try not to.”
He growls.
“What?” I say. “It’s out of my hands if your mother arrives.”
“Right. I’m not going.”
“No. You are. If she wanted me dead-dead, she’d have made sure to get me while I was in the window. I think I’m okay for now.”
Ethan stares at me for another beat, weighing that against whatever instinct is clawing at him.
Then he swears under his breath, takes his keys from the counter, and heads for the lift. “This is me doing something I fucking hate because you asked me to.”
“I know.”
He comes back three strides, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me again. Harder this time. Longer. It feels like a warning, a promise, and something far too close to goodbye for my liking.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for one second. “Phone on loud. You answer me at once.”
“I will.”
“If I call and you don’t answer, I’ll turn the city upside down.”
“Noted.”
His eyes search my face like he is trying to memorise it. “Good. I’ll lock the lift from downstairs” Then he is gone.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen with the gun in my hand, and then I blink and move to the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I pick up my phone and carry it to the en-suite, my heart pounding like I’ve run a hundred miles.