21. Sage
TWENTY-ONE
SAGE
Brock:
Remember how you begged? Next time, no one saves you. Sweet dreams, Sage.
[Delete]
“No,” Holden says, for the fourth time since we got in the car.
“You haven’t even heard my full argument,” I say.
“I heard enough of it before you finished the first sentence.”
“That’s because you’re a cop and you think you already know the answer to every question.”
“I’m a detective. And I do.”
Milo leans forward from the back seat, his chin practically on the center console. “For the record, I think she makes a compelling case.”
“Nobody asked you, Milo.”
“Nobody has to ask me, Holden. I volunteer my opinions freely and without reservation. It’s one of my best qualities.” He pats my shoulder. “Continue, kitten. You’re doing great.”
I shift in my seat to face Holden, who is driving with the focused, stone-jawed expression of a man trying to end a conversation. Too bad for him, I’ve been practicing this speech.
“Here’s the thing, Holden. These people—whoever sent the text, whoever put the rope around my neck—they’re coming for me.
Not you. Not the group. Me. And right now I’m sitting in a house with my thumb up my ass, doing absolutely nothing while five men make plans for my safety. Do you know what that feels like?”
“Safe,” Holden says. “You should feel safe.”
“It feels like being a child. And I’m not a child, Holden. I killed a man with my own hands and I’d do it again—I want to do it again.”
“She wants it, Holden,” Milo says from the back. “Maybe even needs it. It’s honestly the hottest thing about her, and that’s a high bar.”
Holden’s jaw clenches. “Milo. You’re not helping.”
“Not helping you. I’m on kitten’s side here. I’ve seen her practice with the knife. She’s been working on her skills. Footwork, grip, angles—she’s good. She deserves the chance to channel some of that righteous feminine rage into something productive.”
Holden’s gaze snaps to the mirror. “She’s been doing what?”
Milo freezes. “Practicing. I may have skipped a chapter in the briefing.”
Holden exhales through his nose—the long, controlled kind that means he’s counting to ten and only making it to about six.
“Someone is stalking you and we don’t know who they are or when they’ll strike next.
When that threat is neutralized—when you’re not being actively hunted—then we talk about you becoming the hunter. ”
I frown. “You make it sound like a job promotion.”
“It’s more dangerous than a job promotion.”
“I’ve already done the dangerous part. I’ve already killed someone. You can’t un-ring that bell, Holden.”
“No. But I can make sure you’re alive long enough to ring it again. I swear to you, wildcat, when we work out who’s behind your attack, I will stand there and watch you rain blood and fuck you in the mess of it.”
My face goes hot, and Milo makes a noise behind us that can only be described as full-throated, unfiltered approval.
“I’m actually hard imagining that scenario,” Milo says, not even bothering to sound sheepish. “But if you want, Sage, I have several detailed bloodbath scenarios we could workshop for your first solo outing.”
“She’s not doing a solo outing,” Holden grinds out.
“Stop telling me what I can and can’t do,” I fire back before unclipping my seatbelt and climbing over the console into the back.
“The fuck are you doing?” Holden swerves as my ass gets in his face.
“Going where I’m wanted!”
“Kitten, I for one am delighted to field auditions for your murder-goddess era,” Milo says, catching me around the waist and hauling me across his lap as though I’m a rag doll and not a woman with a vendetta.
“You want in on the next job, I will personally design you a costume.”
“Costume?” I loop my arms around his neck as I stretch my thighs either side of his hips.
“Every vigilante needs a look, kitten. Oh, fuck—” His head lolls back when I grind against his hard length.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were hard,” I gasp.
“Murder is hot, and I never lie about erections, kitten.”
I roll my hips again, slow and deliberate, and Milo’s hands come down to anchor my ass in place. His head tips forward, his mouth at my ear, voice low and full of all the things he can’t keep to himself.
“You wanna make Holden crazy?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he pulls me into a kiss—messy, hot, tongue already deep, and I moan into it, half because I know it’ll drive Holden insane, half because Milo tastes like sin.
Holden’s eyes flick up to the mirror. “If you fuck in my car, I will—”
“You’ll what?” I ask, breaking the kiss just long enough to meet his eyes. “Put me under house arrest? Isn’t that what you’re already trying to do?”
His glare in the mirror could flay skin, but his grip on the steering wheel loosens.
Milo’s teeth graze my throat, Holden’s eyes darken, and the car swerves just enough to remind us we’re doing this at seventy miles an hour.
“Jesus—eyes on the road,” Milo laughs against my skin, but his hands are already working my shirt up, fingers splaying over my ribs. “Unless you want to watch. In which case, pull over.”
“I’m not pulling over,” Holden grits out, but his gaze keeps darting to the mirror, watching as Milo yanks my shirt over my head, exposing my bare breasts to the cool air of the car.
My nipples harden instantly, and Milo wastes no time, leaning in to suck one into his mouth—hot, wet pulls that make me arch and gasp.
“Fuck, Milo—yes,” I moan, grinding down on his cock, feeling him throb through his jeans.
The friction is delicious, building heat low in my belly, but it’s not enough.
I fumble with his zipper, freeing him, and he groans around my nipple as I stroke him—slow, firm pumps that have him bucking into my hand.
Holden’s knuckles are white on the wheel, his jaw locked, but every few seconds his eyes flick back, heated and hungry. “Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Don’t get come on my seats.”
“I make no promises.” Milo switches to my other breast, his free hand sliding between us to rub my clit through my panties.
I moan, then shove them aside and sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, savoring the stretch. “Oh God—Milo, so good.”
“Fuck, kitten—tight as always,” he growls, thrusting up to meet me, his hands gripping my hips as I ride him—slow rolls turning faster, harder, the car filling with the wet sounds of us, my moans mixing with his grunts.
Holden’s breathing is ragged now, the car speeding up slightly as his focus slips.
“You’re fucking killing me,” he mutters, eyes glued to the mirror, watching my body bounce with every thrust, Milo’s cock disappearing inside me.
The distraction shows—the speedometer creeps higher, and he swerves again, correcting with a curse.
“Focus on the road, detective,” Milo taunts. “Or pull over and join.”
“No time,” Holden snaps, but his voice is strained, arousal thick in every word.
I’m close already—the thrill of being watched, the risk of the highway, Milo’s skilled touches pushing me to the edge. “Milo—fuck, I’m gonna come,” I gasp, riding him harder, my head falling back as the orgasm builds, tight and hot.
“Fuck, kitten.”
“Yes! Milo!” Pleasure crashes over me, my body clenching as I come hard. Milo follows with a groan, spilling inside me, his hips jerking erratically.
At that exact moment, Holden overshoots the turn-off, cursing as he slams on the brakes. The car skids slightly before he regains control, throwing it into reverse and backing up to the parking garage entrance, tires screeching.
“Fucking hell,” he growls, pulling in and parking roughly. He kills the engine, turning in his seat to glare at us, but his eyes are dark with lust. “You two are impossible.”
Milo grins, still buried inside me, his hands roaming my back. “Worth it, though.”
I laugh breathlessly, leaning forward to kiss Milo softly. “Definitely worth it.”
Holden shakes his head, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Get dressed. We’re late enough as it is.”
Every time we enter Unholy Desires, I immediately wonder what it would be like to come to the club during opening hours. In daylight, it looks almost wholesome—an elegant, high-quality converted manor house in the exclusive part of town.
Knox opens the door before we knock—he’s been here all night, working security, and he looks it. His stubble is darker than usual, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
“You’re late.” He looks at me. Then past me at Holden and Milo.
“She’s in a mood,” Holden says. “Don’t piss her off or she’ll start fucking everyone but you.”
Knox’s mouth twitches in what could generously be called a smile, but instead of a greeting he holds the door open wider, ushering me in with a palm on the small of my back. I’m still glowy with aftershocks, sticky-wet in my underwear, and fully aware that he can probably smell Milo on me.
“Lucky I like to watch,” he rumbles, his chest vibrating against my shoulder as I pass.
The main floor is empty, with chairs stacked on tables, the bar wiped down, the exhibition stage bare.
It smells like leather polish and a ghost of last night’s expensive perfume.
Micah is behind the bar, and Eli is sitting on one of the stools across from him.
They’re close. Not touching, but close in the way that means something has shifted.
Micah’s body is angled toward Eli instead of away.
Eli’s shoulders aren’t hunched up around his ears.
There’s a pastry on a plate between them that they seem to be sharing.
Micah looks up when we walk in and his face softens immediately. “Morning, baby girl.”
“Morning.” I cross to the bar and let him pull me in for a kiss. His hand cups the back of my head and for a second I forget I’m still annoyed at Holden, not to mention Eli. Then I pull back and remember.
Eli’s watching. He looks away the second I clock him, but not fast enough. Jealous. Hungry. But the sad puppy eyes are brighter today.
Micah’s doing, I’m guessing.