A low laugh. “Fuck awkward.”
He lifts me suddenly, pushing me forward until I’m on all fours, my knees on the warm cushion where he’d been lounging, my hands on the broad back of the chair. From this position I can see through the half window, through the breezy white curtains to the Eiffel Tower. It’s lit up for the night, glowing like a beacon in the center of the city.
That’s the position I’m in when he licks me from behind, when he bites my butt cheek. There’s nothing awkward about the way he makes me moan. And that’s the position I’m in when he fucks me, his cock in my pussy, his thumb in my asshole, riding me hard enough to make me grunt like an animal, fucking me until I scream his name to the starless night sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elijah
She comes hard enough that she almost passes out, and I carry her limp body to the bed. She curls around the pillow and falls asleep right away.
I stand at the edge of the bed, watching her, waiting. For what?
The urge to lie with her in my arms pulls at me. My hands flex as I imagine tangling them in her hair or holding her breasts. I don’t only want her when we’re having sex. I want to consume her every second of the day.
It’s dangerous, this wanting.
Those iron bars in the church—they’re still here, lined up around me like soldiers, keeping me from true freedom. Walking out of that basement did nothing to release me. I’ll never be good enough for Holly—never soft enough, never kind enough.
So I turn around and leave the suite, where my brother waits downstairs, sitting in an armchair like the one where I fucked Holly. I wonder if I looked the way he does now—so very alone.
At the bar I pour us both some Jameson, practically contraband in the land of wine and absinthe. It was our father’s drink of choice, though he’d settle for beer when the liquor store cut him off and he had to go to the gas station. I sit across from him, setting down the glass. He glances at it a moment before taking a drink.
“First time I’ve had that in years,” he says.
“Figured a family reunion should have some memories. Even if they’re dark.”
“I am sorry for—”
“Don’t.”
He runs a hand over his face. I recognize it because I do that, too, sometimes. I wonder if Holly and London share the same mannerisms like that. “I am.”
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”
“I know he was a sick fuck. And he was getting sicker. I left you to that.”
“You protected me when you could.” I remember my brothers taking beatings that were meant for me. I remember them giving me food at night when our father had passed out. I remember the way they protected me before they left.
“Since we’re talking about it, did our mother—did she ever come back?”
“Hell.”
“I looked for her. Later. When I had the resources. I’m not hoping for some big reconciliation, but if she needed money right now, if she needed—”
“She doesn’t.”
“Then it’s true.” He looks at me, his dark green eyes unfathomable. “She’s dead.”
I have to swallow hard against the memories. They’re fleeting but all the more powerful because of being rare. Her singing a song. Her warmth when she held me. Feeding me. She must have lived in fear with that fucker as her husband, but she found love in her heart for us. “Yes.”
He looks away, toward the window where the Eiffel Tower looks like a gaudy fucking party trick. I’ll never be able to see it again without tasting Holly’s sweet pussy.
The irony is, this was my first time in France since the diamond heist. And it’s connected. Her being here isn’t a coincidence. I involved her in my mission once before.
Now she’s inextricably linked to this, too.
How will she feel when she finds out I used her—again?
“Having second thoughts?” Liam asks. “About keeping her here?”
Second thoughts? “Fuck no.”
I knew when I walked out of that prison cell that she was mine. I probably knew even before that, when I first sensed an angel in there with me.
It’s something deeper than affection. Darker than love. She’s mine.
“Does she know that she’s not allowed to leave?”
I shake my head once. “Not yet.”
My brother cocks his head to the side. “If we had come from a different family, I might try to convince you not to do it this way. You could try talking to her, explain how you feel, explain what you’re worried about.”
It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language. “I’m keeping her alive.”
“I have a feeling if I tried to take her from you, one of us would end up dead.”
My whole body tenses. “You’re not taking her.”
“God, Elijah. He really did a number on us, didn’t he?”
“You seem pretty fucking normal.” I’m the one too broken to even tell a woman I’m fucking that I care about her. I want her alive. That’s the kindest sentiment I can offer. I’m basically a machine made to fight and lie and kill. There is no setting that allows me to love.
He takes a large swallow of scotch. “You have no idea.”
“So tell me. You want me to work for your company? Tell me something about you that I could use to put you in jail. That’s how you show you trust me. Mutually assured destruction.”
“The sad part is how much logical sense that makes to me.”
I take a sip. “I’m waiting.”
He sighs. “I’m guardian to a little girl who… God, I’ve never even spoken the words aloud. I killed her father. Poison. One of those orders from the US government that they’d deny until the end. Only, I didn’t know she was in the room. Didn’t know she’d take a sip.”
“Jesus.”
“She almost died.”
“And a judge thought you’d be a great dad?”
“Fuck no, but they were easy enough to bribe. I started taking care of her out of guilt, but now I care for her… because of herself. Who she is. Except she’ll hate me if she ever finds out what I did.”
“It’s actually impressive how fucked up that is.”
“Thanks,” he says, his voice dry.
I hold out my drink. “To mutually assured destruction.”
He matches my toast, and we both drink. He’s right about one thing. Our father really did a number on us. We destroy the things we love, and then it’s too late, far too late to fix them. When Holly finds out what I did, she’ll despise me, but it won’t matter then.
She’s already mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Holly
The monster is back. Only this time, there’s no leash. He’s eating me, and I’m sobbing, begging for someone to help me. No one will help you. The words shimmer in the air, unspoken but understood. He gnaws on my body—skin, muscle, and bone. There won’t be anything left of me. The monster pauses and looks up, his eyes flashing green and gold, and I scream.
“Holly.”