“We’ll make sure not a word of this breaches these walls,” he says, shaking my father’s hand. “Not a single word.”
I push to my feet, my body moving on its own, and I exit past the officer, who pats me on the back. Down the hall, then staircase, until I finally reach the foyer.
“Master?” Rand asks from behind. “Where are you going?”
I don’t answer him. I swipe the keys from the console where I left them earlier, and make my way toward the door.
“Master, you shouldn’t go anywhere right now.” The warning in Rand’s voice fails to breach the haze of determination, as I head toward the door. “Lucian!”
Once outside, I hustle down the staircase, toward my bike still parked on the drive. I need something, I don’t even know what. Speed. Air. Adrenaline. Something that will take away this intense pain. The massive hollow in my chest that’s doubled in size over the last hour. The emptiness and numbness that waits to devour me the moment I let down my guard.
“Boss!” Makaio calls, as he and Rand plod down the stairs after me.
I start up the bike, rev the throttle, and take off down the drive. Cool air whips past me, stealing my breath, as I pass through the gates of this hell. Flickering images of Roark slip through my mind, and I feed the bike more gas. Trees zip through my periphery, the buzz of the bike the only sound over the distant memory of Roark’s sleepy voice. Before I know it, the trees give way to the seaside, the winding road ahead calling to me.
More speed.
I think of the moments earlier, when I stood in the doorway, watching him play. What if I hadn’t bothered with the paperwork? What if I’d dropped it all and played with him right then?
More speed.
The visual of picking up the bottle and finding Amelia’s name on the label sends bullets of rage through my veins, and I clench my teeth together.
More speed.
I curse God for giving me something so meaningful, so crucial, only to swipe it right out of my hands.
Lights ahead approach fast, and somehow, they’re coming right at me. That’s when I catch sight of the line I’ve crossed on the road, and I swerve to avoid the crash. My hand slips from the throttle, flying into the air. The pavement crashes into my shoulder and tears into my face, as I drag across the concrete. Fire streaks up one half of my body, while the rest of me goes numb, and red gathers in my periphery, the world stands tilted on its side. A white hot pain rips across my skin. I see lights. Shadows looming over me.
Standing in front of them is Roark, clutching his teddy.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Chapter 44
Lucian
Present day …
“Roark!” I snap out of the nightmare, momentarily disoriented as I search the room for familiarity.
My son. Gone. Dead.
Bile rises in my throat, my head spinning out of sleep, while my surroundings come into view.
The dark chandelier, white curtains, dark Victorian décor, all tell me I’m in Amelia’s room.
Amelia.
Turning to my side, though, I find black raven hair fanned out against the stark white pillows, her equally black lashes fluttering in dreams. Not Amelia. Isa.
Isa.
Shaken to my core, I drag her body into mine, where her small frame perfectly melds into my much larger form. With my face pressed into her nape, I screw my eyes shut, mentally pushing away the lingering images of my nightmare. My son. Pale and cold and dead.
Her scent penetrates the chaos inside my head, the warm and inviting aroma that’s a mix between sweet vanilla cream and her own personal fragrance. I drag my lips over her soft skin, kissing her shoulder, while my breaths calm, my pulse slows. Wrapping her tighter against me, I feel her body tick with life, her heartbeat and steady exhale like a metronome that lures me back to the present. I’ve had nightmares before, and woken up to cold sweats, sleepwalking, sometimes swinging out at nothing but shadows. Tonight, I’m grateful for Isa’s presence. The way she soothes the restlessness that claws inside of me. The wretched demons of my past spoiling for their usual nightly torment.
With her back to my chest, she shifts and moans, and I kiss behind her ear to settle her. For years, I’ve shunned the idea of sharing a bed with a woman. But Isa is delicate. A fragile bird in the palm of my hand, whose vicious bites are the result of cruelty and neglect. She needs direction and guidance, security and protection. Things I could give her, if not for my trepidations.
I’ve been careful to avoid repeating the mistakes of my past, of tangling myself in another web of commitments and responsibilities, but this girl is different somehow. I can feel my defenses crumbling when I’m around her, and as much as that might frustrate the hell out of me, I don’t hate it, either.
Thoughts of her story from earlier come to mind, the way my body reacted to her distress, tense and shaking with anger. There’s more to what happened that night, something she’s leaving out, but I didn’t push it. I wanted to punish those who put the panic and fear in her eyes, while she spoke through detached words, trying to convince me that she left that party unscathed. I know better than that. A girl doesn’t sleep with a blade under her pillow and cut up her arms in the name of a friend. I don’t care how close they were. Those boys hurt her, too, and in turn, I wanted to hurt them—still do.
I would find joy in their misery, pleasure in their suffering, while gifting them with a slow and agonizing penance.
Perhaps I am a sadist, after all.
I would’ve destroyed every last one of them for her.
My raven beauty.
My Isa bella.
Chapter 45
Isadora
The intoxicating scent of cologne rouses me from dreams. A rich woodsy, masculine flavor dances through my senses, and I stretch against the solid body pressed against me. His strong palm slides over my belly at the same time as a deep, growly sound rumbles in his chest, and I turn to face him. Eyes still closed, he seems to fight waking, but the small bit of early morning light coming in through the curtain is hard to ignore in the otherwise dark room.
The steady cadence of his breathing expands and contracts his back, where resting muscles protrude beneath his skin. Broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips and tight buttocks, his magnificent body shamelessly on display. Everything about Lucian, from this angle, oozes unearthly perfection.
Full irresistible lips beg to be kissed, and I lean in, feeling the light tickle against my mouth as I brush mine over his. His hand slides lower, lips quirking to a half smile, and he turns to his side, dragging my leg over his hip.
Pressed against his naked form, I feel the enormous shape of his erection prodding my belly. When I shift against him, he finally lifts his eyelids, exposing those beautiful golden irises. The scarred half of his face lies buried in the pillows, and from my angle, all I see is the flawless half. The side of him that he doesn’t turn away when I stare at him, like I am now.
I reach up to trace his perfectly trimmed hairline, down to his chiseled jawline. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very handsome when you’re not being a jerk?”
He snorts a laugh, turning his face into the pillow, away from my touch. “There she is,” he mumbles. “The smartass.”