We don’t speak after. Just lay there. Sweat-slick and panting, my arms still locked around her, our hearts racing in time.
For one breathless moment… I don’t feel hated. I feel at home.
Chapter 31
Candace
Lastnightwasn’tsomethingI ever saw coming. Not with him. Not with Malachi. But… I didn’t regret a single second. The memory stays with me, close and unshakable, woven into my skin. Warm, aching, saturated with the ghost of his touch. My thighs still pulse with the phantom weight of him between them. My lips still tingle where he kissed me, the way someone touches something sacred they never thought they'd deserve. When I wake, the other side of the bed is empty, but it’s still warm. He hasn’t been gone long.
I stretch slowly, every muscle aching in that satisfying way that lingers after being wanted. My hand grazes the dent his body left in the sheets, the cotton still warm from his weight. His scent lingers—leather, heat, and something smokier beneath it. That cologne he wears that always leaves a mark. I pull the blanket closer, burying my face in it for a breath longer than I need to. Something in my chest loosens. Something else tightens.
I shower quickly, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he said my name burning beneath the hot stream. The water scalds where his beard scraped me raw. I close my eyes and let it sting, letting the pressure pound into the curve of my spine where he’d held me down, reverent and wild. A lyric floats through my mind—burn me soft, love me brutal—but I don’t say it out loud. I never do. Words that raw live inside me, hidden in notebook margins and unfinished songs I’ll never sing aloud.
The sting of vulnerability still lingers, but it doesn’t ache the way it used to. Not when it’s him. Not after the way he looked at me, seeing something breakable and brutal in the same breath.
Dressed in leggings and an oversized tee, I pad downstairs, rubbing the last of sleep from my eyes. The hardwood is cool under my bare feet, the quiet hum of the house unnerving in its stillness. I swear I can still feel him in the air. As if the walls themselves remember how he touched me.
I don’t make it far.
“I want to find him for Victor,” Malachi’s voice rumbles, low and rough, worn from this being buried too long. “But I need to find him for me too. And if we don’t find Chuck soon, I’m going to be pissed. She deserves closure.”
I freeze at the bottom step. My breath catches. My name. He didn’t say it, but I hear it in the space between the words. It lands heavy; unexpected and dangerous. I press my hand to the banister, grounding myself.
“I have a lead on Chuck. And Donovan’s back in town,” someone replies. It’s not Nash. Not Knox or James either. The voice is unfamiliar. It’s clipped, calculating.
A prickle crawls down my spine. Something in that tone makes my pulse quicken. For a moment, I hover in the shadows until guilt prickles. I straighten and step into view, drawn by something deeper than curiosity. The hallway hums with the low buzz of the bar’s fridge and the distant creak of settling wood,but it’s the voices—low, tense, alive with purpose—that call me forward.
The meeting room is near the main lounge, tucked off the hallway behind the bar. The door is open. Malachi stands at the head of the table, flanked by two men I’ve never seen before. One of them is all swagger and charm, his dark hair tousled from trouble he probably enjoyed. There’s something wild in his grin, something reckless. The other… doesn’t look like he’s ever smiled. His eyes are dark and sharp, carved straight from stone. Even though he hasn’t moved, I feel seen. Known. Picked apart.
His head tilts slightly before I even clear the doorway, a slow shift that answers something in the air. He knew I was coming. The hair on my arms lifts. There’s something off about him. Not bad. Not exactly human either. I can’t name it. But my gut whispers that I should remember his face.
Then Malachi’s eyes meet mine. Just like that, the air rushes back into my lungs. His smile is subtle but real, and that knot of fear I didn’t even realize I was carrying begins to unravel. He holds out a hand. I don’t hesitate. Crossing the room, I slide into the space beside him. His arm curves around my waist, fitted there by instinct, his body a steady wall of heat against my side. I lean into it before I can stop myself, and the safety in that touch lands harder than it should.
“This is Candace,” he says, his voice a little softer now. “Candace, this is Leo and Arden.” Leo is the mischievous one, the one whose gaze lingers with curiosity. Arden is… not. He’s quiet, unreadable. Maybe a little terrifying. A shadow taught to walk upright.
I’ve heard about them before, Leo and Arden, but meeting them is different. They carry power in their bones. The room bends to accommodate them. Something about the way Arden watches me makes my skin itch with memory I can’t place. Ishift closer to Malachi without thinking, my body seeking shelter from whatever Arden is.
“Chuck is her dad,” Malachi adds, and I tense despite myself. Leo doesn’t push. Arden doesn’t blink. Neither of them asks questions. Somehow that’s worse and better. There’s no judgment in their silence. Just the heavy weight of understanding.
“We’ll find him,” Arden says simply. Something in the way he says it makes me believe him. His voice lands hard; it’s a promise wrapped in steel.
“We’ll let you know when we have more,” Leo adds with a nod, and the two of them leave without a sound.
The silence they leave behind is thick, humming with unspoken things. Questions. Fears. Needs I don’t want to name. Now it’s just me and Malachi. And the memory of last night crackling in the space between us.
I turn toward him, pulse starting to climb again for entirely different reasons. It should be awkward. I should be pulling away, pretending none of it mattered. But the way he’s looking at me? The heat in his eyes? It makes it very hard to lie to myself. My hand brushes my thigh, where his fingers had gripped me hours ago. The memory still sings beneath my skin.
“You have to work today?” he asks, voice deceptively casual.
A pit opens in my stomach. “I’m supposed to.”
His brow lifts in that way that says he already knows the answer. “You don’t want to go.”
“No.” I sigh. “There’s a new manager and I hate him.”
His gaze darkens. “Why?”
“He micromanages like it’s a power trip. And he keeps pretending I was never promoted. Ruby wants to key his car.”
