His words set me on fire. He’s never spoken to me like that. And yet he’s been privy to all my turn-ons over the years. All my confessions of what was missing in my sexploits.A filthy mouth is a hot commodity and far too rare,was likely one of them. Dangerous information.
He pulls back to gauge my reaction, but when I neither confirm nor deny his assumption beyond my feverish cheeks and the sopping material he’s caressing, he turns to granite. “Call who you want. Get a whole goddamn army. Doesn’t matter. You’re mine,Viper. From now until the end of fucking time.”
My tolerance for whatever is going on here wanes with his threat, so I sacrifice the budding inferno between my legs to spit out my rancorous retort. “I tell you that you bring me back to that floor, and your answer is to hold me prisoner?”
“I deserve that—your wrath, your resentment.” The same hand that was stroking my panties brushes my hair back, his thumb sweeping over my cheek and the smell of my arousal fading the lines that used to be solid. “I’ll shoulder it all, but that’s also the reason I won’t let you go. If I had done things my way, neither of us would be stuck on that floor. This is my fault.”
His waywould have likely amounted to him killing Dalton long before that horrific night. I would have hated him if he had, and he knew it. I asked him to back off, so he did. Well, I guess I did. I gradually cut off communication throughout the pregnancy and after to keep things smooth at home. How could he take responsibility for that?
“I don’t blame you. That’s not—”
“You might not view it like that,” he interrupts, his intense blues meandering all over my face, “but it’s the truth. This time, you can hate me. It’s clear that even though part of you craves more from me, the rest of you never will. And we’ve established that the friendship was lost to the carnage of that night. But someday, you’ll let me carry your wounds. I have to believe thatbecause the only wayIget off that fucking floor is to save you from it.”
He kisses my temple, pulls us both to a standing position, and leads the way to the penthouse, waiting until we’re almost at the top to add to the emotional bomb he just detonated. “Even if you don’t want to face it, you know I’m the one person who will do whatever it takes to keep you whole. There is nothing more important to me. So, for both of us and for Remy, you’re mine now.”
I’m dumbstruck, staring at his back as he treks down the hallway and scans his iris to obtain entrance. And it hits me how much this clandestine passageway—a backdoor route into the Noire palace from their coveted establishments—isn’t so different from where I’ve been the past three years.
Isolated between two overwhelming destinations.
Shackled to the past. Barred from the future.
Purgatory.
Axel’s voice shakes me out of my daze. It’s merely a hiss, probably to spare Remy, but an angry reprimand in essence nonetheless. “You threatened Vander Floros?”
“And his brothers,” Ryker roars with enough bite that it’s evident homicide is still on the table. “Oh, and the entirety of everyone at the Blind Tiger. You seem pissed, so maybe I’ll add the warning to our stationery, going forward. Make things crystal fucking clear. They stay away from what’s mine.”
“So much for not goddamn bulldozing, Ryker. Amy is like family. Everett is getting a massive UV tattoo tonight. He’s had it booked for months. The Floroses? Fucking hell. And where is Mercy?”
“In the hall, refusing to join us because things got too heated andreal.”
“Okay.” Axel’s tone is placating and emphasized by a sigh so loud that it might as well be a news broadcast that he’s more than aware of what that coded message from Ryker meant.
He ambles out to see me, empathy cloaking his features. “C’mon, Mercy.”
Everything crashes into me.
Guilt for dropping all my baggage on Ryker—the person who’s shown up for me the most in the world.
Rage for how he is blatantly ignoring that I can’t be here.
Relief—this one is baffling—that he seems to have it all under control, that he’s adept at taking decisions from me and seeing the big picture. I’m just so fucking tired.
Thrill because my body is capable of feeling things I feared I’d never experience again. I think I could have come on that staircase if he hadn’t pissed me off.
Sorrow because I don’t know where we go from here. Even if I could make sense of what this is between us, I’m too broken for a romantic partnership. And he’s too … Ryker. Too intense for anything casual—obviously, since he threw out the phraseend of fucking timewhen referring to me being his and it didn’t sound like hyperbole. My honesty here will be our final straw, no matter how much he wants to hang on.
I could settle into any of those emotions, and they’d fit like a well-worn shoe, albeit some less comfortable than others. But as Axel’s eyes line with pity, I choose the one that won’t cause me to crumple to the floor—rage.
Fuck the Cinderella slipper. Let’s go with a combat boot.
But first, I’m a mom, so … “Where’s Remy?”
“Sleeping,” he says.
“Speaking of Everett”—my jaw stiffens as I strut into the penthouse kitchen, harnessing every bit of fury I generally stifle—“he got pulled over for a DUI, was found to be within the legal limit, but got charged with marijuana possession. From what hetold me, it’s a nuisance case based on a personal vendetta from the arresting officer. I agreed to take it.” I fling my hand toward the fuming Noire brother for exhibit A. “But after a psychotic outburst from the Jäger police, I’ve been informed that’snot happening. He also keeps reminding me about that ludicrous contract though, and based on that, it’s your decision, Axel.”
Ryker growls. Like a deranged lunatic.
