I will tell him the full scope of what we do eventually. When I can be sure it won’t scare him off.
Speaking of Ansel, I wonder if he’s still sleeping upstairs. He was when I went up to shower—didn’t even move when I slipped through the room to change.
My dick must have really worn him out. He did take it so good.
The thought has it perking up again. I want him endlessly, but I know I have to give him time to recover. From taking me hostage, to having my brothers show up, to taking my cock like some kind of porn star, Ansel has been through alot.
Plus, game night is coming up, and I need him ready for what’s about to go down.
I continue watching the flames flicker, chewing at my bottom lip. I still need to talk to Ansel about who was behind the kidnapping in the first place. Even if I wasn’t the intended target, it still happened. Whatever they have on Ansel is serious enough for him to be worried about his life.
I need to find out what it is and who dared to threaten him. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s holding me back.
Maybe it’s because you won’t have an excuse to keep him here any longer once you’ve taken care of things. He might leave if he has no reason to stay.
I rub at the back of my neck. I don’t like the fact that those cunts who threatened him are still breathing, but I also don’t want Ansel to leave.
I just need a little more time to win Ansel over. It’s going great so far, but I need to besure.
While he’s here, he’s safe. We have time. I don’t need to rush things.
Dalton takes his phone from his pocket and scowls at the screen. “Fuck.”
“Where you going?” Wylder asks as Dalton strides across the room.
Dalton’s already halfway out the door before he pokes his head back in. “Gonna go help Jackson with something. I guess it’s an emergency.”
I cock my head, and we all stare at him until he flips us off and walks out of the room, apparently on his way to help Wyatt’s little brother.
“He’s having the wool pulled over his eyes by a teenager,” Wylder says.
“He’s nineteen, but yeah, he is. Dalton’s not the brightest bulb,” I reply.
Samson stretches, his back cracking. “Gonna go and take care of this shit right now. Want to get it off my schedule. I have better things to do with my life than murder.”
I peer over at his assignment and sigh wistfully. “Trade ya?”
“What the fuck did I just say?” Wylder threatens.
He goes ignored.
Samson holds the paper to his chest and shakes his head. “Nope. After dinner last night, I need to murder someone. And this one deserves it.”
Wylder throws down his pen and runs his hands through his hair. “I get it. Last night was frustrating, and I’ve decided that Candace won’t be attending any more dinners. We’re taking some time apart. Possibly permanently.”
“Is she dead?” Samson’s lips almost curl up at the corner.
Wylder rolls his eyes. “No, she’s not dead. We can’t solve all of our problems with murder.”
There’s no mistaking the hopeful note in Samson’s voice. “Incapacitated, then? Maybe her lips fell off. And her teeth. Oh fuck, tell me it’s her limbs.”
Wylder gives Samson a flat glare. “We’re literally taking time apart. She’s not missing limbs or lips or teeth. But I realize she’s obviously not a good fit for the family.”
“She’s not.” I hum. “But Ansel is. Did you see him put her in her place?”
Samson shoves me. “We all did. Not everyone can get so lucky.”
Then he tosses his paper into the fire and stalks from the room.
