“We don’t have a minute. Marcus is putting a bounty on her head. We need to move. Now.”
“She just found out the man who—” Ghost stops himself. Starts again. “She needs a minute.”
Titan appears beside them, still covered in blood. The prospect’s blood. Red mixing with red until I can’t tell what’s his and what isn’t.
He looks at me, and something in his expression shifts. The rage that was there moments ago softens into something else. Concern, maybe. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I’m fine,” I hear myself say.
“You’re not fine. You’re in shock.” Titan moves closer. “Ghost, let her go. I’ve got her.”
Ghost releases me slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll collapse the second he does. Maybe I will.
But Titan’s there, one massive hand on my elbow, steadying me. “Can you walk?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Then walk with me.”
He guides me out of the barn, his hand firm on my arm. The afternoon sun is too bright after the darkness inside. I squint against it.
Brothers watch as we pass. Their expressions range from pity to anger to determination. They all heard what the prospect said.
They all know Marcus Stone is claiming me.
Titan leads me across the compound toward the back building where his room is. We climb the stairs. His door is at the end of the hall—reinforced, like everything else about him.
Inside, Titan’s room still amazes me every time I see it. The massive bed with its custom frame could easily fit three normal beds. Heavy furniture reinforced to support his weight. Everything oversize, built for a man who’s six-foot-six and carved from stone.
The first time I came in here, I couldn’t stop staring. The ceiling is higher than standard. The doorframes are wider. Even the bathroom has a shower that looks like it was built for giants.
Now it just feels like his—solid, strong, unmistakably Titan.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the bed.
I sit. The mattress barely dips under my weight.
He stands in front of me, still covered in blood. His shirt is soaked with it. His jeans splattered. His hands?—
I stare at his hands. Blood under his nails. Some dried, some still wet.
“You should shower,” I say.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t move.
“Let me help you.”
His eyebrows rise. “Help me?”
“Wash off the blood. You can’t do it yourself with your hands like that.” I stand and move toward the bathroom. “Come on.”
He follows me into the bathroom. The shower stall is huge, easily big enough for two people. Three, maybe.
I turn on the water and let it heat while Titan strips off his shirt. His torso is a map of scars and ink.
His jeans come off next. Then his boxers. He has zero self-consciousness about his nakedness, like modesty is a concept that doesn’t apply to him.
His cock hangs heavy between tree-trunk thighs, the blunt head brushing the inside of one leg like it’s too lazy to lift yet. A single fat vein snakes the underside, pulsing when the first blast of hot water hits his skin. The shaft twitches, thickens a fraction, and settles half-hard against his thigh while red rivers run from his knuckles and swirl down the drain.
