He tilts his head. “Then don’t belong to someone,” he says. “Belong with us.”
My heart’s a wildfire in my chest.
Because fuck. I think I already do.
CHAPTER 49
Graham
She nods.
Barely. Just once.
But it’s all I need.
A lifetime of discipline, of restraint, of control—none of it prepares me for the way that simple motion shatters something inside me.
She’s ours. Mine. She doesn’t know what she just agreed to. Not really. But she will.
My hand is still on her knee, her skin warm beneath my palm. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide and sure, not a flicker of doubt in them, and fuck—it undoes me in a way I didn’t know I could be undone.
“I need to do something,” I murmur.
I force myself to stand, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my phone. I don’t look away from her as I scroll to the contact. Her contact. Mitchell Delong. My thumb hovers over the call button for half a second before I hit it.
Carson whistles low. “Oh, we’re doing this now, huh?”
“Hot,” Hunter mutters. “This is hot.”
The phone rings once. Twice. Then a clipped, gruff voice answers.
“Delong.”
My voice doesn’t waver. “Mr. Delong, I quit.”
The silence on the other end is instant and heavy.
I glance down at Willow, who hasn’t looked away once.
I let that power settle into my spine, right where it belongs. “We all do,” I add. “Carson. Hunter. Me.”
“Graham, what the hell are you?—”
“She’s not in danger anymore,” I cut in. “And even if she was? It wouldn’t matter. We aren’t her bodyguards.”
A breath sucks in from across the line.
I drop my voice, low and final. “We’re hers. We don’t need money to protect her.”
Carson gives a low ooooh and leans over to Willow with a teasing grin. “You realize you’ve got him whipped, right? This is some omega-level sorcery. What kind of bath bombs are you using?”
Hunter snorts.
I ignore them.
Because Mitchell Delong is still silent.
Then, “...You better mean that.”
