Your choice.
Hardly.
I watched Cam now, striding out of my building on his long, powerful legs, his unshaven jaw thick with inky stubble. He didn’t seem to be looking for me, but I didn’t expect him to. He’d enjoyed my company, of that I was certain, but he was a man with places to be. Responsibilities to honour. He’d been naked for most of our time together, but he’d worn that like a second skin. Like he wore danger, and not because of his biker leathers and the menacing tattoos that covered most of his warm skin—roses, skulls, pistols, and knives.No. Those things were cosmetic. What made him dangerous ran far deeper and simmered in his coal-dark gaze, something I recognised enough for a small shudder to pass through me, an adrenaline-laced shiver that should’ve made me sick to my stomach, but didn’t.
You’re the sick one.
I sighed. Maybe I was. Cam—I pondered what surname went with the subtle lilt in his accent—retrieved his Dyna Super Glide from the pub car park and gunned the engine. People tracked him as he roared away, and I didn’t blame them. It was quite the spectacle, and one I knew I’d remember.
I want to see him again.
Cute. But unless my new friend called for accounting advice, there was little chance of that.
Besides, I’d spoken nothing but truth when I’d told him I didn’t see people for sex twice. What was the point? If the fucking had been mediocre, then I had no desire for a repeat. On the rare occasions it was exceptional, I liked my memories to stay that way.
I watched Cam disappear into the distance, then abandoned my undrunk coffee and walked back to my penthouse flat.
It was exactly as I’d left it. Sheets rumpled, hook-up paraphernalia scattered around. Even my Rolex remained, unstolen, on the bedside table. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex and man. The only thing missing was the brawny biker who’d helped me put it there.
Unbidden, images of him towering over me, muscles rippling, face twisted into a half-crazed snarl, slammed into me. I’d told him we’d had fun, but the truth was, the night we’d spent together was far beyond anything I’d experienced for a long time, if ever, and his aesthetic had been only a tiny part of that. I liked rough men and rough sex, but biker boy had taken that to another dimension. He’d fought me and won—because I’d let him—and I wouldn’t forget that.
How could I when my body was still thrumming with unspent heat? If he’d still been here—
Fuck. The things I’d have let that man do to me if we’d had more time. I eyed the bed. The freak in me was already stripping it, bundling the sheets into the bin, and erasing all trace of the stranger in my bed, but for long minutes I stood stock still and breathed deep, and when I did move, I left the sheets where they were.
I took a shower, then took my place behind my laptop screen in the spare bedroom I used as an office. The room had big windows that overlooked the city, a view I could usually ignore—if you had seen one cityscape, you had seen them all—but the grey Bristol skies seemed to call to me today. As I fielded phone calls and emails, I found myself staring into the abyss, my mind straying to pounding hips and wild sounds and a bottomless dark gaze that was as intriguing as it was unforgettable.
My body hummed with fruitless anticipation, the bruises he’d left on my skin alive with heat. I had to move, abandoning my work even as my phone lit up with a call from my biggest client. They could wait—everything could. I needed air.
The balcony in my overlarge flat was on the other side of the building. I slid the glass doors open and stepped out, breathing hard, my heart pounding that strange rhythm it fell into when emotions I couldn’t comprehend overwhelmed me. It seemed ridiculous to blame Cam for it, but I did. Picking him up at the bar had been the only thing off-piste I’d done in months—the only thing outside of thework, sleep, repeatroutine that kept me grounded. It had to be him, and I hated him for it, so why could I think of nothing else but seeing him again?
I pressed a hand to my chest and growled, low and sinister. If someone had been near me, they’d have surely stepped back the way most people did when they met my cold gaze.Not Cam, though. You lured him in.
No. That wasn’t true. It had been the other way around, and perhaps it was this that disturbed me so.
Regardless, it was a rare day I reached for the cigarettes I kept hidden outside and lit one up, but I did today. I blew smoke into the grey drizzle, closed my eyes, and dreamt of the inked arms that had kept me safe all night long.
My phone roused me—the one I kept on vibrate in my pocket instead of the beacon of banality on my desk. I kept meaning to crush it beneath my foot and toss it from a great height, but after last night, I knew it would be a while before I had those thoughts again.What did you give him this number for?I did not know. Only that I had, and that I hoped it was him calling me and not the other things in this world that made my heart beat too fast.
I drew the phone from my pocket and stared at the screen, fighting the unfamiliar sensation that rose in my chest. Was it hope?
No. It had been a few hours since Cam had left, enough time to reflect on the ice-cold robot he’d shared a bed with. It was inconceivable that he’d lived through that and decided to make contact. That man was as human as they came, warm-blooded and soulful. Sweet, even, though everything about him fought to hide it.Buthe was sharp too, and his instincts would’ve kicked in by now, warning him to stay away. I would not hear from him. I was certain of many things, but of that most of all.
The number lighting up the screen was Russian, not one I knew, but the voice behind it would be familiar. It always was.“Come home, Alexei. Your father is gone now.”
Another shudder rattled through me, but it was different to the ones Cam had left behind and far less welcome. I let the call ring out—the voicemail service was disabled—and crouched low, setting the phone carefully on the floor. My leg twitched as I rose again.Crush it.
But I didn’t. I went inside and continued my day, and it was dark the next time I passed the balcony door.
The phone was lit up again. Rage consumed me, sudden and sharp, like insects crawling beneath my skin. I slid the balcony door open, flinging it aside, and strode to where I’d left the phone. It had rained while I’d been inside, but not enough to destroy it.Why won’t you fucking die?
I snatched it up, vision blurred with the red mist that made my nerves itch and my stomach churn. My muscles bunched, ready to hurl the device to the city streets below, but the number on the screen gave me pause. It was a landline number, and the software in my phone identified it asKings Building Ltd.
Frowning, I pushed the fury in my gut aside and fished my other phone from my pocket, googling the name at lightning speed. A builder’s merchant in North Devon came up, along with insignia for a motorcycle club: The Rebel Kings.
Cam.
It had to be.
