"Elin." I wrapped my arms around her from behind, stilling her next blow. "He's gone, Goddess. It's done."
She struggled against me for a moment then went limp, the knife clattering to the floor. I nodded to Harley over her shoulder. "Dispose of him. Gather the team. We need to move fast."
Harley nodded, his expression grim. "And your father?"
Don Azzaro had crossed so far beyond the line from which there was no return. He'd threatened not just my autonomy or my position, but had moved against destroying everything I’d ever cared about. First it had been Joel, then Rhea, and now Elin.
"My father has made his allegiance clear," I said, turning Elin so I could look at her in my arms. Her breath was ragged but slowing. I held her, and after a moment, her gaze met mine. The ravenousness that had been there dissipated, and I swallowed at how quickly she returned. “Goddess?”
A small smile covered her face. “Pretty Boy.”
I cradled Elin’s cheeks in my hands. Her skin was spotted with blood, none of it hers, streaking down her jaw and speckling her neck. My fingers trembled as they brushed against her, pressing half-moons into the warm wetness. I searched her features for cracks, for any sign she might break under the weight of what she’d done. Instead, I found that familiar, cold clarity I'd come to crave from my domme, my Goddess, and the truth hit me: it was precisely that clarity that had first drawn me to her.
I swallowed hard. My voice came out gravel-rough as I asked, “Are you okay? That was—” I faltered, unable to name the brutality we’d just witnessed, let alone why she’d carried it out with such unerring precision. “I won’t let my father touch you.” The words felt raw, childish—yet they were the only ones that mattered.
For a heartbeat, her eyes softened. She was still working on calming the adrenaline spiking beneath her skin, but she covered my hands with hers and squeezed. “I needed to burn off the rage,” she said, half sarcastically, half flippant, but also with no apology. Just a statement of fact. “He was going to die anyway.” Her half-smile was almost playful if you could ignore the blood framing it. “Scary thought, huh?”
I almost laughed. “Terrifying,” I admitted, stroking her cheek with my thumb more for my own steadiness than hers. I drew her closer until our foreheads met and our breaths mingled. “But we have the rough outline of a plan.”
She blinked in confusion, her lashes spattered with dark drops. “We do?”
“Well, I do,” I said, forcing a smile. “Sort of.” I inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Part of me, the Owl’s Talon, wanted to mark the corpse so the Juarez cartel would know it was a warning. The other part only wanted to get Elin somewhere clean, to run warm water over her until every stain was washed away.
“I can see your gears turning,” she murmured. “You’re thinking about next steps. But you’re also . . . worried about me?”
I didn’t answer. I kissed her quickly, tasting blood, and led her toward the utility sink that had never served a purpose more vital. “Come on,” I said. “Before I chain you up somewhere safe instead.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t work. I’d get loose. Always do.”
“Yeah,” I said, unable to keep the warmth from my tone. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d survive the punishment from you if I did try to lock you up.”
Dominance sparkled in her eyes as she said, “Oh, you’d survive, but your cock and balls would hurt so bad, a gentle wind would make you cum from the denial I’d give you.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
Striding over to the sink, I washed in silence. The water ran rust-brown, then sickly pink, then finally clear. I watched the red spiral down the drain and felt something settle in me—not peace, but purpose.
I dried my hands and scrubbed them with the lemon disinfectant Harley kept under the sink, then handed her the rag. Elin glanced at me, the corners of her lips twitching. “I look like a horror show.”
“Better than most of my dates,” I replied, and she let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. Before it was always about the power, the family honor, but her delight reminded me why I did this now: not for power, not for the family, but for moments like this in a world that wanted us both dead.
I helped her up the stairs, where at the top, Harley stood waiting, phone pressed to his ear, his face an impassive mask. I gave him a curt nod.
“I want anyone who was to be part of her abduction to be removed from this world. Understand?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who covers the shift tonight?”
“I’ll call Moretti. He owes me.” My mind was already racing, slotting variables into place with the speed of a man who trusted no one—not even himself.
Harley’s gaze flicked to Elin and lingered. I tensed, but he just nodded in respect. “Efficient,” he said to her.
Elin gave a faint, businesslike smile. “Thank you. I aim to please.”
“Go on,” Harley said. “Three’s a crowd. I’ll clean.”
We threaded through Paradise’s back hallways, avoiding the main floor. House music thumped behind closed doors, covering our escape. At every turn, I checked reflections for tails, but tonight my paranoia felt precise, cold, deliberate—nothing like the wild fear of my childhood or the betrayal written in my father’s eyes.
