I look down at her–lips still wrapped around me, breathing deep and even now, finally calm. Hunter’s hand keeps stroking her leg. Ares settles back down on the floor next to us, ignoring the pop and crackle of the fireplace. For the first time in a long time, I feel the bonds between us tighten, not just me and her, but all of us.
We’ll keep her safe, no matter what it takes.
And we’ll find the psychotic monster terrorizing Forsyth.
24
Timothy
I leavethe sitting room with the image burned behind my eyes: Arianette curled between them, lips wrapped around DK’s cock like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. The blanket barely hid it, but I saw enough. The way she trusts him, trustsbothof them, despite the vengeance and violence they’ve experienced, the intimacy of it hits hard. No masks. No titles. Just need and comfort. They’re forming a connection, which is something I’m unable to have.
Jealousy punches me low and vicious, a hot spike I have no right to feel. Anger follows fast on its heels. Anger at myself, at the rules I maintain, and at the distance I keep like armor. Then the murder pushes everything else aside. Another of Forsyth’s women lost, this time a Prince’s sister. But more importantly, it’s a message we can’t ignore.
Two women murdered, one left for dead, three more missing, and each with a tie back to a fraternity.
I need to move.
I head straight to the gym attached to the house, the one tucked in the east wing, all dark wood and iron. The door shuts behind me with a heavy thud. I strip off my shirt, toss it on a bench, and crank the sound system. Metallica blasts through the speakers, Enter Sandman, loud enough to rattle the mirrors. I’m in my forties, but this is still my blood, music that hits like a fist.
I load the barbell and start with squats. The weight settles across my shoulders, iron biting into muscle as I drop low, then explode up. Again. Again. Sweat pours fast, dripping off my jaw, pooling on the rubber mat. My reflection stares back: broad chest, arms corded, abs cut from years of discipline. I look like a king. I feel like a fraud.
I can’t protect the women of this city any more than I can protect the one in this house.
Again.
I move to bench presses next. I lie back, grip the bar, push it up–lock out and lower until it almost touches my chest before exploding up again. Ten reps. Twelve. My mind won’t shut off.
Her fuckable mouth latched on DK, pliant and soft. This was a new side of her–one I haven’t seen, where she seeks them out for comfort. They get that. They get all of her—the soft parts, the broken parts, the parts that just need to be held. Our marriage is blood on paper. Obligation. Contract. She’s beautiful–Christ–and there’s something about her that pulls at me every damn day. It’s not just her physical beauty, although I can no longer pretend she doesn’t have an effect on me. Her cheekbones are high and regal, her hips curvy and soft, the glint in those rich brown eyes when she pushes back–it’s a fire that is almost begging for the punishments I dole out in a futile attempt to tame her. There’s also the way she looks at me like I could be more than the mask if I let myself.
Or maybe that’s just a fantasy I’ve dreamt up, because I’m the King. She’ll offer her body to me and play along in the role of wife, but she has no idea who I really am behind the mask. No concept of the sacrifices I made to carry the title… to carry thehouse.
No, this Baroness, like the others, will belong to the frat. To the House. Not to me. Not really.
The bar clangs back into the rack. I sit up, breathing hard.
Graves appears in the doorway, silent as always. “Max called. He’s on his way over.”
“Now?”
“He’s just left the crime scene. He should be here soon.”
I nod, grab a towel and wipe my face. I move to the pull-up bar, jump up, start knocking out reps, slow and controlled, lats burning.
Max walks in ten minutes later, still in uniform, badge glinting under the gym lights. Tall, broad-shouldered, with blond hair streaked gray at the temples. He’s carrying a thick, worn file folder tucked under one arm. He’s still fit, runs marathons and hits the precinct gym like it owes him money.
“It’s a little late,” he says, eyeing the puddle of sweat on the floor with a half-smile.
I drop from the bar, grab my towel and bump his fist. “Hey, Brother. Good to see you.”
We’ve known each other since pledge week, where we bonded over the late nights and intense drug-fueled partying, and formed a bond that runs deeper than blood. Beta Rho fraternity brothers. He’s as much a part of my family as Graves is to me, an uncle of sorts to Remy, helping him out of trouble more than once.
I move to the bench press again. “Want to spot me?”
“Sure.” He sets the file down and rolls up his sleeves.
I lie back and grip the bar. “Thanks for the tip-off tonight. Getting eyes on the scene early was helpful.” I push up, struggling under the weight. “Sounds like a gruesome one.”
Max stands over me, hands ready. “I saw a video one of the boys took when your girl opened her mouth.”
