My fingers filter through his salt and pepper hair, finally able to touch back, to show him how much this means.
Because it does mean something. What exactly, I’m still not so sure. My hopes, though, they’re soaring as high and as fast as my impending orgasm.
He grunts against my mouth.
Since I know his goal, I give him what he wants, handing over control, sinking into his hips, taking every inch, every thrust, every pounding beat against my womb. And when I finally succumb, shaking and pulsing and coming so hard, his soft words reach me.
“Don’t ever run from me again.”
31
WREN
I must have a bug or stress, lack of sleep, or whatever mess the guys have me cleaning up. I’ve been dragging myself along the last few days. Tired without sufficient reason. At least, not to feel this rundown.
I don’t want to complain, though. It’s embarrassing. They do so much all the time. Work tirelessly to protect people.
They’ve let me in a little more on what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. It’s not at all what I thought they did. Not exactly. But I’m not sure how I could have imagined they did anything else.
They’re good men. Maybe they do some bad things, but it’s all to protect others. Like the story Pixie told me.
It took them a little time to decode the thumb drive Mom snuck me on my childhood bunny. A ribbon necklace and a charm with a hidden purpose. There are loads of pictures, schematics, plans… Evidence I can’t even fathom packed onto that tiny drive.
It has to be all from my brother. There’s no one else who would dare. No one else close enough that could get it.
He told me he’d find a way to help me. Instead of it making me feel safe, it has me worried about him. What kind of trouble could he get in if Grant found out he had all of this? That Mom got it to us?
Would Dad keep them safe?
I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts as I push the roast around my plate at the end of the bar. It’s quiet today, and Pixie keeps trying to feed me, but I swear I’ve been sitting with my lunch for nearly an hour. I just don’t have an appetite.
I’m definitely getting sick.
My thoughts twist again.
Can Judge use the evidence without implicating my family or himself? Can he do anything with it at all, something that would actually put a dent in Grant and his father’s empire? In their power?
The impossibility weighs on me, but the stories I’ve heard of the things they’ve done… I’m ready to believe if anyone can pull it off, it’s Sanctuary. It’s the very men who have been protecting me since I arrived.
I don’t know what they’re going to do with it, but I trust their judgement.
Stabbing a cooked carrot, I nibble on it. Better than the meat, which is so odd. The cook does a good job. But everything has tasted off the last few days.
I rub the butt of my palm across my forehead, pressing it into my eye. When I lift my head again, Pixie is frowning at me. She slides me a fresh cup of coffee, and I smile weakly.
Caffeine will be my savior. It has to be.
But I gag on my first sip. Did she make this with tar?
Pixie lifts her brow at me. “What is going on with you?”
I groan lightly. “I don’t know.”
A waft of smoke hits me from across the room, and my stomach churns.
“Babe, you look like a Victorian ghost. You good?”
I wave her off. “It’s probably just a bug.”
