Without order.
We ran. Left a trail of Calco bodies through the hallways of the club and in the alley.
The murder of Marco Giovanni wasn’t our doing, but that night started a war, and his brother came to collect.
And what’s the point of seeking revenge if you don’t hit back harder?
TWENTY-THREE | KATE
My eyes fall shut as my body hits the mattress. The soft duvet envelopes me, wrapping me in the scent of fresh lavender and lemon. The late sunlight pierces through the French doors, spilling warm yellow light across the floor and the end of my bed, where I’m sprawled.
It’s hard to miss my one-bedroom house and small paycheck when I’m living like a queen for free. Well, the price is my freedom, but even that doesn’t feel like the truth anymore. I enjoy working at the medical center every day, but sadly, it means that Preston and I's paths cross less often than I wish. Which may not be a bad thing, considering every time I see him, all I think about is my mouth on him.
His tongue in me.
The talented strum of his fingers as he gave me the most brutal, overwhelming orgasm that shot me straight up into the cosmos, where I could float among the stars.
Being dominant over Preston was a part of healing that I didn’t know I needed. He did everything I asked, letting me take what I wanted from him. That night was about me and drawing out my pleasure. Yet, in a way, I think he was enjoying it as muchas I was. Owning him in that way was a power I didn’t know I could feel.
Everything about being with Preston felt different.
He listened to me. Heard me.
It gave me a glimpse of what a future with someone could be like, since my body and mind aren’t as broken as I’ve believed. He doesn’t understand the weight it holds. He saw my scars but held me in his lap like I wasn’t breakable or tarnished. Then he cleaned me up with a washcloth and tucked me in.
His thumb caressed my forehead with the kind of gentle heat that made me wonder if he was going to kiss the spot he was touching.
But he didn’t.
He lifted my chin with his fingers, peering into my eyes before leaving me with, “You’re so beautiful when you come. I could watch you do that for the rest of my life, even if it meant I’d never get to.”
I felt the truth laced in his tone.
He meant it, and each word was like a stitch, pulling back together the confidence I gave up on years ago that sex could be for me. If one time with Preston accomplished something I thought was hopeless, what could more moments like that do?
I’m so attracted to him that one glance lately has me needing to change my panties. When I’m alone at night, my fingers find my clit and sink inside me while I replay his words. His touch on my body. His beautiful bourbon eyes that hungrily lit my body on fire.
My core throbs with need.
I need more. I want more ofhim.
I sit up on the bed, considering taking a shower to clean the day off my body, and solve this wave of desire crackling through my veins. My eyes drift to the dresser, my pulse jumping at the long black velvet box sitting on my bedside table. The momentI burst through my bedroom doors, I immediately crashed. I didn’t see it.
Just looking at it reminds me of the weight of gold adorning my neck. Did Preston get me a matching bracelet or something?
Pushing myself to my feet, I close the distance and pick it up. Rotating it in my hands, my fingers skim over the soft velvet. When I open the lid, my breath escapes my lungs in one sharp exhale.
Staring back at me is a knife, its blade reflecting the dainty chandelier above my bed. The handle reminds me of smooth, black wood after it’s been charred. A deep black that draws the eye to the band of pink opal before the hilt meets the blade.
It’s so beautiful.
Delicately intimidating.
My heart beats wildly in my ears. Even just the sight of the blade stirs the nausea in my stomach. Why would Preston gift me a knife when he’s seen my scars?
Hurt and anger bubble inside me, carrying me to the door and out into the hallway. I know he’s been spending a lot of time in his office lately, since I always catch him staring out the window at me when I walk on my breaks.
I’ve never been to the third level, since he told me it was off limits, but I head up anyway. The box feels heavy in my hand, increasing the panic crawling up my throat. There are five doors on the side of the house facing the garden, but I remember he was standing by the window at the far end, just off center. I choose the second-to-last door at the end of the hallway; the way it's cracked open makes my pulse race.
