It still shocks me, how quiet the world feels when he’s here, his thumb moving idly against my hip, the weight of his arm keeping me grounded. The sunlight spills over the coffee table, catching the glass of water he hasn’t touched.
It’s Sunday afternoon, and Koby’s been home all day. No meetings, no phone calls dragging him out, no one knocking on the door. We’re not waiting for anything, and it feels like time has finally stopped chasing us.
It’s just us and I love it.
In Anton’s cage, I dreamed of days like this, but never really believed I’d escape. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to start over, find myself, and lead a normal life, but today I know it’s possible.
“How happy you make me feel,” I whisper, tilting my head to kiss his chin.
I worried our relationship would be built on mind-blowing sex, the kind that burns too hot and eats itself alive, but I needn’t have. There’s more.
So much more.
He talks to me, listens to me, and looks at me like I matter, not like I’m some broken thing he needs to fix.
His arms tighten around me. “That’s the goal, hellcat. Happy, calm, and mine.”
I smile, burrowing further into him, and he groans when my elbow accidentally pokes his stomach.
“Shit, sorry.” I pull back, but he only tightens his hold.
“Not your fault. I shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
We spent two hours in the kitchen together while I prepared our meal, him mostly leaning against the counter and stealing bites every time I turned my back. I swatted his hand away from the frying pan more than once. He ate two full servings, then lingered afterward, poking through the pot until he finished the whole lot.
His lips brush my temple. “Then again, you shouldn’t cook like you’re head chef at the best restaurant in the fucking state.” His fingers twitch in my hair. “Where’d you learn that?”
“My dad. Cooking was his favorite thing to do.”
My heart slows at the memory of Dad, wooden spoon in hand, the scent of butter and overcooked garlic filling the whole house.
“He looked peaceful when he cooked. Like the world couldn’t touch him.”
Koby’s hand slides down to my waist, tugging me closer. “I never even asked if you know where Anton’s holding him. Maybe we could find him? I could ask Ryder—”
“He’s dead, Koby.” My throat locks, but I swallow hard, forcing more words out. “I told you that.”
His body goes rigid beneath mine. “When?”
“The very first day at Carter’s when Jax told me to explain my outburst. I told you Octavius took me from Anton as punishment for sparing my father.”
“No, baby. You didn’t say why.” His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, his warm breath ghosting my temple. “Story time?”
I nod, closing my eyes before the words pour out.
It hurt. Digging myself up from the grave I lay in for three years hurt like hell.
I sat in Anton’s living room, my back straight, dull eyes glued to the door while I waited for him to come home and tuck me into bed. The apartment was always calm and steady. Not even Anton’s voice broke the quiet. He was soft-spoken, never yelled, never allowed the outside world to bleed into the walls.
And then the eerie calm shattered with a bang.
The door flew open, hitting the wall, a jarring sound that knocked the air clean from my lungs.
I jerked back against the couch, my pulse soaring, hammering in my ears. Octavius stormed in, his broad chest heaving, mindless fury all over his face.
Two tall, neckless, menacing goons I’d never seen before followed him inside. One held Anton by the back of his neck, squeezing hard while pushing him forward.
