Nothing. So I rip the blade down his face and throw him to the floor, a screaming mess. René, Max, and Val drop to his side, holding a napkin to his wound.
I lift the bloody knife to point at them. “This is just the beginning. If one of you crosses me again, you’ll pay. You’re all scared of that Deathball. But I’m a thousand times more dangerous. I know your sponsors. I have the Emperor’s ear. Every one of you is standing here in one piece because I allow it. Give me one fucking reason, and I’ll end the lot of you, long before you set foot on that sand.”
I throw the knife down into the center of the table with a splatter of blood, then return to my seat at the head of the table. “Eat. You’ve got training in twenty minutes.”
Jason stumbles to his feet with the help of the others and staggers toward Evander’s office.
“Oh, Evander’s busy this morning,” I call to him. “Shame he had extra work today. I guess you’ll have to take care of it yourself.”
He shakes his head, blood dripping onto the floor. “You know I can’t play looking like this.”
“Yeah, you’ll have to do something quickly if you want it to heal in time.” I heap some meat onto my plate. “Though stitches hurt like a bitch without anesthetic.”
His blazing eyes narrow on me. “You fucking prick.”
I offer him one slow and wide smile. “That’s right. I am a prick. Right up until one of you tells me about that razor blade.”
I don’t let up from there. I wait at the table until they’re ready for training. I take them out onto the field myself. Any man who even looks at Robin funny gets called up the front for a demonstration. I work them until they throw up, most of them. Not Robin. Then I go back for dinner, wait for them to shower, check myself that they’re all locked up for the night.
It’s only then I get the chance to speak to Robin alone, the key to his cell in my hand, his fingers wrapped tight around the bars between us. Only then can I ask him to come home with me.
“After they’re asleep,” he says, his speech thick and hoarse from his injuries.
So I sink my fingertips into his golden hair, letting the silken strands curl around me. “Does it really make any difference now?”
He dips his head, a rare flush lighting his cheeks. “Maybe it’s a veneer of respectability.”
My fingertips glide up his long neck, lifting his chin so I can look into his eyes. “I’ll protect you.”
“Marco…” he whispers, capturing my hand to kiss it. “You can’t control everything.”
His head leans into my hand as I press it to his cheek. “Then what’s it all been for, all these years of sacrifice, all the comparative power I’m supposed to hold, if I can’t use it to take care of you?”
I pull him a little closer, taking his waist through the bars to hold him flush to me. “We’ll play it your way, however you like. So long as you end each day in my bed, wake each morning on my pillow, and you’re never out of my sight again.”
He laughs, giving in to the kiss I press to his neck with a soft, too-sexy groan that makes me want to slip into the cell with him.
“I miss when you two were a big secret,” Cas mutters from his mattress, his back turned to us.
Robin’s hand settles on my chest to push me back, even though his fingers curl over the hem of my shirt, holding me. “I’ll come in an hour.”
“You absolutely will,” I reply, then break away from him with the final shove he gives me when Cas whines loudly in protest.
But Robin makes it to the villa in time to sit down for a second dinner with Esme. In time to say goodnight to her, to see her wrapped up in bed.
In time to bathe with me, to let me wash and brush his hair.
And when the day ends with Robin in my arms, his body safely nestled against mine, it’s like none of it ever happened.
Now he’s healing. Now he’s under my care.
And I won’t let a thing touch him for as long as I can stop it.
Chapter thirty-one
Marco: Break
Three weeks on, and Robin’s as good as new. We’ve built an oasis from the blood-stained sand they gave us. All day we’re together, even if we pretend we’re apart. Then all night, he’s mine.
