“The O’Dells know we’re under the Lordes’ protection. That’s why they haven’t come to collect, so I think we can trust they’ll leave us alone even if they find out about this.”
“Do we really want to push our luck?” I say that, but I know the reality: that level of distribution is what we’ll need to continue to compete in the market.
I chew my bottom lip. Part of me wants to say fuck it, we’ll just do things the way we’ve always done them. It’s not worth the risk. But this isn’t an opportunity we can afford to pass up.
“What would Dad have said?” I ask the guys, and as expected, Wrath replies, “Take what’s ours.”
I nod. “I trust you both with this. Talk to the Dementes about their pricing and the details.”
“Someone should tell Killian,” Wrath says. I shoot him a look, and he raises his hands in a defensive stance. “What? I’m just saying they might be interested in knowing we’re stirring the pot and could wind up needing more protection.”
“I’ll handle Killian,” I say.
We discuss the details and some more business matters before wrapping up.
“Hey, you wanna head to the fight this weekend?” Wrath says. “Got a lot to prove, so figured I’d get back out there.”
I study him, hoping this is a joke, but his expression is stoic…until he cracks.
“Kidding. The look on your face.” He slaps my ass, which is still tender from how Killian fucked me, but I try not to let it show. “Don’t worry. I won’t be jumping into the cage again anytime soon.”
“Is that a promise?”
The way he avoids eye contact, I get the feeling it won’t be for as long as I’d prefer.
“You guys want to grab lunch?” Masters interjects.
“Nah, I’m meeting up with someone,” Wrath replies.
“You can just say you’re gonna fuck someone.”
“That’s not the kind of thing you’re supposed to talk to brothers about.”
“Why? You worried I’ll get jealous? Okay, sure. Log?”
“Maybe another time. I want to be alone today.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all week?”
“See you guys later,” is my only reply before they head out.
I retrieve my phone, pulling up Killian’s contact information, staring at it the way I have other times since our last encounter.I peruse the texts he sent me when he was harassing me before breaking into my bedroom and assaulting me. One minute he was so enraged with me not taking his call, and now he won’t even reach out. Why can’t that bastard make up his mind?
That said, I should be relieved he’s leaving me alone. Instead, I’m on edge.
At least now I have a reason to talk to him. As I hit the Call button, my ass cheeks tremble, my thoughts returning to the sensations he elicited when he was inside me, when I was begging for him to come. The way it felt when I exploded all over myself. It was so rough, violent even. Perfect.
When the phone trills a fourth time, my chest knots up. How dare he expect me to be available to take his call when he won’t answer?
“Hey, beautiful,” I finally hear from the other end.
His voice is a sedative. The knots in my chest relax as desire sweeps through me, as though every nerve has been brought to life by the timbre of his voice.
I notice I’m catching my breath, and before I have a chance to say anything, he asks, “Did you miss me already?”
As is his power, just as quickly as his answer brings me ease, this comment stabs at the issue I’ve been having all week.
“Apparently you didn’t miss me at all.” Why do I sound so damn mad about it?
