Chapter eleven

I grit my teeth, the tension bubbling as I stare straight ahead, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. She hasn't replied to my threat—probably because she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Wren. Always doing the total opposite of what I ask. Why else would she sneak off to see her parents without telling me? I told her not to do it, but she's a stubborn fucking brat, doing whatever the fuck she wants.

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, scanning the cars belonging to my men. Jasper is close behind, and I can see the others spaced out, forming the convoy. I glance ahead again, mind racing through today's operation.

Savannah, like the arrogant little bitch she is, set up shop just outside the city in some backwoods hellhole. She's holed up with a stash of drugs that could supply half the fucking East Coast and where there's drugs, there's guns. Plenty of them. She probably has a pack of wannabe soldiers ready to defend her pathetic empire.

But she has no fucking clue what's coming. Me and my men, we're not just some thugs from the streets. I run the most ruthless criminal firm in the country. We've taken down bigger, smarter, and better armed than her, and tonight, we'll run through anyone who stands in our way. By the time I'm done, Savannah's little kingdom will crumble. She'll have no idea what hit her. The thought of seeing her smug face when I take it all from her fuels me. It's going to be fucking priceless.

The darkness cloaks us as we approach the outskirts of the target area. I kill the engine and step out of my Lamborghini, the quiet purr of the car fading into the night. I light a cigarette, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating my face, then exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl around me.

My men are already gathered, standing like threats in the shadows, their weapons gleaming under the faint light. Dressed in black balaclavas, they're silent, deadly, and waiting for my order. I glance around, taking in the scene. The calm before the storm. My fingers tap lightly against the butt of the cigarette as I size them up, making sure they understand the seriousness of what's about to go down.

"You know the drill. You've taken out bigger setups than this, so don't let some small-time shop make a fool out of you. None of my men are dying tonight. Got it?"

They all nod and I gesture with my head toward the rundown building ahead. "Go in, do what you do best, and remember—Savannah Thorell is mine. Leave her to me."

Without hesitation, they move out and Jasper steps beside me. I take one last drag, letting the nicotine settle before tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under my pristine shoe. The stillness returns, but it's misleading. The violence is close—just waiting to be unleashed.

Jasper and I exchange a brief look, and in sync, we draw our guns, the metallic click of them snapping back in unison. Suddenly, women's screams rip through the air, sharp and panicked. I lift an eyebrow, and I glance at Jasper, who mirrors my expression before we walk forward.

As I step into the dimly lit, run-down building, the eerie glow of red lights flooding the space immediately puts me on edge. The air feels heavy, dense with the stench of blood, fear and desperation, an atmosphere I know all too well. I glance back at Jasper, who's right behind me, his eyes scanning the hall.

"This place feels off," I mutter. "Looks like a sex trafficking house. Watch your fucking shots."

Jasper gives a small nod, understanding the situation. We move slowly down the grimy, narrow hallway, its walls smeared with dirt and decay. My men are thoroughly sweeping each room, their presence sending half-naked, terrified women rushing for safety. Their screams echo off the walls, adding to the madness.

I pause, my senses sharpening as a feeling of déjà vu creeps in. The scene around me—women huddled in fright, dim red lights creating strange shadows—it all feels too familiar of a childhood I've tried to forget. My stomach churns as memories of places like this, where my own parents had dragged me, flash through my mind. I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts down.

A sudden movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye, and I turn to an open door beside me. Inside, a young woman sits curled on the floor, naked and shaking, her knees pulled up to her chest. Blood trickles down her legs, pooling beneath her, and her sobs are the only sound in the room.

My jaw tightens, bile rising in my throat as I take a cautious step into the room. My eyes flick to the bed—an older man is laid naked and motionless with a bullet in his head, clearly one of my men's kills. I refocus on the woman, her dark hair hanging limply around her tear-streaked and bruised face. Her entire body rattles as I approach, her anxiety clear. Slowly, I tuck my pistol into the waistband of my pants and shrug off my suit jacket.

Crouching in front of her, I keep my tone of voice quiet, trying to keep the threat out of it. "I'm not here to hurt you," I reassure her.

Her wide, terrified eyes flash to mine, red from crying, unsure whether to trust me. I offer her the jacket, and she hesitates before slowly reaching out with a trembling hand. I can see the wariness in her gaze, the disbelief that someone might be showing her kindness in a place like this.

"Do you have family?" I ask.

She slides one arm into the jacket, her movements stiff, broken. Jasper and I both veer our eyes as she pulls it tightly around her battered body, a small hint of dignity restored in the shithole she's been trapped in.

When she's finally covered, I meet her blue eyes again. She's still cautious, but there's a flicker of hope behind the terror now. After a moment, she gives a small, hesitant nod in response to my question. She's got someone out there; someone she can go to.

I stand, placing my thumb and index finger between my lips and whistle loudly, startling her, but I side-eye the door to wait for one of my men.

When one appears, I address him firmly. "Take her wherever the fuck she wants to go and make sure it's somewhere safe, no matter how far it is."

He gives a slight nod, waiting for her to move, but when I look down at her again, she still appears untrusting, and who can fucking blame her? I wait patiently, although I can hear my men gunning the place to pieces in the background. I want to do this at her pace. She eventually stands on shaky legs and I watch as she wobbles toward the door before taking a last look back at me and leaving.

I glance away, the weight of Jasper's eyes on me making my skin itch. I can feel him trying to read me, like he's questioning whether I've actually got a soul inside me. Something he had never realized or seen before. And I get it. I've built a reputation as a ruthless bastard, the kind who doesn't flinch when shit goes fucked. But deep down, somewhere hidden beneath the thick layers of brutality and power, I've still got lines I won't cross. Even if the evil system I run forces me to dance all over the grey areas, I know what's fucking wrong.

After a moment, I push the thoughts aside and get my head back in the game. I pull my gun out and pass Jasper. As we make our way down the hallway, the noise has died down, the panic fading.

Suddenly, one of my men approaches, urgency in his step. "Arlo, we found the stash."

I arch a brow, nodding silently before following him, my curiosity piqued, as we step into a room that looks like something out of a low-budget crime flick. Chrome tables, neon lights, and heaps of cocaine piled up like fucking snow mounds.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot four women standing in just their underwear, covering their bare tits with their arms, horror drawn into their expressions. They're cutters, clearly, here to break down the product. It's something I've seen countless of times throughout the years. They're often stripped to make sure they don't fucking pocket anything. It's a dirty game. Greedy. I can tell they didn't choose this life, and it always pisses me off in a way I didn't ever expect.

Without looking at them, I raise my voice. "Get them the fuck out of here. Let them go."

A couple of my men spring into action without a second thought, leading the women out of the room. Turning my attention back to the table, I step closer, staring down at the stacks of white powder. It's a small mountain, a fortune's worth of product sitting there, waiting to be moved.

"Has it been tested?" I ask, my tone flat.

"Yeah, boss," one of the guys answers. "It's 98% pure."

My eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. Savannah was dealing with the real shit. I wasn't expecting that.

"Pack it the fuck up," I order.

They nod in sync, my command setting off a chain reaction as they begin packing up the cocaine. I'm about to light another cigarette when another man steps in.

"We found her, Arlo."

The room stills for a second, a shift in energy that I can feel in my bones. I look at Jasper, a silent understanding passing between us. Then, without a word, I walk out, following to where Savannah's hiding. We proceed up some stairs to the next floor, and when he stands outside a glowing red room, he holds out his arm to indicate she's inside.

I step into the room, my gun hanging loosely at my side, immediately locking eyes on Savannah curled beneath the sheets, as if they could somehow protect her from me. She looks terrified, but it's Carter sitting beside her that sets me off. He's the last person I wanted to see. The last person I thought would be here.

I pause at the foot of the bed, staring at them both, letting the tension thicken until it's suffocating. Neither of them says a word.

"Well, well, well," I mutter, drawing out each word with bitter satisfaction.

I slowly raise my gun, pointing it at them. Their silence is telling—Savannah's eyes wide, Carter's jaw clenched in boldness, but fear lurking beneath the surface.

"Get her the fuck out of here!" I bark, the command snapping through the quiet like a whip.

Two of my men immediately rush in, grabbing Savannah roughly by her arms. She screams, thrashing in their grip, her voice breaking as she calls out for Carter. He leaps up from the bed, his protective instinct kicking in, but I take a step forward, my gun aimed directly at him. He freezes, knowing better than to test me right now.

I watch him squirm as Savannah is dragged away, helpless to stop it. I can see in him how much she means to him. The way she cries out for him only confirms it. Not that it makes a fucking difference.

His furious eyes meet mine, seething with anger as he narrows them into a sharp glare. "You motherfucker. What do you want with her?"

I breathe in deeply before I answer coldly. "I want her dead."

Carter moves faster than I expect, lunging at me, but I swing my gun hard, the butt crashing into his nose with a sickening crack. He staggers back, collapsing onto the bed, blood pouring from his face, soaking into the sheets as he groans in agony.

"You killed my fucking sister and now you want to kill my girl?"

Carter's words cut deep, deeper than I care to admit. The mention of his sister, my wife, his taunts—they slice through me, exposing parts of myself I thought I buried.

"For someone who claims he doesn't hurt women, you are one big fucking hypocritical cunt, Arlo."

I snap and, in a flash, I kneel onto the bed, jamming the cold barrel of my gun against his forehead, my hand is trembling with rage.

"Shut the fuck up!" I roar, my voice harsher than I intended, but he doesn't stop. The fool keeps going.

"I will find Savannah, you piece of shit. You should've stayed in hell where you belonged. You've deserved every bit of suffering that fucking came to you and that little bitch of yours!"

Then it happens—he spits in my face. My vision blurs with red-hot rage and without thinking, I slam the butt of my gun into his mouth. The sickening crunch of bone and teeth is satisfying for a moment as he groans, his head snapping back onto the bed.

But in the silence that follows, reality starts creeping back in. I look down at Carter, blood pouring from in his mouth, eyes still blazing with hatred despite the pain. Bridget's face flashes before me. Her memory claws at the back of my mind, begging me to stop, to find another way. My heart pounds like a fucking drum, loud and erratic.

Carter pulls himself back up with a sneer. "Do it," he dares me, his words rough, filled with pure hate. He grabs my hand, the one holding the gun, pressing it harder against his forehead. "Kill me, you fucking pussy. Finish it. Let me haunt you just like my sister does!"

I freeze and my grip tightens, but my hand… it fucking shakes. Carter's defiance, basically begging for death, makes something inside me recoil. My breath comes out uneven, shallow. I've never fucking hesitated before.

Bridget's ghost is already here, hanging in the room between us, her eyes staring at me through Carter's. She's watching me, always fucking watching and I know—if I pull this trigger, I'm never coming back.

Cold sweat beads on my skin, and for the first time in a long time, guilt slithers in, making me question everything I've built myself into. It's like a weight pressing down on my chest, stopping me from being who I need to be. The pressure in the room is smothering, both of us breathing heavily, locked in a deadly stare-off. Then, a firm hand lands on my shoulder.

I don't need to look to know it's Jasper. My brother. His silent presence speaks louder than words: Let me handle this. My jaw tightens, every muscle in my body resisting the urge to stay, but I know I have to walk away. Slowly, reluctantly, I rise from the bed, my gun still tight in my grip. Carter's eyes burn into me, and I give one final glance, a bitter farewell, before turning my back on him, leaving the room.

As I pace down the long, deserted hallway, each step feels like a fucking countdown. I'm almost expecting it, but when the gunshot finally rings out, it still sends a jolt through me. My heart stops, the sound reverberating in my ears, hollow and final. I freeze mid-step, my fists clenching as the sickening burden of it all settles in. My eyes close involuntarily, trying to shut out the guilt, the echoes of that shot.

But it doesn't go away. It just sits there in my gut like lead. My stomach churns, and I force myself to move faster, each step feeling heavier than the last. I push open a creaking door and stumble into a rundown bathroom, the stench of mold and filth barely registering as I lean over the cracked sink.

I brace myself, hands gripping the cold porcelain, heaving dry breaths that do nothing to ease the nausea clawing at my insides. Sweat drips down my face, mixing with the saliva pooling in my mouth. My chest expands as I fight to steady my breath, to get a grip on myself. I stare into the stained mirror in front of me, the reflection staring back a fucking stranger—haunted, hollow, falling.

I don't recognize this man. The one second-guessing himself, questioning everything. The one frightened by a past he thought he was moving forward from. My hands tremble, and for a moment, I wonder how the fuck I ended up here, but there's no room for weakness. Not now. Not when I've come this far.

I close my eyes, clenching my knuckles, forcing the doubts to the back of my mind. Remember who the fuck you are, Arlo. This isn't the time to fall apart. The faucet groans as I turn it on, water splashing into my cupped hands. I throw it over my face, letting the cold shock me back into reality.

Breathing deeply, I lift my eyes back to the mirror, staring at myself one last time.

"Fuck you, Arlo." The words leave my lips like a command to the reflection, to the weakness inside me. "You're not going soft now. Not fucking today."

I grind down on my teeth, my jaw set as I rip my gaze away. I pull open the door and walk out, leaving whatever trace of doubt I had behind.

As I step out of the building, the cool night air hits me and it feels like a relief after everything that just went down. I don't waste any time, biting out a cigarette from the packet. Letting the smoke fill my lungs, it burns, but I hold it in, savoring the familiar sting before tilting my head back and blowing it out. My eyes drift up to the stars—tiny pinpricks of light in the huge sky—and for a moment, I just breathe.

This life has always been a fucking rollercoaster—chewing me up, spitting me the fuck out, and leaving me a little more broken each time. I've seen love turn to dust, trust twisted into betrayal, and the best parts of me stripped away by a world that doesn't give a damn. Yet, I survived. Somehow, I always fucking do.

I think about the man I could have been if life had taken a different turn, if I hadn't been born into this world of blood and lies, but there's no undoing it. No walking away. I'll never be my father, though—that I can swear. He was evil in every sense of the word, a man with no heart, no soul, and I'll never let myself sink that low. Sure, I've got my fucking faults—God knows I'm fucking riddled with sin—but there's a piece of me that's still human, no matter how hard I try to bury it.

This world doesn't forgive kindness. It doesn't leave room for honor. You either alter and accept the darkness or get swallowed whole. I know the score. No matter how much I fucking hate it, I've had to become exactly what I despise—detached, ruthless, cold as the steel I carry on my shoulders. It's the only way to survive, but I'll never stop feeling it, even if I can't show it.

Jasper's voice cuts through my thoughts as he strolls by, giving the back of my neck a firm squeeze. "I'll get Savannah to our spot. You go back to your family."

I meet his gaze and catch the wink he throws my way before he heads to his car. As I watch him walk off, I realize how much he's changed too. This fucking life hardens you, reshapes you into someone unrecognizable and once you're in, there's no going back. You'll never be the person you were before, not truly. And I again, I feel shit for dragging him into it like a selfish motherfuck.

Taking one last drag, I flick the cigarette away, the ember glowing briefly in the dark before snuffing out. I stand there for a second longer, letting the night settle around me, then turn on my heel. It's time to go home. Time to face Wren and whatever the fuck comes next.

It's late when I park outside the house. I sit there, staring blankly into the dark, letting the silence engulf me. The outcome of tonight replays in my head like a broken record, but I eventually get over it. The doors of the Lambo lift smoothly, and as get out and approach the front door, they lower behind me. When close enough, I dig out my keys, unlocking it with a soft click.

Inside, the house is still, and the faint, sweet scent of her is lingering in the air. I kick the door shut behind me, already loosening the buttons of my shirt, yanking my tie free. I need a drink—a fucking strong one. The echo of my footsteps follows me as I make my way to the kitchen, but when I get to the entrance, I come to a quick stop.

There she is. Perched on the kitchen island with her legs crossed, her back to me, her hair spilling down her back in soft waves. She's wearing one of my grey t-shirts, way too big for her, hanging off her small frame like she's fucking swimming in it. Her long, white socks creep up her thighs, and she's sipping something from a mug, completely unaware—or maybe she knows exactly the kind of effect she has. Something so simple, an act of drinking a hot fucking drink on the kitchen counter makes my balls throb.

I stand in the doorway, hands slipping into my pockets as I take her in. There's a sharp pang of frustration that hits me like a knife in the gut. She looks so soft, so fucking innocent, so mine and my mind is already racing to darker places. I imagine pulling that shirt up, wrapping my tie around her throat, and fucking her cunt so hard she forgets her name. Yet I can't. Unfortunately. But her time is coming. I'll plant another kid that pussy in no time.

Wren turns just enough to catch me staring and her smile is instant, those big brown eyes sparkling whenever she sees me. My teeth grind in response, feeling the sexual frustration coil inside me like a snake ready to strike. I break intense eye contact and stalk toward the whiskey cabinet, needing something to take the edge off.

As I pour a glass, I can feel her curious eyes trailing every movement I make. I shoot the first glass down, hissing as the burn slides its way down my throat, settling like fire in my gut. Before I can pour another, I hear her shift behind me, the soft sound of her feet hitting the floor. She moves toward me until she presses her warm, curvy body against my back. Her tits are firm but juicy, nipples hard through the thin material, and I feel a growl rumble deep in my chest.

"Wren," I warn, but the girl's always been reckless. Teasing my fucking dick to the highest level.

She wraps her arms around my waist, fingers brushing over my abs, making my skin tingle with the contact.

"What's the matter, baby?" Her voice is sweet, but there's always a hint of danger in it. "How did your day go?"

"It's done," I grit out sharply.

I shoot the next shot of whiskey and slam the empty glass onto the counter. I can sense her relief, but she keeps quiet, waiting for what's next. She knows—she always knows—that I'm going to press her about today. There's no hiding it from me.

"So, how were Phil and Hazel?" I ask and the second I do; I feel her body tense against me.

Caught.

"Yeah, all good," she replies honestly, which is a good start.

I turn in her arms, whiskey in hand, staring down at her and she meets my gaze, her eyes peering up at me, those thick, dark lashes fanning out and for a second, I almost roll mine because she's always so fucking pretty, it's infuriating. Her looks alone could make my fall to my fucking knees in front of her.

I take a sip, watching her, waiting.

"So did you..." I trail off, testing her and her brows knit together. She clears her throat, now nervous, shifting under my stare. She's trying to act innocent, to keep control, but I'm not letting her off that easily.

"Did I what?" she asks, but she knows exactly what I'm getting at, she can feel my dark, unpredictable aura.

She tries to pull away, to make some space between us, but I'm faster. My hand snaps out, grabbing her wrist, and I yank her back into me, hard. I twist her wrist behind her, flushing her against my chest. Her body tenses, but I'm in control, and I relish the power in this moment.

"You know the fuck what," I whisper, my tone calm but deadly, my lips inches from hers. I can feel her breath hitch, her pulse quickens in her wrist under my fingers as my words sink in. There's no running now.

Her expanded eyes search mine, and I can see the flicker of uncertainty dancing in them. She knows she's done for, but she's trying to figure out where I'm at. Am I pissed? Am I calm? I'm giving her nothing, letting her swim in the confusion just like I want her to.

Holding her this close, I realize something—she's not wearing panties. There's only one reason for that. My teeth grind, but I keep it together, watching her closely as she finally asks, her voice soft, almost unsure.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her rosy lips move, drawing my attention, and the temptation to taste her builds, but instead, I let her go with a flick of my head.

"Hands on the wall," I order.

Her brows knit together, and confusion paints across her face.

"What?"

I tilt my head, closing the distance between us, forcing her to step back and the intensity in my gaze doesn't waver. I'm not here to play.

"Get your hands on the fucking wall," I repeat, my tone hardening.

She swallows, clearly caught off guard by the shift in my demeanor, but then her chin tilts up in defiance. "Why?"

I lean in, my lips almost brushing hers. "Because I fucking said so." I bite out, exposing my teeth.

For a second, she holds my stare, but then, like she always does, she submits. She knows better than to push me right now. I watch as she turns away, each step slow, until she reaches the wall. She takes a deep breath, and then her palms meet the surface, spreading out against it.

My eyes trace the curve of her back, her obedience satisfying something dark inside me. I throw back the rest of my whiskey before I set the glass down with a clink. I stride toward her, the air now thick with sexual tension.

When I reach her, I press myself against her, my crotch snug against the curve of her asscheeks. The sensation makes me growl low in my throat. I gather the fabric of her t-shirt, slowly hiking it up over her hips, revealing the perfection underneath. The sight makes my blood pulse faster, but I stay controlled, focused.

I bring my lips to the side of her neck, grazing her skin, and feel her breath catch. She's already losing restraint, and I haven't even started.

"You keep being a disobedient little slut, Wren," I murmur against her throat.

"I'm sor—"

"Shhh..." I hush, low and menacing. "I don't want your sweet little apologies. I want to fucking punish you."

As I pull back, I finish lifting her shirt to her hips, and there it is—just as I expected. No panties. I could smell her aroused pussy before I even touched her. But still, I play the game.

"Oh, no fucking panties?" I say as my eyes trail down her body.

"Nothing misses you, does it?" she remarks, side-eyeing me, her lips curving slightly.

My gaze snaps to her, and my brows shoot up in mock disbelief. "I'm fucking sorry, was that more attitude?"

Her smile widens just a fraction before she turns her head forward again, trying to hide it. My jaw clenches, the urge to punish her building. I take a step back, admiring her bare ass. Then reach out, my hand brushing over the smooth curve before I squeeze it hard, my fingers digging into her flesh. She hisses, her body tensing under my grip, and I feel a twisted satisfaction at the sound. At the pain it caused.

"You're going to regret that attitude," I promise.

Without warning, I yank my hand back and smack her ass so hard her knees buckle beneath her, a sharp shriek escaping her lips. The crack of the slap echoes in the room, and my palm burns from the impact. I smirk, I can't fucking help it. I watch her press her forehead against the wall, trying to steady herself, her breath ragged. Her long hair cascades down her back, framing her body like a temptation, but all I can focus on is the vibrant red mark on her ass—my mark.

I close the distance between us, my now hard cock pressing firmly against the crimson flesh of her punished cheek. I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her back toward me, forcing her to look up at me. She gasps, her brown eyes locking onto mine. Mine scan her flushed face, taking in the way her lips tremble slightly, how her pupils dilate with arousal.

"I told you," I murmur, "I'd fucking punish you. And you know I always keep my word."

I pull her hair tighter, tilting her head back more, a slight grin curling on my lips as I continue. "That was me going easy on your ass. Be careful when you're back in good health."

A defiant smirk creeps onto her lips, and I can feel my control slipping as I growl in response. I don't wait for her to push back any further—I bring my mouth crashing onto hers, my tongue forcing its way between her parted lips. The kiss is violent, hungry, full of all the pent-up frustration that's been building inside me for too long. When she turns to face me, I grab her throat with my other hand, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse race beneath my fingers. I push her hard against the wall, trapping her there.

Every part of me is consumed with her—her taste, her scent, her body pressed against mine and with every moment, my control slips further away, leaving only pure, primal need.

It's like Wren is my fucking medicine, the antidote to all the chaos and darkness that swirls inside me. With every touch, every moan that escapes her lips, the weight lifts off my chest just a little. She helps me shed my frustrations, letting me resurface lighter, more in control, even if just for a moment.

I take both her wrists in my hands and lift them above her head, pinning them there easily with one hand. Her breathing quickens as I trail rough, hungry kisses down the soft curve of her neck, forcing a gasp from her lips as she tilts her chin upward. The raw sexual tension between us is undeniable, craving that electric connection we've always shared.

When my hand slides between her thighs, her knees tremble, but I keep her steady, my grip on her wrists tightening. I find her pussy exposed, hot, and soaking wet for me. As soon as my fingers slip through her slick lips, I rub her clit, fast and relentless, driving her to moan. That sound—her voice breaking with desire—floods me with something indescribable.

I capture her breathless lips in another brutal kiss, releasing her wrists just as she fumbles with my shirt, her hands finding my bare abs as soon as she has access. I break away from the kiss, heat rising in my chest as I remove my fingers from her pussy. There's no hesitation as I spin her around, pressing her front against the wall once more. My desire is a furious storm, and I can't hold back anymore.

Without warning, I squat behind her, my hands spreading her ass cheeks wide. My sharp spit hits her tight little hole, and I dive in, devouring her like I'm starved. My tongue works her asshole relentlessly, and the sounds she makes—those moans of pure pleasure—drive me fucking wild. Her head falls back, hair cascading into my eyes, but I don't stop.

I grip her even tighter, lifting her cheeks just enough to drag my tongue to her pussy, tracing her glistening lips until I reach her swollen clit. I flick my tongue over it, tasting her, savoring the way her body responds to me as she melts under my touch.

Her trembling legs and the desperate, breathless moans spilling from her lips tell me just how much she's been craving this. So, I don't ease up; I go harder, devouring every inch of her—pussy to ass—relentlessly. She's mine to ruin, and I'm not stopping until she's completely satisfied.

She reaches back, her hand finds my hair, fingers tightening as she pulls me deeper into her ass. It's her way of begging me to keep going, to push her past the breaking point, and I'm more than willing to oblige. I shift my head between her thighs, turning my body and French kiss her soaked pussy, slurping up every drop of her release. She's dripping when I drag my thumb over her drenched cunthole, gathering her juices before pushing it deep into her asshole without a second thought.

Her body responds instantly, legs bucking, and I double down, sucking her bud while my thumb wrecks her tight hole. I gnaw on her clit, relishing the way she clenches around me, every nerve in her body lighting up.

She starts breathing unevenly, the climax finally hitting her like a wave. She tries to suppress the scream tearing from her throat but can't. It's raw and unfiltered as I munch on her through it, holding her steady while I dive in deeper, savagely devouring her. She's lost in it, trembling, her pussy pulsing against my tongue as her orgasm rips through her.

As the storm inside her finally calms, I ease my thrusts, giving her gentle, soft kisses, lapping up the last of her sweetness. Her muscles still twitch with the aftershocks until I slide my thumb out of her pulsing asshole, pull back and stand up behind her.

Her forehead remains pressed against the wall as she struggles to catch up with everything, I've just put her through. I trail my hands along the curves of her perfect body as I close the gap between us. Leaning in, I press my lips to her sweaty neck, savoring the salty taste of her skin.

"You good?" I ask, though I know the answer, I want to hear it from her.

She nods weakly, still too winded to form words. Finally, she turns her head just enough to meet my gaze, her pink cheeks and dazed expression betraying her exhaustion.

"You just ruined me," she breathes.

I arch an eyebrow, smirking at her. "No shit. I wasn't going to go easy on you the second I knew you were ready to step it up a level."

She almost looks shocked by the effect it had on her, which is ironic considering we used to do worse on the daily—relentless, primal, but it's been a while, and it's clear the gap has left its mark on both of us.

She gives me a lazy, satisfied smile, her lips parted in that way that always makes my blood run hot. I lean in, capturing her mouth in a rough kiss, and she straightens instantly, turning to face me, her small frame pressing against mine. Her tongue is hungry and fierce, and I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head back to take control of the kiss, to devour her like I need to.

I slam her against the wall again, my body pinning hers as the fire inside me rages, threatening to spiral out of control all over again. I can feel the desire coursing through me, every touch making me lose my grip on restraint, my cock straining against my tight pants, demanding to be free and inside her, but I stop myself just before tipping over the edge. With a frustrated growl, I press my forehead against hers, my eyes squeezed shut as I try to regain my composure.

"I don't know what's worse," I mutter against her lips. "Taking this shit slow or going completely without feeling your warm pussy wrapped around me. It's fucking impossible to keep my hands off you, even when we're just kissing."

She pulls back just enough to raise an eyebrow at me, a teasing grin playing on her lips. "Do you want to stop kissing, then?"

I snarl softly against her mouth, the heat between us only growing more intense. "Don't test me with your brave bullshit. You're not out of my bad books yet, even if you let me ruin your perfect cunt and asshole with my mouth tonight."

Her playful expression fades, her face falling as she realizes where this conversation is headed. My forehead stays pressed against hers, my grip on her tightening as I search her eyes.

"You confronted them, didn't you?"

I can see the guilt flashing across her features, confirming what I already know.

"Yes." She whispers, barely audible.

I inhale deeply, trying to keep my frustration in check. "Why? I told you not to."

She hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing her words. "I wanted them to leave us alone. I told them I don't want their fucking protection if it means losing you."

My brows lift in surprise. "You said that?"

She gives a small, emotionless nod. "I said a lot, and I wasn't nice about it either."

I close my eyes, feeling a pang of guilt stir within me for the hundredth time tonight. I don't want her to be fighting with her folk because of me, even if they've been shitty.

"Wren…"

"They needed to know, Arlo," she cuts in. "They needed to know that if they ever fuck with us like that again, I won't hesitate to cut them off completely. That means never speaking to them and them never seeing Lumi either. No one messes with my little family, not even family."

My brows furrow, and I search her eyes, trying to understand.

"What do you mean by "they?"

"My father isn't Ghost."

I lift my head, confusion washing over me.

"My mom is." She confesses.

I snicker, doubtful, but her serious gaze doesn't shift. She brings her hands up to my face, locking eyes with me.

"I'm not lying. It's my mom. She's ghost."

I'm stunned into silence as I process what she's just revealed.

"But promise me you won't tell a soul. Even though you owe her nothing, I don't want anyone to know." She asks, looking at me sincerely, her eyes pleading.

My jaw clenches under her hands, but I give a small nod, my mind racing.

"Okay."

I straighten up and wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to my chest. "Come on. Let's get some sleep. We've got a busy time ahead."