Chapter 16

I watchDraven set fire to the curtains inside the house before he takes off out the back door. He knows to message me when he needs to get in and out of a situation, but I don't think he realizes that I watch him. I always do. I have since I found him in the code.

I am sitting at my command center, scrubbing video feeds to make sure his ass is covered when Draven returns. Like always, he'll play it off as if he doesn't understand the tech, but he does. He's much smarter than some of the other ones. The ones who use password for their password on a secure network used to assign mercenary killings to the appropriately skilled assassins make me want to commit unspeakable acts of violence.

"Here," he says, holding out the comms device as expected.

I sigh, frustrated with him. He's spent months watching me do this.

"You know how to use this," I say.

He grunts, and I growl. I know he knows how to use the device; I taught him. He's watched me do it. And he knows I know he knows how to use the device.

I shake my head, downloading the material I need from the device.

"I saw you that night, you know," I tell him as he sits on the couch to my left. I don't know why I said it. I really don't.

"What night?"

I grumble under my breath, ignoring him.

"Tavish?" he demands.

I look at him. His rugged, manly good looks nearly take my breath. He is the most beautiful, perfect specimen of a descendant of a Viking and a Highland Scot. He is strength and power, grace and honor combined.

I raise my eyebrow at him because I'm not sure I can open my mouth without saying something I shouldn't.

He sighs. He hates when I don't answer questions or vocalize my thoughts.

"What night?" he asks.

I shouldn't have said anything. Now, he'll demand an answer as well as the details.

I know better than to try to dodge the question, so I answer honestly, "The night you killed Lionel."

"I dinnae ken what yer on about, ghille."

"Your brogue gets thicker when your emotions run high. Did you know?"

His scowl is dark as tar, and his brogue is deep and rough. He stares at me, and I realize he will never let me get away with not answering. I'm not getting a response, no matter what.

"You killed Lionel McGivern," I repeat.

"I've already told ye I'm nae a murderer."

"I never said you were. But I read the coroner's reports, and considering Rupert Fisher and Lionel McGivern were both decapitated, I beg to differ, at least in theory. Rupert's decapitation wasn't a bloody one, though. You severed his head internally. Nice work, by the way."

"Ye dinnae ken what ye're talking about."

A frustrated chuckle escapes as I force-feed him the proof to counter his denials. "You were there that night in the warehouse. I saw you watching as Lionel's men loaded the crates into the truck. I know it was you because I saw the footage. You killed Rupert outside the warehouse before entering. I watched as Samuel and I left, and then I watched you leave seconds before the building blew up. The footage was erased, by the way. You're welcome."

I get up from my desk and walk over to him, pausing when I'm right in front of him. My lip disappears between my teeth as I climb onto his lap, straddling the cock I hope to one day feel inside me. I want to know what sex is like when it's about passion and not survival.

He stiffens under me, his cock goes hard, and his body goes still. There's a war inside him. One I've watched grow since the night he pinned me to the side of the Society's headquarters.

I want to feel his hands on me, but as I run mine down his arms, I see them open and close on the couch next to his legs. It's like he wants to touch me, but he's fighting it. My fingers trace over the back of his hands, dancing across his knuckles.

I glance up at him from under my lashes. "You can trust me, Draven. I want you."

Fuck!

My brain screams at me. Even though I sat on his lap, I didn't mean to reveal that to him.

"To help you. I want to help you, I mean. It's why I brought you here. I want to give you the help you need to find your sister and kill the men who took Maeve from you and killed your husband and parents."

"What do you get out o' this?"

"A favor," I say, my voice on the verge of begging.

"What sort o' favor?" he asks.

"I want you to kill the man who hurt me," I whisper, giving voice to my deepest, darkest desire. I want Samuel Nicholson dead.

I see the question blaze white hot in his blue eyes, turning them to the strangest combination of fiery and icy. I sigh. He will want to know, but I don't know if I can tell him.

I could show him my marks. Maybe if he sees them, he will be satisfied enough that I won't have to reveal my shame.

When his mouth opens, the tremors set in, and tears flood my eyes, blurring his face. He closes his mouth as he stares at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It's short-lived because his mouth drops open again.

But instead of asking me what I can't give voice to, he says, "I willnae ask ye to tell me things ye dinnae want to tell, lilla du."

I don't know what that last bit means, but the sound of it makes my cock throb. The tears and tremors burn away with the heat that surges through my blood. I stare into his eyes as he stares into mine. The need and want to kiss him pulses within me badly, but I don't want to take it. I want him to want it as much as I do.

I wait, growing impatient. I'm close to begging for him to taste me. I feel him grow harder and lengthier. A moan escapes, and I grind down onto him, trembling with desire.

A growl rolls through him, and my belly quivers. I cannot help the way this man makes me feel. I've never felt this way before. Samuel Nicholson is a hard, unfeeling man. Everything that happen between us was cold and clinical.

Draven is different. So very different.

I know he wants everyone to believe he's cold and calculating and unfeeling. I know he can be all those things, but he's not completely unfeeling and unemotional. He feels things differently. That's all.

He's searched for years for his sister. He loves her dearly, and he has put himself at risk to find her. Only it wasn't him they went after. Not directly. They killed his husband instead.

I know he feels responsible for what led to his husband's death. Simon died a violent, gruesome death. I know because I watched it. It made me want to help him even more than I already had.

So, I enticed him with info on finding her in the hope he'd come here so I could help him. Now, here we are. He's with me, and watching him and helping him all this time has endeared him to me. Hopefully, it's endeared me to him as well.

He lifts his hand. It hovers next to my face, not touching me, but close enough that the heat from his skin warms my cheek.

His eyes dance across my face, and I can't wait any longer. I lean forward. His gaze drops to my mouth. His breath whispers over me…

"Crivvens," he growls. His hands wrap around my upper arms, squeezing as he stands, pushing me away from him.

"Draven?" I ask.

He stares down at me and then storms out of the room, leaving me alone and confused.