Chapter Five

D ays later, I sit at my vanity gaping at my neck, and the puncture marks at the top of my breasts. I look like I was viciously attacked, and in a way, I was...until I wasn't.

The morning after our run-in, I spent an hour trying to cover the bite on my neck before I discovered the bruises on my wrists and called in. The bite marks have gone from red to purple to fading yellow, but they are still there, and I am nowhere near okay enough to fake it through a shift with Melinda.

I've been mostly holed up in my bedroom the last few days, unable to escape the constant replay of that kiss while deciphering all that was revealed to me.

Dominic's brother.

I kissed him.

But it wasn't just a kiss.

I betrayed their memory with that act, and that's hard enough to face, but my head is still splintering with questions. Behind that, guilt drags me along, a heavy weight continually tugging on the chain shackled to me.

Was it Sean or Dominic who claimed me? Both? And would one or both hate me if they knew I'd damn near screwed the bastard who tore us apart?

Does it even matter? It's been months and months, and they've given me nothing but a trinket. I've been dangling in the dark without a fucking thing to hold onto, and this is the thread meant to keep me?

It's not enough. Not nearly enough. My contempt for their continued absence has led me to a place of defiance. And maybe that's why I participated in that kiss.

I felt that thread start to unravel the second that bastard's mouth ravaged mine. I can still feel the pressure of his lips while the bones of the forest dug into my back. In seconds, his ferocious kiss turned me from a fighter into a willing submissive. And that made me question myself in a completely different way.

In the past few days, I've taken inventory, piecing together the parts I know while forming more theories. But no matter how much I try and piece it together—piece myself together—the longer I extend my sentence.

I need to let go. I have to let go. Now more so than ever.

Because it wasn't just Tobias's kiss that was the most damning, it's the fact that I should expect and demand more for myself. And the people in my life are making it hard for me to believe I deserve it.

When my father was alerted to my absence at the plant, I replied to his inquiring email and told him I had a virus. And with that, he was satisfied—unconcerned. He's no longer skirting the lie of a relationship. There's no point. He'll have me paid off soon anyway.

My mother's calls are also becoming less and less frequent. I'm not sure if she's retreated into herself or not, but I can't bring myself to help her if she won't let me in. Once she's wealthy, maybe she'll try to get the help she needs. It doesn't change the fact that at twenty, I feel orphaned.

I allow myself to hate them both a little for it.

The longer this goes on, the more my relationships with each of them are starting to chip away at me.

Not a single soul on Earth, aside from Christy, cares about me enough to keep me close. Cares enough about me to make me a priority.

Maybe there's an exception in whoever sent that necklace. But even he hasn't been bold enough to step up and claim me, to come forward in backing his declaration, his decision. To fight for me. Not in the way he should.

And not in the way I need him to.

My self-worth is suffering at my own hands as well.

I can't shake the feeling that what happened with Tobias wasn't just a battle of wills with a man who is hell-bent on destroying me, but a closer look at my reflection.

I wanted him— Dominic's brother .

I wanted him.

So much so, that I loathe every part of me that he touched.

In the shower, I scrub my skin mercilessly to try and rid myself of all traces, welcoming the burn while aggravating the bite marks on my neck and breast. He'd actually broken through the skin around my nipple, and it was a tinge of copper along with betrayal that I tasted in his kiss.

Sick fuck.

But if he's sick, what does it make me? What does it say about me that I can't stop imagining what would have happened if I had given in? It's not just the way he kissed me. It's the intensity that bounces between us every time he's near me, and it's inescapable. I'd chalked up my initial reaction to him the day we met as a culmination of nerves and shock. I can't at all say the same now. This morning I woke up, my panties soaked because of a dream starring a man I loathe before I easily brought myself to a toe-curling orgasm.

Out of the shower, I don't bother to wipe the condensation from the mirror. I no longer want to see my reflection. Dripping wet on the marble floor, I search for the towel I swore I set on the counter and carefully tread to my room to retrieve another from the linen closet. Opening the door, I scream when I see Tobias standing, devastating and dangerous in another tailored suit, my missing towel dangling from his fingers as his eyes devour me in a long sweep.

Ignoring the rush his rapt attention brings, I point toward my door.

"Get out. Get the fuck out."

His blistering gaze continues to roam over me from the soaked hair at my neck to my breasts, illicit appreciation in his gaze before it drops to the thinly shaved patch of hair between my legs.

I turn my back to him, denying his view, jerking open my dresser, grabbing a pair of panties, and a long T-shirt.

"You need to leave, or—"

"Or what?" I feel him at my back. His warm breath hits the skin between my shoulder blades, and my nipples draw tight.

"Did I miss something?" I say, ripping a bra from my drawer. "I haven't said a word. I haven't done anything."

Slowly, he turns me to face him before draping the towel around my dripping body and fastening it. Eyes locked, tension-filled seconds tick by before he steps away.

"We need to talk. Get dressed and meet me downstairs."

Pulling on a sundress, I cock my head when I hear the distinct clanging of pans downstairs. Confused, I take them two at a time before I hit the landing, crossing the dining room to find Tobias, in Roman's kitchen...chopping.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I demand from the doorway.

"Cooking," he replies dryly, keeping his eyes on his task.

"You do realize you're in Roman Horner's kitchen?"

He...grins, and I do a double-take. The sight of him without his jacket, his button-down rolled up at the sleeves revealing thick, veined, muscular forearms does unwelcome things to me.

"You're smiling about the fact that you're in his kitchen, cooking for his daughter?"

"I find it oddly satisfying."

He pops an olive into his mouth from an open container on the counter when the back door slams. I jump out of my skin and eye Tobias—who's completely at ease—just before Tyler appears in the doorway. "All good."

Tobias nods in reply, seeming satisfied. Tyler's eyes soften when he notices me standing on the other side of the island. I can't help the sting that starts behind my eyes when his dimple appears as he makes his way toward me. "Look at you. You only get more beautiful." I can feel Tobias's curious stare at our exchange from where he stands.

The closer Tyler gets, the more I notice the differences in him. Though his hair is still close to a regulation military cut, he looks more of an islander at this point, his skin sun-drenched. There's a sparkle in his brown eyes that was absent the last time I saw him at Delphine's. He looks healthy and happy. I refrain from throwing my arms around him and asking all the questions I so desperately want answers to, the presence of the bastard only feet away stifling me to the point I feel like the outsider.

And that's the truth of it—I am the outsider.

The fact that they're in the same room feels odd, only reiterating that I showed up in the midst of something that started long ago. Not only are they acquainted, they consider themselves brothers. Whether we were close or not, Tyler's allegiance isn't to me. It's to the man standing across from me burning holes into the both of us.

Tyler stops a foot away, hesitance in his posture. "I've missed you, girl."

I snap my gaze to his, crossing my arms.

"Oh, now I exist? How convenient."

He sighs. "I know you're angry—"

"Angry?" I harrumph. "That's putting it mildly."

"Cee—"

I shake my head, unwilling to listen to his bullshit excuse. "Don't bother. What are you doing here?"

He winces. "Errands."

I dart my glare to Tobias, who matches it unapologetically, long seconds passing as he refuses to give me any explanation. Tyler reads the energy in the room and clears his throat, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. "I guess . . . I guess I'll head out."

Tobias nods. "I'll get with you later."

"All right, man." Tyler eyes me, reluctant to leave. "It was good to see you, Cee."

I don't bother to answer him; my hurt is front and center as he lingers a beat before he turns, his posture deflating. He's halfway across the kitchen when a rogue thought occurs to me.

"Was it you?" I look over to Tobias, whose jaw sets in a hard line before turning my attention back to Tyler. "You promised to be there for me, have my back. I considered you a friend."

"I do have your back. Always will." He stalks toward me and takes my hand. "And I am your friend," he swears, darting his stare to Tobias and then back to me. "No, Cee, it wasn't me. And trust me, I'm paying for it."

And I believe him. He was there from the beginning. The idea that he sold the three of us out is ridiculous and would be insulting if he hadn't turned his back on me.

"I know it wasn't," I admit begrudgingly, and swallow. I lift my eyes to his and resent the shake in my voice. "I'm so fucking mad at you."

"I know. So is he." He jerks his head toward Tobias. He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. "I'm sorry. And I just wanted to say thank you."

He gives me no time to ask him why he's thanking me before turning and striding toward the back door. A second later, he shuts it softly behind him.

A long, tense silence passes between us before Tobias resumes his chopping.

I run my fingers through my wet hair and secure it in a loose bun with the tie on my wrist. "What was the errand?"

He eyes the newly bared bite mark on my neck as he answers. "He swept the house and reset the security system."

"Dominic took care of that months ago."

He stills his knife. "Well, it's been done again ." The sharpness in his voice matches the blade of the knife he's wielding—those poor tomatoes.

I take the stool at the island and can't help myself from asking, "Why are you here...doing this?" I gesture to where he works, expertly dissecting a cucumber. He stills his knife and looks up at me briefly before getting back to his task.

"We're going to have dinner and a conversation."

"Why?"

"Because I'm fighting hard not to become the monster you so easily bring out of me. This is business."

"What exactly are you hoping for with me? Friendship?" I snort, incredulous. "Maybe it's you who can't handle the fact that I despise—"

He lifts blazing eyes to mine. "Friendship, no. And I couldn't give a shit that you hate me."

"Then what?"

"Jesus Christ—" he slams the knife down. "I'm making dinner. You'll eat it. We'll have a conversation, and I'll leave."

"Fine!"

"Fine! Bordel de merde!" Fucking hell.

I stand and jerk open the fridge collecting two water bottles, slamming one down in front of him. "Here!"

"Fucking thank you," he snaps, uncorking the bottle.

Our eyes meet a split second before we both burst into laughter. And the sight of him in this state is blinding. And wrong, so wrong. I can't—won't—appreciate the mirth dancing in his eyes, the dazzling white of his perfect teeth, or the contrast of his dark skin against his crisp white shirt. I can't love the strength in his jaw or the definition in his shoulders or the sight of his belt on his trim waist. Within seconds, I'm back in that clearing, on my knees picturing myself unleashing him.

It doesn't take long to realize his laughter has faded out and he's watching the rise and fall of my chest, drinking in the look in my eyes. He stands like a sentry, still on the other side of the island as his gaze darkens.

Setting the knife down, he runs a hand through his hair and cups the back of his neck. His voice is low when he speaks. "What happened the other night was..." his eyes dart to mine, "chalk it up to curiosity."

"You mean that wasn't you? Sure looked like you."

"You don't fucking know me."

"I don't fucking want to."

He swipes his hand across the counter, drawing the chopped vegetables into a bowl. Another tense silence passes, and I don't bother to acknowledge the hint of guilt he's displaying. Even if he added the sincerest of apologies, it would never be enough.

"So, if it wasn't Tyler, it was someone from the Meetup who told you I was here. Is that how you found out about me?" He pauses briefly, seeming to weigh up whether to respond before he finally nods.

"The Miami crew; we're having allegiance issues with a few of them."

"Is it because of the driver who nearly killed Sean? The one Dominic made an example of?"

He shakes his head. "That only added to the existing problem. I became concerned when Dom told me what happened and then stopped checking in with me as often. My brother had never been that hard to reach. Neither had Sean."

"So, you broke the number one rule and asked—"

"They gave me no fucking choice," he snaps defensively. "I never had to until..." the implication lingers heavily before he drops it altogether with a harsh exhale. "My brother and I don't agree on a lot these days when it comes to his militant extremes. But I can't say I blame him for his reaction that night."

Tobias turns back to the stove and stirs the pasta, and I find it odd to see him in this domestic capacity. He seems the type of man to own a boardroom, a no-bullshit closer, who commands a meeting before he fucks his assistant after, her skirt hitched up around her hips as he thrusts into her while puffing on a celebratory cigar.

He most definitely doesn't seem the type to do menial tasks, like grocery shop. Then again, nothing is what it seems when it comes to these winged bastards.

"I can feel you watching me," he speaks up from where he stands, his back turned.

"Chalk it up to curiosity," I repeat his earlier words. "You went to the store?"

"That's usually the place you go to get food to cook."

"Smartass."

"I can feel you looking at that too."

Guilty, I dart my gaze away.

"You're awfully at ease in this kitchen. What if my dad were to walk through the door right now?"

He glances over his shoulder, offering me a dead stare that lets me know I should know better.

"Never mind, you probably know his morning dump schedule."

This time he turns to me, gripping the counter behind him. "Your father is on a plane. And the only thing he knows about me is that I received a settlement he signed off on when he made me an eleven-year-old orphan. I'm sure he didn't give a damn what became of the two of us the minute he paid us off."

He was eleven, which puts Tobias somewhere around thirty-one.

"You're sure he's guilty?"

"I'm sure he covered it up. I'm sure he's crooked as fuck in his business dealings, and that's enough. But this isn't just about me. My motives aren't purely selfish."

"I never said they were."

"It's business."

"Business. So, I assume that kiss was business too?"

"It was to make a point, and you questioning it is the sole reason for our conversation."

"If this is a proposition, I'm not interested. You can take your business elsewhere. This conversation is pointless, as is your presence in this house. I've told you, it's not my place to pay for his mistakes, and you have no say in my life whatsoever. I owe you nothing . And this concludes our business , so you can see yourself out."

In a flash, he crosses the kitchen and painfully grips my jaw in his hand. "My curiosity stems from the fact I was lied to and gutted by the two people I trusted most in the whole fucking world. I think you know how fucked that feels. I'm pretty sure you've been there, recently ."

A long silence passes before he speaks. "I've spent over half my life making plans and setting them in motion until you showed up." He tightens his hold as my lips squish together. "I'm trying really hard here to have an adult conversation with you. I was angry, I'm still angry, and it's not going away anytime soon. But I'm going to do my best to try and talk this out with you because it's what adults do. So, I'm going to release your mouth, and you're going to do your best to work with me because, like it or not, we need to come to a business arrangement . At this point, we're both holding cards the other needs. And maybe, if you play nice, I'll give you some of the answers you seek. A conversation is what I'm asking for. Nothing more. If it was pussy I was after"—he pauses, his eyes dipping to my heaving chest—"I would've had it already. My patience is running thin, so I'm calling a temporary truce so we can sort this out before it gets any uglier. Blink once if you agree, twice for disagree."

Furious, I fight his hold and his eyes flare in warning.

I blink once.

He releases me and I work my jaw to get the burn out. "Jesus, you're a bastard." He rips his eyes away from me and walks over to the stove. "So, is this what you do to women? You break into their houses, assault them, and then force-feed them?"

He pulls a strainer from the cabinet and drains the noodles.

"I can't imagine how any woman puts up with this shit long-term. It's ridiculous. What kind of life can you build with someone based on lies?"

"Trust," he corrects sourly. "It's based on trust, not lies. And right now, I'm running short."

"You say trust. I say omissions and half-truths. At least that's what I got from it."

"Depends on who you're with."

"It's a good thing I'm not with anyone."

He doesn't so much as spare me a glance as he tosses the pasta under cold water.

"Your feelings make you a reckless loose end, Cecelia, which is really fucking bad for business. I told you when we met: you were loyal to them for the wrong reasons."

"You mean love. But that reason doesn't matter anymore. I'm moving on. I'm dating again. And you know that."

He looks over to me, skeptical brows raised.

I match his stance and lift my chin. "Wait...that's what this is about? Because I'm dating, trying to move on, you think that I'm going to spill your secrets to the next guy I sleep with?"

His silence infuriates me.

"Newsflash, I've been in far worse shape before now, I've been angrier, far more resentful and haven't uttered a word. Not even to the people closest to me. Your logic is ridiculous."

He doesn't flinch. "You were still waiting. Therefore, you were still loyal. Think about it objectively for a second. If you were me, would you put the fate of your entire fucking operation in the hands of an emotional lit"—he rolls his eyes as my expression hardens—"twenty-year-old woman ?"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you—"

He shakes his head ironically. "Took your boyfriends away? You keep proving my point. And if we're going by track record—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence! I've been insulted by you enough to last a lifetime. You're a sexist pig."

"Say what you will, but twice I've seen you let your emotions overrule your judgment, and I'm not willing to gamble on that."

And then it hits me.

"This isn't a conversation. This is a negotiation ."

He's here to strike a deal.

Not once in my time here have I ever taken advantage of my position. But I've learned well that everything comes with a price. And I seem to be the only one who's been paying it. Until now.

"You truly don't believe love and loyalty go hand in hand?"

"Two separate words with two distinct definitions. But if you look up the synonyms for love"—his eyes lock with mine—"I'm sure you'll find weakness amongst them."

"And what exactly is it that you think you have to barter with? You took away the only—"

He raises his brows.

My inheritance. "My mother—"

"If I move in now, it all goes. All of it. But I can't take that chance, can I?" He shrugs. "So, what's a few more months."

That's his card. He'll wait to move in on my father until I've signed for my inheritance. Sean told me he would try to hold him off, and I admitted to him just nights ago my purpose for being here, but no matter how he got the info, it's leverage.

Fuck.

It's time to show my card, but we already know what it is—my silence. If I speak up, I may be able to stop him from taking my inheritance, from getting his revenge. He sees it the minute I figure it out.

He lifts his chin. "Name your price."

"You really don't believe I'm capable of keeping my mouth shut without being blackmailed?"

"This isn't blackmail. And your real question is, do I trust you? Fuck, no. But don't take it personally."

I open my mouth to snap out a worthy retort, but he raises his hand.

"Let's save the insults for dessert. You need to really think about what you want."

I want him to pay, that's what I want. I want to strip him of some of his confidence, to humiliate him the way he has me. I want to hurt his pride and his feelings if he's capable of having them. And that's when the idea strikes me.

His eyes flare when he reads the price in my expression. "Cecelia—"

"Promise me my father's safety."

"You can't be serious." He curses and shakes his head disbelieving.

"It's the only thing I want. Maybe he does deserve whatever you do to him financially, but you yourself said you were never going to hurt him physically, so what's the harm in making you swear to it?"

"Like I said, he has other enemies."

"And you know of them?"

Another nod.

"Even better. You'll be the one to watch over him."

"You're putting way too much stake in your place, Cecelia. Either way, he's going down. The when is up to you."

I palm the counter and lean in. "You want to buy my loyalty? Then you wait until that money hits my bank account and guarantee my father's safety."

"You're asking too much."

"He's my father, Tobias. Whatever he's done, I assure you he's paying for it. The man is bankrupt in life already. His company is all he lives for. You take that, and I guarantee you will have taken everything from him. Just give him a chance to do something different with his life after you're finished with him." I circle the counter and look up at him. He towers over me, his posture rattling with anger, his eyes bleak. "You take his wealth and position, and he'll have nothing left. It's not like you can get revenge on a corpse. Consider it protecting your interest."

"I told you, this isn't just about me."

"But the victory will be much sweeter if you gain control as he is forced to watch."

It takes nearly a minute of staring off before he finally dips his chin.

"With words, Tobias."

"He's under our protection, from here on out, until we're done with him."

"Swear to me."

His eyes flare. "I'm not repeating myself."

"Fine. So now what?"

He nods toward the cutting board. "Dinner."