Chapter Eight

Brynna

B y night, my father's club is a den of iniquity. Champagne flows, poured from the hands of waitstaff who make more here than they do modeling. The dance floor is packed with people willing to pay his price just for a chance to walk through the doors. Thousands of lights glitter and glint, turning it into a place outside itself, one where you can get lost for a few hours.

But by day, it's a sad reminder of the sins people visit upon themselves in the name of hedonistic delight. A fine layer of grim coats the floor, so trampled into it that there is no getting it out again no matter how hard the staff scrubs. The expensive dance floor has scuffs in it. The lights are dim, barely even lighting up the place. And the only thing you're liable to lose here is your sanity.

I should know. I've been stuck here since Niall shook me awake before dawn, telling me we needed to go. He wouldn't tell me why, but he didn't need to tell me.

They always move me out of the house when they've done something particularly dangerous. And since Nazario is their target this time…well, I'm pretty good at math.

Guilt is eating me alive. I should have told him…something yesterday. Anything. I don't know what, but anything was better than nothing.

Does he know that I tried to warn him? Will he hate me when he finds out whatever my father and brother have done?

My soul trembles with anxiety at the possibility. It trembles with fear at the thought of what trespasses they may have committed against him.

Niall wouldn't tell me, of course. I tried to get it out of him, but he was as infuriatingly tight-lipped as ever.

I pace the edges of the dance floor, anxiety. Frustrated. Ready to snap.

My bodyguards clearly don't feel the same way. They're gathered around a table in the center of the room, knocking back a bottle of Jameson while they play cards. My father would probably lose his mind if he knew they were drinking on the job, but they always do when we're here.

The alternative is twiddling their thumbs, waiting for precisely what usually happens. Nothing. I may be a target, but the club is untouchable, a pillar in Beverly Hills. When even the mayor holds events inside, not even my father's worst enemies dare to touch it.

But they aren't Naz. My father may think he can handle him, but I think all he's likely to do is wake a sleeping giant. Naz isn't Adrian Lombardi or Eamon Callahan. He's in a class of his own.

"Twenty-five, motherfuckers." Cathán slams his hand down on the table behind me as he declares victory, making me jump.

"Son of a bitch," Conri growls. "How the fuck do you keep beating us?"

"Probably because hasn't drunk half a bottle. He can still fuckin' count," Seán mutters, earning a round of laughter from the other three.

I roll my eyes, turning back to the dance floor. I make another circuit, letting their laughter and joking wash over me, trying to focus on anything other than my own furious thoughts. Halfway through another circuit, something bangs against the doors to the club.

I turn in that direction, my brows furrowed in confusion. Is Niall back already?

Confusion turns to horror as the doors burst inward, splintering into pieces as if someone blasted them apart at the seams.

"Fuckin' hell!" Seán roars as four men storm into the club, guns drawn.

But it's not the four with guns I notice. It's the gorgeous devil behind them who captures my attention. Naz.

He strides into the club as if he owns it, cool self-possession in every step. He doesn't care that he shouldn't be here. He doesn't care that he's breaking and entering. He doesn't care about anything. His expression is ice cold, completely devoid of emotion as he steps over the threshold.

And then he sees me.

His amber eyes lock on my face, his expression morphing from ice cold to burning hot in a split second. It scalds me, stoking to life an answering blaze deep in my soul.

I take a step toward him, pulled like a magnet again.

And then something…flickers on his face. Fear slides through his eyes, so much of it that it steals my breath. It's the first time I've seen that emotion from him. Perhaps the first time he's let himself feel it.

The sharp crack of gunfire explodes around me, bullets shattering glass and splintering wood. Splinters rain down around me as I drop to the floor, screaming.

"Brynna!" Naz roars, terror in his deep voice.

Terror surges through my veins, too, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I curl into a ball, covering my head with my arms.

Please, God. Please.

I'm not sure what I'm praying for. My safety? His? Theirs?

I sob as shot after shot rings out, along with grunts and curses. I don't dare lift my head, though. I'm too fucking afraid to look, to see. If Naz…

My mind catches on the thought, refusing to even form it.

The gunfire ends as abruptly as it started, fading to an eerie almost-silence. All I hear is my own panicked breathing, my own racing heart.

And then someone drops to their knees beside me, reaching out for me.

I cower away, sobbing. Screaming.

"Brynna, mi alma ," Naz whispers. "I'm here. You're safe."

His deep voice cuts through panic, searing through the shards of ice around my heart. I sob his name, scrambling toward him.

He hauls me into his arms, holding me so tight I'm not sure which of us is more afraid in this moment, which of us is more grateful.

"Naz," I sob, burying my face in his throat, breathing him in. I let the scent of his expensive cologne wash through me, let the strength of his embrace root me to reality. This is the moment I exist in, not the terrifying few that just passed.

Footsteps thump across the dance floor, moving toward us. I shrink in his arms like a coward, trying to hide in his embrace.

"I've got you, mi cielito ," he whispers against my ear, stroking his hand through my hair. "Nothing is going to happen to you." He lifts his head, his voice turning hard. "Everyone, get the fuck out. Now."

"Príncipe, what about…?"

"Get the fuck out, Nicolas," Naz growls, a ferocious warning full of menace and venom. I shiver at the sound, at the inherent authority in it. This isn't a request, it's a command to obey or suffer for it.

His man knows it, too.

"Everyone, out!" Nicolas shouts. "The príncipe says we're done here."

No one says a word as they retreat, obeying without question or complaint. Within seconds, the club is completely silent. Naz and I are the only ones left. At least, I think we're the only ones left alive.

I lift my head, needing to confirm my suspicions, but Naz stops me. "Don't look, mi alma ," he murmurs, regret heavy in his voice. "There's nothing here you need to see."

And I guess that tells me everything I need to know. The men who were laughing only fifteen minutes ago, the ones my father sent to keep me safe, are dead. And the one he sought to protect me from now has his arms around me, comforting me.

Naz runs his hands all across me, his touch gentle. "Are you hurt, little one? Please, tell me you aren't." The pure agony, the fear, in his plea breaks my heart even as it heals some piece of it this day shattered. He meant it when he said he'd destroy this city to keep me safe. But an injury sustained because of something he set in motion? He'd destroy himself for that.

"I'm f-fine," I whisper, awed at just how deeply he cares. I'm the daughter of his enemy, the one who just did God knows what to him. And still, my safety is all he's thinking about, all he wants.

Does he realize that he's in love with me? Does he know that's what's happening to him yet? Why isn't he fighting it, railing and raging against it?

"I'm going to get you out of here," he murmurs, running his lips across my crown. "Keep your head down and don't look."

I should tell him no. That's the safe, sane thing to do. After what just happened—after whatever my father did—there's no escaping the fact that they're at war. If I leave with him now, it'll only fan the flames, incite more violence. But…I don't care anymore.

Naz chose his side. Now, it's my turn.

"I want to go with you," I whisper.

He rises to his feet with me tucked safely in his arms and carries me out of the club…and out of my cage.

He takes me to a safe house deep in his territory. It's a small little fortress, guarded by gates and wire. He sets me on my feet once we're over the threshold, only long enough to bolt the door and arm the alarm system.

As soon as both are done, I'm in his arms again. It's as if he can't stand the way they ache without me between them. He hasn't stopped touching me once since we left the club, hasn't stopped holding me.

He carries me past the living area toward a short hall, his lips against my ear. "I'm going to get you cleaned up."

I nod, more than willing to let him wash the stains of the last hour from my body. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom is small, cozy. Intimate. Dark, tasteful furniture rests on plush rugs. There is no artwork, no personal touches.

This isn't a home. It's simply a hideout, somewhere people stay when they need guns and razor-wire between them and their enemies.

He settles me on the edge of the bed, tipping my head back. His amber eyes bore into mine for a long moment, his fingertips gentle against my cheek.

"I'll be right back."

I bite my lip and then nod bravely, watching as he strides toward the bathroom attached to the bedroom. A few seconds later, I hear the water turn on. The sound is soothing, washing away the memory of gunfire and the grunts of my bodyguards as they fell.

It cuts off after a moment. Naz appears in the doorway with a washcloth in hand, his eyes immediately seeking mine as he strides toward me again.

We don't speak as he runs the warm cloth over my face, cleaning away the evidence of my tears. He's so gentle.

"What did they do to you, Naz?"

"Hijacked one of my shipments." A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Killed two of my men."

My heart trembles, guilt flowing through me in a giant black cloud. "I'm so sorry," I whisper, a fresh wave of tears already spilling over. "I…"

He immediately drops to his knees in front of me, setting the washcloth aside. His hands find my cheeks, capturing my tears. "You have nothing to apologize for, mi cielito ."

Nothing to apologize for?

"My father just took your drugs and killed two of your people, Naz."

"And I just killed four of his. We're even."

I hardly doubt they're even. I may not know much about drugs, but I'm guessing whatever my father stole was worth a small fortune.

"Is that why you were at the club?" I ask, trying to understand his logic. Why he's so calm about this. "To…kill my bodyguards?"

"No." His gaze flickers from mine and then back. "I didn't know you were there until…" He shakes his head, muttering a curse. But his hand shakes as if just the memory of seeing me standing there upsets him. "I was there to burn the place to the ground, Brynna."

"Oh." I probably shouldn't ask, but I do anyway. I have to know, to understand him. "Why didn't you?"

"You mean you don't already know?" He meets my gaze, his burning with that same intensity that overwhelms and excites and ignites me at once. The one that tells me whatever is between us has the potential to wreck lives or forge destinies.

"I…" I trail off, unsure how to answer. Do I know? I think so. I feel hope fluttering in my bones. But I need him to set it free. It can't fly until he does.

He leans toward me, eyes locked with mine, one hand against my cheek. His thumb sweeps along my bottom lip. "War doesn't matter. You do, Brynna," he says. "You've been in the middle your entire fucking life. I won't be the reason you're caught in the middle of this, too. I promised you that wouldn't be a pawn. I won't be a predator and make you one now. You're safe with me. You'll always be safe with me, little one."

I sob his name, throwing myself into his arms as hope explodes through me, firing like a ball from a cannon. It ignites every inch of me, setting me ablaze.

He was right the day we met when he said that, one day soon, I'd want him to claim every piece of me more than I want air. That day is today. It's right now.

"Make me yours," I plead, digging my nails into his broad shoulders. "Please, Naz. Break me. Unmake me. I need it."

"Fuck," he growls, dragging me into his arms as his lips come down on mine. His kiss consumes me, branding me in ways his hands can't. He demands my surrender, and I give it willingly, my fingers tangling in the inky black strands of his hair.

His hands slip beneath my shirt, his knuckles raking up my sides as he slips it up my body. Our mouths part only long enough for him to slip it off over my head, and then we come together again, desperate, aching. Cool air kisses my skin as he reaches for my bra, nimble fingers tearing through the hooks.

The straps slip from my shoulders, leaving me bare to him from the waist up. He pulls back just enough to rake his molten gaze over me. Possession fires in his eyes as he reaches out, brushing his thumb across my right nipple.

"Oh, mi alma ," he rasps, a thread in his voice that makes my core clench. "You're beautiful. But you're going to be fucking ravishing when these are covered in little marks to remind you that you belong to me now."

"Do it," I whimper, wanting to see it. Wanting proof on my body that he was here. That I'm his, and he's mine. I want evidence of his possession painted across my skin, screaming our defiance to the world. "Mark me, Naz. Claim me."

Pride and possession flare in his eyes. He drags me up against his chest, his mouth finding my right nipple. He sucks it between his lips, his tongue laving the peak.

I cry out, arching into him as pleasure spirals through me in a dizzying cloud.

His teeth graze my skin before he bites down. Pain collides with intense, blistering pleasure, and I writhe, sobbing in ecstasy.

His hands sink into my hips, holding me still as he switches to my left breast. Every touch of his lips against my skin is like a brand, claiming me as his. And every dark bruise he leaves behind sends another wave of need crashing through me.

"Naz," I whimper.

He seems to know exactly what I need more than I do.

"I've got you, little one. Patience."

But I'm not patient. I'm on fire, burning with need. Burning for him.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings, dragging them down my hips and thighs, leaving me bare and aching. Possession and hunger smolder in the amber depths of his eyes as they rake over me, searing my skin, sparking an inferno inside me.

"So goddamn beautiful," he murmurs, his fervent praise leaving me trembling. No one has ever seen me naked before. I'm not a small girl. I never have been. I've got stretchmarks and rolls, dimples and imperfections everywhere. But the way he looks at me with so much desire, as if I'm a work of art, is a powerful, heady thing.

He rises, towering above me, tall and imposing. So fucking beautiful. With a smirk, he presses a hand against my shoulder, sending me sprawling across the bed.

"Watch me, mi cielito ," he commands. "Don't take those pretty little eyes off me. I want you to see exactly what you've done to me, exactly how fucking hard that sweet body makes me."

My breath trembles on my lips as I nod, my eyes locked on him as his hands go to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he slips them free.

I press my thighs together as he reveals perfect brown skin, inch by gorgeous inch. Tattoos swirl across his skin in intricate designs that whisper of pain and heritage, of honor and obligation, of secrets and the man behind the mask he wears like adamantine armor.

The shirt falls away, and my gaze drifts lower, over his rock-hard abs to the massive bulge straining against his slacks. I lick my lips, the ache between my thighs almost overwhelming. I want to know what it feels like to be owned by him, consumed, stretched and filled so completely I feel like it'll break me.

"Spread your legs, little one," he rasps, reaching for his zipper. "Let me see that pretty cunt."

My cheeks flush, but I don't look away from him as I slowly let my legs fall open, giving him what he wants. The intensity in his amber eyes as they home in on my sex is…God, I've never seen anything sexier than this man staring at my pussy like I'm offering salvation between my legs.

He undoes his pants, his eyes never leaving my sex as he shoves them down his hips. His massive cock springs free, long and thick, the head glistening with precum.

My core clenches, wetness pooling between my thighs as he wraps his fist around his cock, stroking slowly from base to tip.

"Such a beautiful little cunt for a perfect Irish princesa , Brynna," he rasps, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "I can't wait to see it stretched around my cock, your sweet virgin blood staining my skin as I fuck the innocence out of you." He squeezes his cock hard, stroking, tugging. "I intend to claim every last piece of it as mine."

His filthy words should frighten me…but they don't. I whimper, the ache between my thighs almost unbearable. I've never wanted anything more than I want him buried inside me, breaking me open and reshaping my shattered pieces into something new.

"Please," I breathe, spreading my legs even wider in a blatant, eager invitation. My hand slips down my stomach, sliding across my pussy. "Do it, Naz. Take it. Destroy me."

He snaps, roaring like a wounded beast as he falls on me, ravenous, pushed to the edge of his control. His hand lashes around my ankle, yanking me to the end of the bed.

I cry out in bliss, in surrender, as he drops to his knees between my legs, the look of abject worship, of utter devotion, on his face searing.

He buries his face between my thighs, his beard scraping against my skin as he devours me, his hands rough, his tongue hot.

I cry out, my back arching off the bed as he seals his lips around my clit and sucks hard. Explosions of ecstasy rip through my body.

"Such a sweet little cunt, mi cielito ," he growls, backing off to run his tongue in maddening circles around my hole. "I could lick it all day." He pries my cheeks apart, his hands so damn rough and perfect, his gaze burning as he stares at my exposed back entrance. "And this tight little asshole… Fuck , I can't wait to claim it, too, Brynna. Want to feel it strangling my cock as I force myself inside. You'll love every filthy second, princesa ."

I whimper, my cheeks burning at his wicked promise even as it sends another flood of wetness trickling between my thighs. No one has ever spoken to me the way he does, so raw and wanton. So hungry for me. He doesn't ask nicely or guard his tongue. He isn't a polite gentleman, afraid to cross my father. He tells me exactly what he wants, exactly what he's going to do to me. And I fucking love it.

I want it, every filthy word, every depraved desire. I want this man broken open, spilling every bit of his darkness into me. I don't want to be a perfect, pampered little princess. I want to be his .

He licks over my asshole, and I sob, writhing against his face. "Please, Naz…"

"Please what, mi alma ?" He nips my inner thigh before flicking his tongue against my asshole again. "Tell me what you need. Beg for it, and I'll give it to you. Whatever you want."

"I need your tongue inside me. I-I need you to fuck me with it," I plead shamelessly, too far gone to care about what I'm allowed to say or should want or what's proper. Here, none of that matters. With him, there are no rules. There's just give and take. There's pillage and conquer and fuck and claim.

"That's it," he rasps, his voice an approving rumble that sets me on fire. "Beg for my tongue in this tight little asshole like a good little slut."

"Please, Naz," I sob, writhing beneath him, desperate for more. "I need it. I need you. Lick me open and fuck me apart."

He groans his approval, nipping my inner thigh. "Whatever you want, I'll give you, Brynna. Down to my fucking soul."

His tongue laves over my asshole in long, slow strokes that make me shake and whimper. Each touch is a tease, a torment, and a revelation all rolled into one. And I'm burning alive, my skin on fire, my blood molten lava roaring through my veins in pyroclastic flows.

"More," I plead, fisting my hands in his hair. "I need more."

He groans against my skin, the tip of his tongue pushing against the tight ring of muscle. It resists the intrusion for a long moment, fighting against him, refusing to let him in. But Naz refuses to be denied…and so do I.

His tongue slips inside, claiming. Conquering.

The sharp sting gives way to blistering pleasure.

I sob in ecstasy, mindless, boneless. His in a way that shouldn't feel this fucking good.

I chant his name, sobbing it like it's the only damn thing I know.

He spears his tongue into my asshole, forcing it deeper, fighting for every atom of space he claims as he fucks me with it. Possesses me. Unmakes and breaks me.

He groans against me, and the vibration of sound resonates through my body, amplifying the explosions already ripping me apart at the seams.

I shatter, falling into a million jagged pieces. Gushing all over his face as tidal waves of ecstasy crash over me.

In a split second, I'm flat on my back on the bed, pinned beneath his weight. Every inch of him seams to me, holding me down, and I fucking love the way it feels to be this consumed by him, to be held down by him, completely at his mercy.

He pants above me, his amber eyes on fire as he stares down at me, an inferno raging in his eyes. "Fucking perfect," he rasps, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of my lips. "God, mi alma . You're perfect."

I tremble at his praise…and then tremble again when he wraps a firm hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp.

My eyes fly to his as he yanks my leg up over his hip, opening me up to him. His cock slips through my folds, grinding against my clit before he notches himself at my entrance.

"Are you ready to break for me, princesa ?"

"Yes," I gasp, arching, straining toward him, desperate and eager.

I expect him to be rough, to take me hard and fast, to pound into me until I shatter. To fuck me with the same ruthless intensity he does everything else. But Naz is many things. Cruel to me isn't one of them.

When he presses forward, he's gentle. Reverent.

His eyes bore into mine as he pins me down and stretches me open slowly, carefully. Even then, the sheer size of him burns. I gasp, my nails scoring into his broad back, my teeth sinking into his shoulder. But the pain is sweet, fleeting. One I don't want to end.

"Breathe, little one," he croons, his lips against my skin. "Just breathe through it. I've got you."

I inhale a shaking breath as he continues to press forward, inch by torturous inch. When he's finally buried to the hilt, splitting me open at the seams, he goes completely still, giving me time to adjust.

His eyes meet mine, molten and hungry. But there's no mistaking the soft reverence there, either. The complete adoration.

"You feel like heaven," he rasps, brushing his lips against mine. "So fucking tight and perfect around my cock."

"Naz," I whimper, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. He's breaking me, but not in the way I expected. This side of him, this sweetness…God, he's perfect in a way that hurts.

"Are you ready for more, little one? Ready for me to fucking destroy you?"

"Yes," I gasp, quivering on the edge of something vast, something so powerful it's terrifying. It feels like forever. But what do I know about forever? What does that even look like in our world? He may have made a different choice today, but we're still predator and pawn. I'm still who I am…and he's still who he is.

But even so, I think it looks like this. It looks like him.

"Good." His lips skim along my cheek, seeking my ear. His breath blows hot against the shell of it. "Then let me hear that pretty voice, Brynna. I want you to fucking scream while I fuck my way into your soul. It belongs to me."

Oh, God… No, not God. Nazario.

His eyes meet mine as he withdraws almost all the way and then slams back inside me, bottoming out. I scream just like he wanted as ecstasy pours through my veins, igniting in a liquid rush.

"Fuck," he groans, intense pleasure flaring in his eyes. "Scream like that again, Brynna."

His hips snap against mine a second time, the force of it shaking the bed beneath us. I throw my head back, shouting his name as another wave of ecstasy pours through me.

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that, princesa . Let the whole fucking world hear you falling apart on my cock."

I sob his name, clawing down his back deep enough to draw blood as I cling to him, completely at his mercy. Except…he has none as he fucks me so hard and deep stars burst behind my eyelids.

I shouldn't love it. Ecstasy shouldn't rip through me with every ruthless thrust. And yet, I do. It does. This is what's between us, what's been roiling beneath the surface since I dropped my books at his feet. This is my darkness, my sin. It's him and the pure fucking pleasure of being owned by him, dominated by him…turned inside out and upside down by him.

I'm not my father or my brother, lulled by money and power or the thrill of being a criminal. I'm enthralled by this—by the complete loss of inhibition. It's like stepping outside myself, giving in to all those temptations I've always judged myself for. But there are no judgments here. There's only yes and more . There's something so simple, so pure in the freedom of it, and it's fucking beautiful.

His hand tightens around my throat, and I clamp down around him, my walls fluttering and clenching.

"Fuck," he groans, his cock twitching inside me. "Your sweet little cunt gets so fucking tight when I choke you." He squeezes harder, and spots dance in my vision. But my walls clamp around him again because he's right. I do love it. "Such a filthy little princesa . I knew you'd love all the dirty things I want to do to this body."

He kisses me hard, his tongue delving into my mouth. He fucks me with it in the same brutal way his cock pounds into me. I whimper against his lips, trembling as my orgasm builds, cresting higher with each snap of his hips against mine, with each tiny sliver of air he allows me to take.

There's something almost feral in his amber gaze, something beautifully unhinged and wildly, desperately, wholly mine as he stares down at me. I think he's more himself with his hand around my throat and his cock inside me than he's ever been.

Naz has found where he belongs. He's found his purpose. It's me. It's this. And fucking hell, it's beautiful, twisted devotion.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you, Brynna. Break you open and pour myself inside you. When I'm done, you'll be my perfect little Irish fuck doll, unable to breathe without me."

"Yes," I gasp, the edges of my vision going hazy as I hurtle closer to the edge. "Do it, Naz. I need it. Need you so fucking bad." I want him in my skin, painted inside my veins like a tattoo.

He snarls, and then his hand is gone from my throat. Before I can protest the loss or appreciate the rush of air, he flips me onto my stomach. His cock never even leaves my body.

He drapes himself over me, his chest against my back as he slides a hand into my hair. I cry out as he forces my head back, baring my throat to him.

"Your body is mine now," he rasps, against my ear, rolling his hips. His cock drags along my walls, hitting something deep inside me that makes me quiver and wail. "Your pleasure belongs to me."

"Yes, yes," I chant, unable to deny it.

His hand tightens in my hair as his other arm bands around my waist, hauling my hips up to meet his thrusts. He pounds into me again and again, wrecking and ruining me, leaving me shattered and scattered and so damn high on him, nothing else matters..

His teeth scrape the side of my throat before settling against my ear. "This is what we are together, mi luz, mi alma, mi amor ," he breathes, panting for breath as he drives into me again and then again. "This is who we are."

He's right. We aren't predator and pawn, destined for destruction. We're something else…something far more profound. We're simply Naz and Brynna, irrevocably tied to one another despite my family or his organization. Despite our world. Despite everything.

We're as inevitable as the tide, as unavoidable as war.

I don't break. I surrender—to it, to him—and willingly hand over my soul.

He cranes my head back, forcing me to arch into him. I feel every ridge of his cock dragging along my walls, stretching me, reaching the deepest parts of me.

"Let go for me, mi amor ," he rasps against the shell of my ear. "Fall apart on my cock like you were fucking born to do."

"Naz," I sob as he turns my face toward his. His mouth crashes against mine, his kiss consuming. I bow to him…fall to him. And shatter.

Ecstasy licks along my nerve endings, igniting me from the inside out. I whimper into his mouth as the waves slam into me, stealing sight and sound. Stealing here and now. Stealing everything but him and the hot pulse of his cum as he groans my name like a prayer…and falls to me, giving me everything he has.

All the way down to his beautiful, monstrous soul.