Chapter 13

Liam O'Connor

I stalked down the hallway that led to my apartment, my footsteps a silent march of turmoil. Jade’s words echoed in my ears, her face, that damn calm expression she wore like armor. I knew it to be just that, armor. I’d felt it when it had broken after my words.

I should’ve known. The guy with her hadn’t been her lover, but her brother. Damn it. I’d jumped to conclusions, been a grade A asshole. But at the end of the day, the line was there. I’d made it clear—I was her boss. Off-limits. Yet, the pull toward her was visceral, un-fucking-deniable. She had this gravity, an allure that made my chest tighten and my head spin.

Vengeance was supposed to be my only mistress, my singular obsession since the Croixes had torn my world apart. But Jade—she was different. She was throwing off my calculated life, my plans. My hand clenched into a fist. I shouldn’t want her, but every little thing about her just… called to me.

“Fuck,” I murmured to the empty hallway, jamming my hands into my pockets. The strain coiled tighter within me, her image seared into my brain. Jade Carter, the woman who could dismantle me with just one glance in my direction with her blue-fire eyes.

My apartment door was looming ahead. I needed to get my head on straight. Focus. There were bigger demons at play, and I couldn’t afford any distractions. The lock clicked open, a sound that usually brought relief. Not tonight. My door swung inward, revealing the last people I wanted to see. A Croix, his tailored suit out of place in my casual living space, sat at my dining table as if it were his throne. I’d seen him before but hadn’t thought to remember his name. It wasn’t important. Two goons flanked him, their bulk spilling into the room, eyes fixed on me like I was prey.

I closed the door behind me with a soft click, not taking my eyes off them. Hate surged through my veins, the sight of them igniting a fire in my gut.

“Gentlemen… is there something I can help you with?” My voice was level, masking the disgust roiling inside of me. The keys landed with a chime in the bowl by the door. Their presence in my home was a clear message: we own you and we will do whatever we want. But they didn’t. And soon, they’d learn just how much they’d underestimated me. The air in the room sat still, heavy. The Croix’s eyes never left mine as I approached, each step measured, deliberate.

“We won't take up too much of your time, Mr. O’Connor, but there is something we need to inform you about,” he said, his voice smooth like oil on water, dangerous in its calmness but could catch fire at any moment.

“Alright,” I replied, my tone matching his for control. Each word dropped into the quiet like a stone in a pond. “Would you like a drink?”

The Croix man eyed his goons, a silent conversation passing between them. They eased into the chairs with an air of casual menace. I retrieved the whiskey, the bottle’s familiar heft a small comfort in my palm. The liquid sloshed into their glasses, rich and gold. Then I poured my own. I tossed it back, the burn slicing through the knotted thoughts of Jade. Her laughter, that defiant tilt of her chin, the burn of those eyes all pushed aside by the searing trail down my throat.

“We need to keep our books balanced,” he began. “So we’re doubling the money every two weeks.”

There was a moment of silence between all of us. They were assuming they would get some kickback from me, but they wouldn’t. One of the henchmen shifted in their seat, letting the light glint off the metal piece on his waist.

My heart thrummed a cold, steady beat—not in fear, but in recognition. This was the game.

I kept my face neutral, my nod slow. Control was power. Power was survival. And I had plans that stretched far beyond their understanding.

“Okay, that’s not a problem,” I muttered, the words smooth as silk over the grit in my gut.

Their game was mine now, years in the making, and I wasn’t about to fold. “You guys want to stay for more drinks? I got leftover wings in the fridge.” I casually flicked my thumb over my shoulder toward the kitchen, leaving the offer hanging between us.

Surprise etched their faces before melting into an odd sort of respect. Chairs scraped against the floor as they shuffled to accept my hospitality, their movements wary but tempted by the normalcy in this twisted dance we were doing.

The night wore on, and laughter bubbled up. Them in my home felt unnatural to me, but I made it work. Jokes were tossed back and forth, the tensions dissolved like smoke. Glasses clinked, amber liquid sloshed back one after the other. I watched them, every sip, every chuckle filed away for the day I could wipe the smiles off their faces. It was coming so soon, and it would be the last thing they ever expected.

“You know, you’re alright, O’Connor,” the Croix said, a meaty hand landing on my shoulder with a thud that felt oddly like camaraderie. It wasn’t. “I’ll see you at Marianna’s wedding here, yeah?”

“Anytime, and of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied with a smile, the word like a blade wrapped in velvet. They rose, readying to leave. The dark swallowed them as the door shut behind their backs. Silence rushed in, cold and thick. My heart steadied, but this game would continue, and I played to win.