4. Connor

She’s terrified with the men watching.

At least that’s how it looks from my perspective. Her previously timid glances have turned to wide-eyed stares. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Are these real nerves or is she pretending? Or is she just feeling the effects of what we did together?

Fuck knows I am. She’s perfect. I already knew she would be. But last night was fucking perfect.

When she’s cleaned up, presentable as she can be given the circumstances, I bring her out to the kitchen. She barely slept. All she wears is my T-shirt and an oversized pair of pajama pants rolled up at her hips.

Her hair is combed through but her fragility and delicate features are entirely exposed. For a split second I question my pride given her fear. But she’s fucking perfect and she’s mine. All mine. Forever.

She is the only good to come from chaos and war. How could I not be obsessed with her?

With hesitant steps, I have to press against the small of her back to bring her to the kitchen. It’s modern, much like the entire estate, with clean lines and granite and stone that touch nearly every surface. I imagine she’ll change it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s hers to do as she wishes and needs.

Her delicate hand forms a fist, balling up the fabric of my shirt as we enter the room. Her bare feet pad softly, almost silently, on the cold tiled floor.

The men have arranged themselves there around the table. None of them appear to have slept last night. There’s always the risk of retribution. No one will be safe or secure for weeks, months, maybe even longer. Not until the last enemy is snuffed out.

My brother watches Madelyn and I get closer without so much as a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Best for everyone that way. He’s the only one who knows her. He’s the only one who knows the whole story. And it’ll stay that way.

“Madelyn, this is my brother.” I bring her over to him first. She’s shaking like a leaf as he holds his hand out for her to shake.

“Hello, Madelyn,” he says easily with the charming air he’s known for. Although he’s kind, she’s still hesitant and looks to me first before she takes his hand.

“Hi,” she says. I can hardly hear the words as they make small talk.

Madelyn lets me introduce her to all the men. She’s a good actress. She’s known who these men are for years. Knows their faces.

And they know her. They know far too much.

I don’t care for the way they look at her, gazing too long and appraising. My hand itches to clench a fist, to express my rage for their indecency. I don’t. I have to pretend I don’t feel the anger surging inside every time one of them looks down at her body instead of her face. I have to pretend that there’s nothing behind this but revenge.

That she’s my captive, that this was planned in the way they’re aware. That we haven’t used them and there weren’t ulterior motives.

The sound of the baby crying drifts into the kitchen. It’s soft. He has the calmest cry.

Madelyn reacts instantly, her body tensing up as she looks over her shoulder, toward the hallway to her child. She bites at her lip but doesn’t take a step toward the sound.

“Go,” I tell her.

She hesitates, those wide eyes peeking up at me.

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” I question lowly with a hint of playfulness, although she doesn’t let on that she registers it.

Her eyes meet mine, and I swear I can see real fear there. Of them? Of me? I have to admit I like the look of it in her eyes. If that makes me sick, then so be it.

I take her jaw between my thumb and forefinger and tug her lips toward mine. I have to pretend I don’t enjoy it. That it’s part of the job. But it feels damn good to have my fingers on her skin. Her pulse is right at the surface. Her heart is beating hard, and something else flashes into her eyes. Desire. She can’t hide it from me, no matter how well she pretends with the other men.

It’s a good thing I have practice in following the plan. I want to drag her back to my bedroom, but this little performance is important for what happens next. The men need to see us together. They need to see me controlling her and her submission. There can be no question about what’s happening between me and Madelyn.

Revenge. Ownership.

Nothing else. There is only one truth now: she is mine.

“What did I tell you?”

Madelyn parts her lips. “That I’ll do what you say.”

I want to say that she needs to do more. That she needs to kiss me, right here, right now. Make me believe it. But that would end my ability to speak, and I have more to say. The baby cries out again. He sounds more desperate now. Hungry or lonely, it’s hard to tell. I don’t let on that I’m responding to the noise too. A man like me shouldn’t ever want to comfort a crying child. Certainly not one that everyone believes is another man’s child.

“What else?” I ask her. “What else did I tell you? There are only two things that matter. You will do what I say … and what else?”

“That I’m yours.” I’m yours sounds sweet on her tongue. It doesn’t matter that we’re in a room full of killers. It doesn’t matter that I’m the most dangerous one of all.

“Do you think what’s mine hesitates in my own home?”

Madelyn shakes her head, pressing her face more firmly into my hand.

It’s going to be hell to let go of her. I keep thinking I can make this easy. I’ve endured many difficult things over the years. Staying in control is my entire life. I even planned this operation from start to finish. Everything about it was my doing. This should have been the simple part—pretending she’s just a captive who will marry me against her will.

“You’re a mother. And you’re my fuck toy. You’ll marry me and love me in every way I crave.” I say these words in a cruel, mocking tone that’s meant to hurt her, but they’re true. They’re the only real thing about this situation. Madelyn will marry me. She’ll stay my fuck toy. And she is a mother.

The baby cries again, and my fingers tighten in spite of all my control. It’s a sound designed to attract attention, but I can’t give in. I can’t be the one to scoop the child from the crib and give it whatever comfort it needs. Not with the eyes of my men on me.

“Don’t you love me?” I say in a taunting tone.

Madelyn flinches, and once again, I’m flooded with confusion. Is she flinching because she doesn’t believe me or because she’s afraid of reality? Now is not the time for that conversation, but damn, I wish it were.

“I love you,” she says, her voice soft.

I pull her in for a brutal kiss.

This—this is the thing I can’t stop. I meant for it to be quick, but once her mouth is against mine, I’m consumed with how sweet she is. She doesn’t pull away from the harsh bite. Instead, she gives into it. She’s obedient that way, but it only makes me want to keep her here with me.

It’s a dangerous line we’re walking.

Until we follow this situation to the end, everything will be as uncertain as it is now. Anything could happen. That’s one thing this life has taught me. It’s not over just because you want something to be done. It’s over when the last threat is finally defeated.

We’re not there yet. Not even close.

I pull away from her, and Madelyn stumbles. It takes all my willpower not to pull her into my arms and steady her. She catches herself before I have to and straightens slowly, her breath coming fast.

“Now go,” I order.

The baby wails now, sustained cries. I can see the physical pull he has on her. Maybe it’s similar to the pull she has on me.

Once Madelyn has her balance, she leaves quickly, not glancing back at any of us.

Not surprising. She doesn’t want the other men to look at her. It was hard enough for her to be in the kitchen with all of them. Still, I would have felt some satisfaction if she’d looked back for me.

It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who ordered her to go. That doesn’t include hesitating to see if I’m watching. I made that clear enough when I spoke to her. I can still feel her warm flesh pressing against my fingers when she shook her head. It’s unreal, how this woman gets under my skin. I almost wipe my palm against my pants just to get the sensation to go away. I can’t let it influence me.

I can’t bring myself to do it. The tingling where our bodies touched lingers on my hand.

I want to follow her more than anything. Instead, I imagine her entering the baby’s room, her body relaxing as she sees her child again. She’s a good mother, and she would soften. Murmur something to him as she came in so he’d know she was there.

I was right. The cries taper off. She must have him in her arms now, holding him close.

If we were different people, I’d be in there with her. I feel more regret about that than I should. Having feelings like this is almost overwhelming, given how hard I’ve worked to keep them suppressed over the years.

It doesn’t matter. I won’t let them interfere. Madelyn and I will get to the end of this, whether it goes as planned or blows up in our faces.

I turn back to the men gathered at the table. If they noticed anything different about the way I treated her, they don’t give any sign of it. That’s a relief.

“Time to move on,” I tell them. “Any movement or word? Has anyone heard anything?”