Chapter Twenty-Four

F IFTEEN MINUTES AFTER sending another fraudulent progress report regarding Roman’s daughter into the ether, I pull up to King’s, dreading the hours ahead. Karma has a good laugh at my expense when my headlights beam directly on Cecelia as I roll to a stop. Eyes fixated on the woman who has been occupying my waking thoughts the last few days, I rev my engine in signal. Silhouettes of the birds surrounding her scatter, heading toward their cars. The sight of her feet from my hood—dressed to murder my reinforced resolve—sends humming, rapidly heating blood straight to my cock. My thirsty eyes drink her in through the windshield where she stands motionless, just as absorbed by me, while some of my crumbling resignation starts to scatter from me like windswept ash.

Fuck.

If this is what infatuation feels like, it’s meant for lunatics.

I can already sense the screws loosening themselves from the hinges of the door I swore I mentally slammed shut.

Hating the parts of me responsible for the hasty betrayal—and Sean for knowing better as he steps up to her—my resignation is further compromised when her eyes light with Sean’s request that she rides with me.

After a brief back and forth, Sean catches my gaze for a beat before heading toward his Nova, his trust in me unwavering.

I decide to hate him for as long as I can for his unshakable faith in me—along with sharing his current obsession—while firmly sticking to the belief that labels are for weak-minded, insecure men. That a woman’s affection and loyalty should be freely given, never demanded. In a sense, he’s right. In another, he’s a goddamn fool. As allergic as I am to the feeling circus, even I know women crave some show of possessiveness, even if I agree they should be given the choice.

Bass thrumming in time with my heartbeat, Cecelia approaches, and I lean over and push open my passenger door. The night breeze sweeps her scent through my interior as she buckles in.

Nostrils flaring, I tighten my grip on the wheel, furious with my inability to ignore the pull. I cut off her attempt to greet me by tearing out of the parking lot. Her musical laughter rings through the cabin as I race toward the Meetup. Feeling every second of the attraction-induced chemical high, my earlier warning to Sean reverberates, striking me differently. Within the span of an hour, her perception of me will be altered—if not changed altogether. Just as I think it, she turns down the radio in search of some truth.

“Are we ever going to have a real conversation?”

Not possible.

“We had one not too long ago,” I remind her.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Want to start with politics or religion,” I muse, because what in the hell could I possibly tell her that rings sincere? Opting to give her some half-baked truth, I relay the ideal existence of a twenty-five-year-old mechanic. The man I might’ve been if I wasn’t on the brink of waging war on monsters—one of them her father. Briefly, I imagine a day of life without the club, a day filled with simple pleasures.

“Eggs—runny, coffee—black, beer—cold, music—loud, cars.” I floor the gas. She laughs out the rest. “Fast.”

“Woman.” I trail my eyes down her frame and feel her soften next to me due to the sentiment. When she moves to grip the hand resting on my gear shift, I pull it out of reach. “I save that for when I can do something about it.”

“And you think that’s affection?”

“Isn’t it?”

A pregnant pause as she realizes intimacy is not in my wheelhouse.

“What makes you happy?”

“All of the above.”

“Runny eggs and coffee make you happy?” she prompts, calling bullshit.

If only my life were that fucking simple. “What if you woke up tomorrow and there was no coffee?”

She frowns. “That would be tragic.”

“Next time you drink it, pretend it’s the last time you can have it.”

“Great, there are two of you. Is that some philosophy? Okay, Plato.”

My lips lift. “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than you can in a year of conversation.”

Sensing the familiar heaviness on my profile, I glance over. “I was raised to appreciate the small shit.” The understanding in her expression only has my need ramping up to get closer.

Because I do want her, but the reality I exist in makes that an impossibility. The current continues to thrum between us as knowledge batters me that once we reach the end of this drive, both the bliss and temporary peace I’ve found with her— in her —will most likely be snatched from my grasp. Making a rash decision, I turn onto a dead end that leads to a small clearing. Killing the engine, I’m struck stupid by the sight of her staring wistfully through the windshield up at the half-moon. Her lit profile has my fingers itching to run through her flame. Leaning over with a “come here,” I grip her hips and pull her to straddle my lap. Sinking in my seat, she surrounds me while I immerse myself in the temporary high, flexing my fingers through her silky hair. Lips painted red, and eyes shrouded in black, she stares back at me, temptation personified.

When she dips, it takes some effort to deny her kiss, but I do, knowing I don’t have the luxury of time to lose myself. As she pulls away, her beautiful features twist in confusion. I’m just as confounded as to why I spent two days convincing myself that allowing our pull to overtake me to the extent it did at the lake was a one- time high.

“He likes the red,” I offer in shit excuse, which serves as a reminder to us both. Guilt mars her face at that reminder, and it’s then I know she’s fighting her own battle—a war with instilled morality. Her next question proves as much. “How long have you known each other?”

The uneasiness emanating from her has me running my palms up her back as my traitorous cock starts to harden, giving absolutely no fucks about my stance where she’s concerned. “Most of our lives.”

“That close?” she asks, rocking atop the bulge growing beneath her, gauging the heated warning in my eyes.

“We’re all close.”

“Apparently so.”

The rumble of approaching engines cuts through the night noise, serving as a reminder that I’m on borrowed time. Cecelia glances over my shoulder as they fly by. “They’re leaving us.”

“We left them,” I correct, my palms hastening up and down the material covering her back.

“And we left them because?”

“Because,” I lift to kiss her—because I fucking want to—and stop myself just before impact. Eyes closed in wait, her fast, anticipatory exhales hit my lips as all replies die on my tongue.

Because in minutes, you’ll be fully aware of the level of deception we’re capable of, and your moral dilemma about being shared will be a non-issue.

Because once you do know, you’ll distance yourself far beyond either of our reach.

Slinking back into my seat, she opens her eyes to find me smirking in satisfaction. She wants me just as much.

“You’re an asshole.”

And you’re the most beautiful punishment I’ve ever been dealt.

“That’s not news. Anything else you need to know?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Sure you do.” I thrust up, so she can feel just how fucking much I’m denying myself.

Knowing I need to start armoring up for what’s ahead, I opt to continue playing with the electricity at my fingertips because I’m just that selfish motherfucker.

Stealing the rest of her breath, l grind against the heat I can feel seeping from her core and am rewarded by fast pants as she sifts through our conversation.

“You described most red-blooded men. Cold beer, ah,” she moans as I continually thrust up, and she starts to give back as good as she’s getting, swiveling her hips.

“Fast cars?”

Thrust.

“Black coffee?”

Thrust.

“Runny eggs and...”

“And?” I prompt, lifting her so she’s suspended on my outraged dick.

“Me,” she whispers hoarsely before flashing a smile that serves as a direct hit.

“Then you know enough.”

Giving myself a minute more, I lift her shirt and groan inwardly when I’m met with the sight of perfect tits and peaked nipples. Every bit of remaining self-control I have threatens to abandon me when I dip and pull her hardened flesh into my mouth. As I greedily feed, she explodes into motion, grinding onto me as I momentarily lose myself. I soak in what I can of her scent, the feel of her, knowing it might be my last taste.

It’s when she moans my name that I mentally start to force myself away, biting down on her exposed flesh before soothing away any sting with the tip of my tongue.

“That was cruel,” she scolds.

My dick agrees, but at least my conscience won’t eat at me like it tried to after the lake. If I ever lay another hand on Cecelia Horner, at least she’ll have a better idea of whom she’s getting into bed with—even if key parts of the truth remain purposefully tucked away. Sean was right in the sense that she deserves to know who’s fucking her. After tonight, she’ll be aware of the true nature of the devils she’s dancing with, and after that, it will be her decision to stay on the floor.

“We’ll have to pick this up—later,” I say, knowing it might be the last lie I ever tell her—that after Sean pulls back the curtain, she’ll most likely run. Glancing over as I turn the key, something inside me stirs at the possibility that she won’t.

*

Vision muddled by black rage, someone grips my hand, and I whip around, fist drawn to see Cecelia’s mortified gaze. Shaking her concern off, my wrist throbs as I offer her another lie. “I’m good.”

I’m anything but fucking good.

Fury and adrenaline continue to war for dominance as Cecelia takes a cautious step away from me. Her expression is telling as Sean snakes a protective arm around her, pulling her into him to shield her—from me . “Let him cool off, baby.”

Not fucking likely.

As predicted, the last hour has been a fucking disaster. Feeling Cecelia’s terrified gaze trail me, I break through the cover of the trees, fighting the urge to retrieve my Glock and end Andre and Matteo—no matter who’s left in the audience. I’m bending my wrist and flexing my trigger finger when Tyler appears, eyeing my injury. “Broken?”

I jerk my chin in reply. “Andre no-showed.”

“I know,” he exhales, glancing toward the roaring bonfire. “I’ve been tracking them both all night.”

Andre—the head of the Miami chapter—missed the window for our one-on-one. Which, in our club, is a blatant sign of disrespect. Meetups are more a guise for the deals that take place between the trees at the party. A time meant to set up the when and where to trade stolen goods of each chapter’s most recent takes—along with introducing any recruits. It’s one of the few secrets we share. “They’re not even hiding it anymore. Something’s up.”

“I’m pretty sure you made it clear you’re onto them,” he says, gesturing toward my hand. Knuckles still dripping, I have no regrets about disfiguring the fucking bastard charged with doing Andre and Matteo’s bidding.

We’ve always known Matteo and Andre were killers for hire—psychopaths who take pleasure in their work—which we utilized for our benefit until recently.

“I’ll switch cars and follow them back to the Florida state line,” Tyler offers, “and put some birds on patrol to make sure they all get the fuck out of our neighborhood.”

“That’s all fine and good, man, but you’re not hearing me. They took out another black-market contract yesterday—nondiscriminatory. They’ve switched to killing innocents for a higher paycheck. They’ve broken every rule of our club and are rubbing it in our faces with their presence tonight, with an added plan to weaken us.”

“How so?”

“I think they tried to take Sean out in the race.”

His eyes widen. “The. Fuck?” He tilts his head up as if summoning patience. “Before we act, Dom, you need to be sure.”

Clearing some of the haze, I replay it objectively. Sean’s car rounding the curve in the outside lane, one side mountain rock, thousands of feet of drop on the other. Florida’s headlights disappearing from my rearview to run alongside me before gunning straight for Sean. When I realized his intent, I gassed my Camaro just in time to cut him off, forcing him toward Tallahassee, who crashed into the rocky cliff just after we cleared the turn.

“Positive. He knew the road and had to have mapped it before the Meetup. There’s no other fucking way to interpret how it went down. If Miami had so much as tapped either of Sean’s bumpers, our brother would not be breathing right now. They need to be dealt with— swiftly .”

Tyler’s expression hardens as he glances around to ensure no nearby ears are privy to our convo. “Make the call to France and text me the verdict.”

I shake my head. “You can’t go at this alone. We don’t know the nature of the game they’re playing.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Tyler snaps, warning lethal.

“I never have, brother. I’ll text you his decision but keep me updated.”

Eyes murderous, Tyler takes off in full executioner mode, and I know if granted permission, he’ll see it through—and make it painful.

Clearing the trees, I stalk toward my Camaro and am stopped by a brunette at my trunk, her nails raking up my chest. Annoyed, it takes a few seconds for me to recognize her.

“Hey, Dom,” Stephanie purrs, reeking of whisky and cigarettes. “Been awhile, and I’ve got a secret...I’ve been thinking a lot about you,” she drawls.

“Funny, I’ve been thinking about everything but you.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she pouts before hitting her knees and reaching for my belt. “This time, I’ll let you come in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ, Stephanie.” I bat her hands away before lifting her by the underarms to stand. “This isn’t a good time.”

“You didn’t mind it last time,” she slurs.

“That was what? Two, three fucking years ago?”

“I just wanted to play around a little and reminisce,” she stumbles in front of me, and I grip her elbow to study her.

“I think it’s time we both forget you have no lips and move the fuck on. Go find another babysitter to suck off. I don’t have time for this shit.” Using my grip on her elbow, I gently guide her out of my path.

She jerks her arm away, stumbling in the process, “Fuck you, Dom.”

“Not if I had a spare dick, Stephanie. Now would be a good time to remember who you’re talking to and tread more carefully,” I warn. “If I were you, I would get back to the bird you came with. This doesn’t look good on him.”

Just as I say it, her name is clipped out a few yards away. Her head snaps in that direction as I take a seat behind my wheel and pull my burner from my glove box to shoot off a text.

ROGUE BIRDS: This can’t wait.

My burner rings a second later as Stephanie is not-so-gently carted off by her bird, and I catch sight of Sean pulling off with Cecelia in tow as Tobias speaks up. “Talk to me.”

“Miami is full-on defecting,” I get straight to it. “They’re taking black-market contracts on innocents, Andre turned his back on me at the party, and they just tried to take Sean out.”

“What the fuck?” The instant change in his tone lets me know I have his undivided attention. “How?”

“During a race. They were going to make it look like an accident. I don’t even think Sean knows how close he came to dying tonight. I stopped them right before they got him. It was close, brother,” I rasp out, a knot lodging in my throat. “Too fucking close.”

“It’s a mob move.”

“Exactly my line of thought.” What transpired tonight aligns with the mob mentality of taking out the lieutenant because it would be too obvious if they went after me first.

“Tell me everything,” he clips out, the noise in his background silenced by the closing of a door.

I relay it all and end with my proposed solution. “Tyler wants permission for turn down service.”

“Denied.”

“They tried to take out Sean!” I roar, my patience tapped out. “This can’t go unpunished.”

A few tense seconds tick by before he speaks up. “You do know that Miami has actual fucking mob ties?”

“I know who the fuck they are, but they need a reminder of who we are .”

“Where are you now?” He clips out.

“Still at the Meetup. Tyler’s going to follow them to the state line. We’re putting birds on patrol to make sure they don’t overstay their welcome, but something needs to be done, brother. We can’t let this go.”

“I’ll put them on permanent watch for now until I can have a face-to-face with Andre.”

“The time for peace talks is over.”

“This isn’t your fucking call,” he snaps. “If we take the bait, we become baited . I’ll handle it.”

“How do you propose to do that a continent away, Frenchman ?”

Silence. I’m pissing him off. Good.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to let this go.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. But we don’t shoot first and ask questions later. They know the ins and outs of our fucking club, Dom, which makes this a delicate situation. Before we move, we need to at least try to come to some sort of understanding.”

“Fine. Whatever,” I turn my key, and Tobias hears me start up my car.

“Where are you going?”

Blue lights race by just as I start to pull out, and I instantly kill my headlights before pulling between the trees.

“Dom?”

“Blue lights. Someone non-club must have reported the race. Hold up.”

Just as I go to compose a text, I scan some missed messages.

R: Blue lights on Kanuga Road.

P: Already following. Sean’s leading him away.

P: He’s losing them.

My shoulders sag in relief. “They’re on Sean and—” I catch myself in time not to blurt her name.

“And?” Tobias prompts.

“He’s losing them,” I sigh.

“Good. Go home.”

“Not yet. I’m going to help flush the streets until I’m sure the rest of Florida is headed south. Tobias, we can’t let this go. I can catch up with Tyler, and we can end this tonight. Miami—”

“You’re needed home.”

“So are you,” I snap. “But you aren’t fucking here, are you?”

He exhales harshly, circling the ice in his tumbler in his typical repetition of three. “How is home?” Delphine.

“Here’s an idea, call her ,” I clip out and hang up.

“When someone blushes, doesn’t that mean ‘yes’?”

— Le Petit Prince , Antoine de Saint-Exupéry