13. daegan

ONE MONTH EARLIER

13

DAEGAN

I put on my full mask this time. The only thing it doesn't cover is my eyes. It has a smile design on it: sharp teeth curved into a U-shape smile over where my mouth goes, so it looks like I'm smiling big. The teeth are like sharp triangles.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm outside her window.

She's sleeping.

She sleeps so beautifully.

I look at her through the crosshairs of my rifle and instantly feel the blood rush down to my groin. I'm getting so hard that I have to rub myself over my jeans.

Jesus. If I let myself, she could be the ruin of me.

I followed her home, having been following her since the day the Admiral assigned her to me. I always go above and beyond the task, so I decided to look into her extensively.

Maybe I wasn't supposed to go this far, but that's just who I am.

I always cross lines with a smile on my scarred face.

I know where she was born. The hospital and doctor's name who delivered her. When she was born, her birth weight, the time. Who she spends her time with, who her friends are, and who her parents are—her ethnicity, hobbies, and where she lives.

That's what my research told me about her.

But then I laid eyes on her through my crosshairs…and my whole world stopped. The earth stopped spinning, gravity stopped pulling, and I felt my tainted soul come alive as I watched her.

I know all of these factual things about her…but I wanted to know her.

I want to know how she takes her coffee in the mornings, even though I know where she buys it from. I want to know if she snores and what she dreams about, even though I know what bed she sleeps in. I want to know what kind of music she listens to, even though I watch her dance when she thinks she's alone. I want to know what her future plans are. What drives her to meet her ambitions, even though I know her contract in the military lasts until the end of this year, and I know that she loves the rain because she opens the window and falls asleep to the sound of it whenever a storm rolls in.

I know the longevity of her life…but I crave all the beautiful details that make up the in-between.

What the fuck is going on with me?

I'm acting like this is my first time seeing a beautiful woman. But she's more than just beautiful. She's majestic, unreal, heavenly, and I need a taste.

But it's forbidden. Her blood I desperately want to see on my tongue…is forbidden because the Admiral is my boss, and she's his stepdaughter.

If I cross him, it's my job. My life. I would no longer be accepted on the special team of Executioners, and I'd be kissing my unblemished career goodbye. He warned us all before assigning her to me.

They're like family to me. The team is the air I breathe. The missions I take on are my adrenaline.

"Watch over my wife's daughter. Protect her at all costs, Daegan. And to the rest of you, she's off limits. You hear me, Texas? If I find out any of you assholes has laid a finger on her or tried anything past professionalism, you can kiss your spot on this team and, most importantly, your career goodbye."

I have to remind myself of this conversation over and over again like a broken record player whenever my sinful desires take over. Because what I want to do to her is anything but good.

I want to make her bleed because I want to see if she does it pretty. I want to see how she looks with my come filling her mouth as my cock is deep inside her throat. I want to see just how far I can break her until she's crying my name, begging me to stop because it's a sweet tune I desire to force out of her, and when she begs me to stop, I'll keep going.

So I'll take what I can get.

I fist myself as I watch her sleep, stroking slowly at first from the crown to my shaft.

I want to fuck her. But I can't.

It's a fantasy, I know. But maybe, just maybe, in another life, she's my good girl.

And I know all about that little boyfriend of hers. I was the one who shot him when I realized what the asshole was up to. I was going to stop watching her, but then I saw the way he was forcing himself upon her…and she let him. I couldn't just watch; my job was to safeguard her, after all. I know my assignment isn't due for another couple of weeks, but the covetousness runs rampant to harbor her from everything. It possesses me like a plague I don't want a cure for.

And that's what I'm doing.

She's just so beautiful. Fucking perfection. She could look at me, and I'll come undone inside my pants.

Goddamn.

Control yourself, Creature.

Control.

I'm in my car, watching her serene body through a scope. I stroke myself, and then I see her shift in her bed, her curls across her lips, begging just to be pulled on, and I'm done.

Thick white ropes explode from my cock, and I grunt, grinding my teeth, when I imagine myself pulling her hair like a leash as I wreck her from behind.

Fuck.

How am I supposed to babysit her these next few months when all I'm going to be thinking about is how I want to mold her cunt to my cock?

I have to touch her.

Control, Creature, control yourself.

But the next thing I know, I'm doing something I've never done for a woman.

I break into her house. Fifteen minutes after I cleaned myself up, I unlocked the doors to her apartment.

Her little boyfriend isn't home, as always. He's either out fucking her best friend or out fucking off her hard-earned money. A part of me wants to kill him, get rid of him from her life permanently. But he'll do that all on his own when the truth comes to light. The guy is a sorry excuse of a human being.

I'm standing over her now, watching her take slow, even-paced divine breaths, and I want to steal them, breathe them in my own lungs.

She's in cute black and grey Jack Skellington pajamas—an oversized shirt with matching pajama shorts.

So, she has a thing for the Pumpkin King. So do I.

Her curls not only look soft, they feel it. I trail one knuckle over her black strands, and my index finger glides alongside her hair like she was designed for me.

I hum, sucking in a breath, and smell her. I close my eyes as I inhale her scent. My nose is just one millimeter from getting lost in her hair.

She smells so clean, warm, and sweet—light and airy.

I pull my knife and take a piece of her with me before I make my clean, stealthy, silent exit out of her bedroom.

There are multiple reasons why I'm stalking her, and it's not just because she's my assignment, and it's not just because she's outrageously beautiful. Maybe I'm stalking her because it's the only way I know how to lust. I'm fucked up for it, but I can't seem to stay away.

After all, I don't believe in love.

PRESENT

I knew everything. I knew when and what Frankie said to her as he assaulted her. I just wanted to hear it from her mouth. I wanted to break both of his hands right then and there, but I decided a more public humiliation would send a message.

I don't know why I care so much.

I don't. I don't care.

I'm just watching over her like Ravenmore wants me to. Yeah…that's my excuse.

She's a devastating distraction, taking me by storm with no remorse, and I've let her consume every part of my tainted soul.

I'm saving any part of me that's still capable of feeling human emotion for my job. Not for her…right?

No one will touch her the way Frankie did ever again. I won't allow it. Frankie will know not to fuck with Valentine again, or anyone for that matter.

I sit in one of my good friend Graves' ‘dirty work' buildings, laughing the entire time I partake in something I used to do before I joined the Navy.

Torture.

"Aaand, that's the last one." I yank the last tooth out of Frankie's mouth with metal pliers. I plop them on the wooden table next to me, placing the last molar he had in a bowl.

Every time Frankie screams, I smile harder.

"Try to fucking eat now."

I heard what he said about eating her ass. I heard every fucking word. And I'm making him regret it.

Her ass, her cunt, her mouth, and her soul are elements that no one on this earth is deserving of…including me.

I found the local Emergency Room, followed, and waited until he was discharged to make him pay for touching my little valentine.

Nobody touches her; nobody will bring her pain, and if someone with a beating heart would dare do such things, it'll be me.

Wishful thinking.

I grin sadistically, satisfied that I always follow through with my promises. All of his teeth sit in a bowl.

Frankie's mouth is a bloody mess. He's strapped tight on a chair as he wails and screams until, finally, he passes out.

Thank fuck.

Graves looked into him, and unsurprisingly, this imbecile has a history—two DUIs. Multiple domestic violence charges, and then Graves hit the jackpot while he conducted his investigation.

He's a drug trafficker.

"Fuck, man. What did this one do to piss you off? You didn't even let me interrogate him for information. I know multiple people looking for him." Graves has one arm on his hip, pulling Frankie's head up by the ends of his brown hair.

I shrug.

"He was…annoying. That should be sufficient enough." I stand, the chair I was sitting on screeches backward.

"True," he nods, slapping Frankie's cheek to see if he's really unconscious, and he doesn't flinch from the deep slumber I put him in. Letting Frankie's unconscious head fall back down, it flops, and his whole body slumps over.

His yellow shirt is now a permanently stained waterfall mess of red.

Graves slaps his gloved hands over his palms like he's trying to get rid of Frankie's germs. He's wearing a black suit and tie, with a Rolex on his wrist. He always likes to dress up in fancy suits as he works. I prefer comfort over flashy suits and jewelry. Right now, I'm wearing a dark sweater and sweatpants.

"But there's more you're not telling me." He walks over to me, crosses his arms, and leans against a wall.

The room is dark, with little to no light. Lit candles surround it, along with torture toys to get anyone to sing loud.

"He was touching a girl."

He raises a brow at me, pressing me for more information. I don't like talking about my personal life. In fact, I don't like talking at all. But for some reason, when I'm around the Admiral's step-daughter, I can't shut the fuck up.

Graves, being Graves, my step-brother, I tell him everything. He owns a security company. He also offers other services, including torture, which I sometimes partake in when I'm not on deployments or missions. He's also in the mafia.

"Spit it out, Creature." He throws one of Frankie's teeth at me, but I dodge it in time.

"Her name is Alessia."

"Jackpot! And you care about this girl." He grins, crossing his arms like he's entertained.

"I do…I guess. But I don't want to care. Our situation makes it hard."

"Ah, did you ask this one out on a date like a normal dude would or…?"

"Graves, I can't, but I've been stalking her," I look at the pliers soaked in blood. "I've been watching her from a distance. We go on long romantic walks together, except she doesn't know about it. She's caught my attention, to say the least."

"What's stopping you?"

"She's my boss's stepdaughter. I can get fired if I cross any lines. You know that." I remind him of my position. I know my place, but her existence makes me question how much my career truly means to me.

"I think you already have crossed lines." He points to Frankie. "It makes sense. I know how much being a SEAL means to you. You can just keep it hidden. You're already doing a good job at that."

"Secrets always come to light, one way or another. I need to stay away from her, but I can't. I've been placed on PSD."

Graves bursts into laughter while my face deflates at his reaction. Of course, he thinks it's humorous. "PSD? Personal security detail? Operator Creature is placed on babysitting duty. Good fucking luck with that. At least you're getting paid to follow and stalk her."

I lift an eyebrow, and a mischievous smirk unfolds. I never thought of it that way. I can't complain too much.

"It's whatever…plus my intentions aren't good anyways. I don't commit. I don't put my career at risk, ever. Still, she's very…" I rub my beard with my fingers, "Tempting."

I take out a cigarette, lighting it in seconds. Burning one helps out when I'm stressed. Graves takes his job very seriously.

We're around the same age, and to my surprise, we're very much alike.

Workaholics. In our thirties. Single, with no interest in marriage in sight. Although, he likes material things like overpriced suits and luxurious cars and mansions.

I'm simple. I have no interest in owning the most expensive clothing, houses, or cars. I like music, food, whiskey, the outdoors, and a good fuck when the desires get too much.

"How have you been?"

His question makes my stomach sour, and I inhale deeply to prevent the horrid memories of The Surgeon from resurfacing…and Dario.

I know what he means. I know why he's truly asking.

Of course, he's asking me this. I've been avoiding everyone lately.

"I'm fine." I lie with bitterness laced in my tone. This is my cue to leave. I don't like to talk about it.

"You know, you can't control everything. Sometimes, shit happens, and?—"

"Graves. I like you. And I don't like too many people. But keep pushing me, and you'll end up like my good friend Frankie here." I pat Frankie's unconscious shoulder, smiling at Graves.

Graves snaps his mouth shut and purses his lips. He grips the table and tilts his head to the side, avoiding me further.

"I'll take care of this, and you get outta here. I'm sure it won't be long before you're called out on a mission."

He's right.

"I heard about these traffickers teaming up with special operators on post." Graves opens up about the current crimes plaguing the base. He knows everything.

I sit there, twirling the bullet in my hands, as he spills out information he's learned. I can't concentrate on Graves. The obsession to explore what Alessia's insides feel like possesses my every thought. After he finishes, I step off the chair and walk towards my victim.

"Well, this was so much fun…we should definitely do this again sometime!" I exclaim to an unconscious Frankie in his ear before patting his shoulder twice. I give Graves a brotherly hug before heading towards the elevator.

"Hey. Your father has been asking about you. He wants to see you soon since you're back home." He starts texting on his phone, probably reaching out to his other business partner. They are always on standby for him, twenty-four-seven.

"You told him I'm home from deployment?" Anxiety twists inside my chest.

"Yeah. He is like a father to me. He misses you. He wants to talk." He keeps typing away on his phone screen, and I exhale heavily, feeling a wave of guilt surrounding the rift between my father and me. I rub my beard in deep thought.

"I've gotta go. It's getting late." I drawl, avoiding the subject of my Catholic father. Graves gets the message and leaves me alone.

I already miss my little Valentine.

Time to play.