88. Chapter 88

88

Wren

I t's only 8 PM, but Alex is already out like a light.

He's had one hell of a day—running around the yard of D's cottage, where we've been staying for the past three weeks, chasing that stray cat he's decided is his best friend, and then splashing in every mud puddle he could find until he was covered from head to toe.

I swear , that boy's got more energy than a pack of wild dogs. But now, all that chaos has caught up with him, and he's snuggled in his little bed, clutching his stuffed lion like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

I brush his messy dark hair away from his forehead and plant a kiss there, lingering just a second longer. He smells like baby shampoo and that faint sweetness only kids have.

"Sweet dreams, Lexi Bear," I whisper, and he lets out a sleepy murmur, his lips parting into a tiny smile.

I straighten up, slipping out of his room, careful not to let the old door creak. I give it a soft push until it's just barely open, enough so I can peek in if I need to. The hallway is dark, but I can hear the familiar sounds of the house settling. It's a comforting kind of quiet.

Until I hear the front door.

It's almost silent, just the faintest click as it shuts, like someone trying to be sneaky. I already know who it is. Only one person enters the house like that. Like he's trying not to wake a beast. D.

He hasn't been going out much lately. Said he wanted to be here for us—for Alex, for me. He made promises, and hell, he's even kept them for the most part. His men have been handling business, running operations.

I head down the stairs, my feet silent on the wood, and when I reach the bottom, there he is—trying to kick off his boots without making a sound.

I move closer, and when he looks up, I'm already on him. I grab his jacket and pull him down to meet my lips, kissing him before he can say a damn word. His lips are warm, a little chapped, and he lets out a low hum as he kisses me back, his hand finding my waist.

I pull back just a bit, whispering, "Let me heat up some food."

D's hand slides around my waist, pulling me even closer, and I can feel the day's tension melting off him.

"Thanks, krasotka ," he murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear. He presses his forehead to mine, and his voice drops to a whisper. "Is the wild bear asleep?"

I grin. "Yeah. He was waiting for you, you know. Kept asking where his papa was. Finally passed out with his lion."

A shadow passes over D's face, and I see the guilt flash there, just for a second, before he pulls me in tighter. "I'll bring him hunting tomorrow. Make it up to him."

I shake my head, feeling his muscles tense against me. "No, you are not."

He pulls back a little, his eyes narrowing. "He needs to be a man, Wren. Learn things."

I roll my eyes and pull him close, my fingers curling into his hair, my lips finding his again. There's no gunpowder, no blood, no cigarette stink—just him, and I'm glad.

I whisper softly against his lips, "No, he needs to be a boy… first."

D pauses, his gaze locked on mine, and then he lifts my chin, making me look straight at him.

"You're right. I'll go take a shower, get rid of the rest of the day." His voice is softer and affectionate.

I watch as he walks away, his broad shoulders disappearing up the stairs, and I let out a breath. Then I head for the kitchen, flicking on the light. He's got to be hungry, no matter what he says.

I open the fridge and grab some leftovers—roast chicken, potatoes, and that weird carrot salad Em made the last time before she left. I put everything on a plate and pop it in the microwave, tapping my fingers on the counter while I wait. The hum of the microwave fills the kitchen, and it's such a normal sound, a normal thing to be doing.

But I like this normal .

It makes me smile.

When it's done, I grab the plate, careful not to burn my fingers, and make my way to the living room. D's humming softly as I step into the room, the sound coming from the bathroom. He never used to hum. Not before Alex. Not before this.

I leave the hot plate on the nightstand and lean against the bathroom doorframe. "You seem unusually chipper, bad boy ."

I take in the sight of D, towel slung low on his hips, fresh from the shower. His hair is wet, droplets running down his chest, and he looks like some kind of damn Adonis standing there. A new person, almost—relaxed in a way I've never seen before.

We've been living at D's cottage for four weeks, and every day it feels more like home, like we're some kind of fucked-up family.

I mean, he's the brooding badass, I'm the feisty badass, and Alex is the adorable, pure-of-heart badass. It's like we're a goddamn badass trifecta.

My gaze is glued to him like a goddamn magnet, devouring him, and I'm too damn thirsty to look away.

His body's ripped like a fucking battle tank, scarred and tatted like a roadmap to hell, hotter than the gates of Hades themselves. And the heat radiating from him, it's setting me on fire, every damn inch of me.

D glances at me through the mirror, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "And you seem on edge. What kind of awful plan do you think I've got for you?" He turns slightly, his blue eyes locking on mine, that lazy grin growing.

Alright, heart, pipe down. And pussy, get a grip. We don't need no damn fireworks right now.

"Awful plan?" I repeat, my eyes trailing down his body, my voice dropping to a low purr. "I'll give you an awful plan, baby. And it's gonna involve my hands and my mouth."

I catch a shift in his expression in the mirror. That predatory gleam in his eye that tells me we're about to have some real goddamn fun.