Chapter 17 - Cohen

There's something poetic about watching an angel sleep after you've corrupted her in a church.

I can't stop staring at her as she sleeps in my arms, her body curled against mine in the pre-dawn darkness of her bedroom. Getting her back to the house without being seen was a challenge—especially since I couldn't keep my hands off her for more than thirty seconds.

The marks from the velvet ribbon circle her delicate wrists like bracelets, and my cock twitches at the sight. Physical evidence of her submission, a testament written in faint red lines across her skin that tells the story of how she gave herself to me in that sacred space, trading her innocence for my darkness.

Her dark hair spills across the pillow, and I brush my fingers through the silken strands, savoring how they slide between my fingers. Everything about her feeds the darkness in me. Each soft exhale brushes against my chest, a reminder that she's real, that I finally have her where she belongs. The steady rise and fall of her body against mine. The way her lips part with every breath, still swollen from my kisses. The flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks as she dreams.

I wonder if she's dreaming of me. Of what we did in that chapel. Of how I claimed every inch of her body and carved my name into the marrow of her bones.

A possessive growl builds in my chest as I remember the way she looked spread out on that altar, bound and begging. The way she took my cock like she was made for it. Like her body had been waiting nineteen years just for me to fill it.

"Cohen?" Her voice is soft and sleepy as her eyes flutter open. Looking into her eyes in the darkness feels like staring into an abyss I want to fall into, and something in my chest tightens. "What time is it?"

"Early," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep, little one."

She shifts against me, and I have to bite back a groan as her thigh brushes against my hard on. "Will you stay?"

"No." The word feels like razor blades in my throat. "Though walking away from you might actually kill me." I stroke her cheek with my thumb, hating the disappointment that clouds her eyes. "Your mother will be up soon, and as much as I want to stay buried inside you until the world ends, I need to handle some things." Like making sure Daniel Montgomery Jr. never gets within fifty feet of what's mine.

Her lower lip juts out in a pout that makes me want to bite it, and a small furrow appears between her brows. "What things?"

I smooth my thumb over that furrow, erasing her worry. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with. Just some business matters that need my attention."

She pushes herself up on one elbow, and the sheet falls away from her chest. The sight of her perfect breasts, marked with my stubble burn and love bites, makes my mouth water. "You're planning something."

Smart girl. Too smart for her own good sometimes.

"I'm always planning something," I tell her, keeping my voice light even as my eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin. "It's what makes me so good at what I do."

She bites her lip, and my control frays. Before she can blink, I have her pinned beneath me, my cock pressed against her pussy. It's still slippery from all the fucking we did when we fell into her bed last night after the chapel, and I slide against her with a groan. "Do you know how hard it is for me to walk away from you when you're looking at me like that? When your body is aching for mine?"

"Yes," she says, her eyes locked on mine. "As hard as it is for me to let you walk away." She goes back to nibbling on her lower lip.

"Don't bite that lip," I growl, my free hand sliding down her body to cup her breast. Her nipple pebbles against my palm. "You know what it does to me."

"Maybe that's why I do it," she whispers, and fuck if that hint of defiance doesn't make me want to put her on her knees and shove my dick between those pretty lips. But she's sore. She can't take any more until she's rested. And I need to get to work.

I lean down, my mouth a breath from hers. "Don't play games with me. I'll win every time." I brush a gentle kiss against her lips and roll off the bed, tucking my raging erection into my pants and zipping it away. If I don't leave now, I never will.

"Greedy girl." I scan the floor for my clothes, trying to ignore how she makes the sheets rustle as she sits up to watch me. "But I have to go. Your mother will be up soon, and I need you to act normal at breakfast." I find my shirt tangled with her torn nightgown and pull it on, my eyes drawn back to her. Her hair is wild from my hands, her neck marked with my kisses. "No matter what happens today, remember that you're part of me now, and I'm part of you. Nothing can tear that apart. Everything that's coming... it's all for you. For us."

"You're scaring me," she whispers, drawing her knees to her chest, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes. The trust she's placed in me, despite her fears.

I pause in buttoning my wrinkled shirt, tucking in the key to Emerald’s door, to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for her face. "Don't be scared, little one. I told you I'd never let anything hurt you. That includes your mother and anyone else who might try to come between us."

She searches my face, those clever eyes trying to read the truth in mine. "Promise?"

"I promise." I seal it with a kiss, gentle this time. Reverent. Then I force myself to stand, grabbing my shoes. "Now go back to sleep. You'll need your rest for what's coming."

I finish dressing quickly, my eyes drawn to her as she burrows deeper into sheets that smell like sex and us. The sight of her in that bed, thoroughly fucked and marked by me, nearly breaks my resolve to leave.

But there's work to be done.

I slip into my room unnoticed, stripping off last night's clothes that smell like the musty chapel and Emerald's sweet skin. The shower is quick but necessary. Like fuck am I about to face Madeline looking like I just spent the night balls deep in her daughter. Ten minutes later, I'm in a fresh suit, my hair still damp, heading toward the kitchen.

Coffee first, then Emmitt.

The house feels like a tomb at this hour, that particular kind of quiet you only get before dawn when even the heating system seems to have gone dormant. The staff won't arrive for another hour, which means I have time to—

"You're up early."

Madeline's voice shatters my solitude. She's sitting at the kitchen island, her hair and makeup already perfect despite the ungodly hour, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her like she's been waiting. Like she's been plotting.

I don't let my surprise show as I move to the coffee maker. "I have an early meeting."

"Hmm." She takes a delicate sip of her coffee. "Strange. I don't remember seeing it on your calendar."

I pour myself a cup, keeping my movements casual even as tension coils in my muscles. "Since when do you monitor my calendar?"

"Since my daughter started looking at you like you hung the moon." Her voice is sharp enough to draw blood. "I'm not blind, Cohen."

I turn to face her, leaning against the counter while I sip my coffee. "And what exactly do you think you see?"

She sets her cup down with a soft clink. "I see the way you watch her. The way you've positioned yourself between her and anyone who might take her attention away from you." Her lips curve in a cold smile. "I also see that you've been tampering with my plans."

"Your plans?" I raise an eyebrow. "You mean your attempt to pimp out your daughter to the junior Montgomery for a business deal?"

Her smile doesn't waver, but her eyes turn to ice. "Daniel comes from an excellent family. He's exactly the kind of man Emerald needs—young, ambitious, and most importantly, appropriate."

My fingers tighten around the coffee cup until I'm afraid the ceramic might shatter. The word 'appropriate' tastes like poison in the air between us, and for a moment, the urge to show her exactly how inappropriate I can be nearly overwhelms me. But I force my grip to relax, take a slow sip of scalding coffee, and let the pain ground me while the silence stretches between us. When I finally speak, I've locked the beast back in its cage. Barely. "That boy isn't coming anywhere near Emerald."

"He'll be here for lunch." Madeline's tone is triumphant. "I've already arranged it."

I set the coffee cup down with precise control, though everything in me wants to hurl it across the room. "Cancel it."

"Or what?" She stands, smoothing her designer skirt. "What exactly do you think you can do about it? You're just the husband I settled for to make my company more appealing to investors. Don't forget your place, Cohen."

A dark laugh escapes me. "My place?" I close the distance between us, and Madeline takes an involuntary step back. "Let me be very clear about something. You have no idea what I'm capable of. The things I've done... the things I'm willing to do..." I let the implications hang in the air between us.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not yet." I smile, and she pales slightly. "But if that trust fund brat shows up here today, you'll find out exactly what a threat from me looks like."

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me. "I know about Charlotte."

I look back at her, amused. "Do you?"

"I know she disappeared after filing for divorce from her husband. I know you were the last person to see her alive." She lifts her chin. "I wonder what the police would think about that?"

"Go ahead." I spread my arms. "Call them. But before you do, you might want to think very carefully about what kind of attention that would bring to your perfect family. Some secrets are better left buried, wouldn't you agree?"

The color drains from her face.

"That's what I thought." I head for the door, then pause. "Oh, and Madeline? Cancel lunch with the boy. I'd hate for something unfortunate to happen to him."

I don't wait for her response as I stride out of the kitchen. My phone is already in my hand, dialing Tristen's number.

He answers on the fourth ring. "It's fuck o'clock in the morning, Astor. This better be good."

"I need everything you have on Emmitt Caldwell.”

"Jesus Christ." Tristen sighs. "What did you do?"

“Nothing yet. It’s what I’m about to do.”

"Give me a minute." There's a rustling sound as Tristen presumably sits up in bed, followed by a soft feminine murmur that definitely doesn't belong to ex considering she left months ago. I wonder if he finally pulled his head out of his ass and—

When he comes back, his voice is clearer. "Caldwell's going to be a problem. He's got connections."

"So do I." I slide into the driver's seat of my Aston, the leather cold against my back.

“Fair point.” He laughs, but there's an edge to it. "Never thought I'd see the day we'd both be this far gone." A pause. "You know I get it, right? With Waverly..." He trails off, but I hear everything he's not saying.

I pull out of the driveway, heading toward downtown. "They're worth it."

"Yeah," Tristen says quietly. "Yeah, they fucking are. I'll send you everything I have on Caldwell. And Cohen? Whatever you're planning... I've got your back."

"Thanks." I end the call, my mind flipping through all the ways a man like Emmitt Caldwell can disappear. The legal ones first. Then the fun ones.

The sun is just starting to peek over the mountains as I pull into the underground parking garage beneath Caldwell Communications. The eyesore towers over downtown Emerald Hills like a middle finger to everything this place is. I still can't believe the town council approved this monstrosity.

Emmitt's Tesla sits in its reserved spot, a predictable testament to his desperate need to appear successful. Everyone knows Teslas are what you drive when you want people to think you're smarter than you actually are.

I could have waited for a more civilized hour to do this, but some conversations are better had when witnesses are scarce.

The lobby's deserted except for the security guard, who nods at me without hesitation. Being the Savage Society's attorney has its advantages in this town - no one questions my presence anywhere. The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor gives me time to lock away the violence humming beneath my skin, to polish my rage into something sharper, more precise.

I find Emmitt exactly where I expected, already behind his mahogany desk with his coffee and his wall of windows showing off the snow-covered Cascades behind him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Amazing how quickly his refinement abandons him when he sees me.

I settle into one of his uncomfortable leather chairs, taking my time as his annoyance grows visible.

"If this is about the boutique—" he starts.

"It's not."

His jaw tightens at the interruption. "Then what exactly are you doing in my office at seven in the morning?"

"Emerald."

"What about her?" The flash of hunger in his eyes when I say her name makes my fingers itch to wrap around his throat.

"You're going to stay away from her."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that so?" He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. "And who exactly are you to make that demand? The stepfather who's been here what, a year?"

"I'm the man telling you to stay away from her."

"Interesting." His smile turns calculating. "I've noticed how protective you are of your pretty little stepdaughter. Very protective, actually. Almost inappropriate, one might say."

"We're not discussing me."

"No?" He settles back, clearly thinking he has the upper hand. "What makes you think Madeline would choose your concerns over my business? She needs me far more than she needs you."

I pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through the photos Tristen just sent. "You're right about one thing. Madeline does need you." I turn the phone to show him a picture of a young girl, no more than fifteen, entering his private office. "Jessica, on the other hand... I don't think she needed what you did to her. Or Sarah. Or Amy." I swipe through more photos. "You do seem to have a type."

The color drains from his face. "Those photos are—"

"Dated and timestamped?" I smile. "Yes, they are. Along with the documentation of the payoffs to their families. The NDAs. The carefully hidden paper trail that leads right back to you."

"You're bluffing."

I set my phone on his desk, screen up. More photos scroll past—him with different underage girls, bank statements, medical records. "Do I look like I'm bluffing?"

The color drains from his face, but he rallies. "You think you're the first person to try to blackmail me? I've buried better men than you."

"I'm not trying to blackmail you, Emmitt. I'm telling you how this is going to go." I lean forward. "Tell me, have you already started grooming Emerald like the others? Those private meetings Madeline arranged—you were planning to get her alone, weren’t you?"

He flinches, caught. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You're a predator who's gotten away with it for too long. But that ends now." I turn the phone to show him another, much worse, photo. "And these? These are just copies. The originals are in much more interesting hands."

Hands like the Savage Society’s. I don’t need to speak their names out loud; we both know who I’m referring to.

He swallows hard. "What do you want?"

"I already told you. Stay away from Emerald. And while you're at it, dissolve your partnership with Madeline. Effective immediately." I should make him leave town. I still might.

"She'll never agree to that."

"Make her." I stand, straightening my jacket and refastening the top button. "You’re good at that.” He flinches like I've punched him. I wish I had. “You have until the end of the day. If I don't see the paperwork by five p.m., these photos go to every news outlet in the state. Oh, and Emmitt?" I pause at the door. "If you ever so much as look at Emerald again, I'll do much worse than expose your crimes. Are we clear?"

He nods, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Good." I close his office door behind me, satisfaction settling in my chest.

By the time I reach my office, my phone is already lighting up with notifications. Emmitt works fast when properly motivated—the dissolution paperwork for his partnership with Delacroix Collective has already been filed. Every contract canceled, every joint venture terminated, including their precious charity auction. Madeline's social media is flooded with confused messages from donors and socialites about the sudden cancellation of her flagship holiday events.

Good. Let her scramble to maintain control while her empire crumbles piece by piece.

One threat eliminated. Two to go.

Now for the Montgomery brat.