CHAPTER ELEVEN

People, when they're angry, are truly the purest form of entertainment.

"Five minutes and twenty-eight seconds." Tom Willis tears at the short strands of his brown hair. His blue eyes show his rage behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "Being five minutes and twenty-eight seconds late to a crime scene in the middle of nowhere does not give him the right to deduct my fee."

I rub my jaw, leaning back in my leather chair. The three of us—Tom, the dead bodies' cleaner, his client, Rhett, and me—sit around the oval table in one of Voltage's conference rooms.

I grin from ear to ear, enjoying this little show I'm running.

"The hell it does," Rhett Razor Martin, the drug dealer for the decadent wealthy people of the Upper West Side, snarls. "It could've been a second. Could've been an hour. Doesn't change the fact that you were late."

"It was less than six minutes." Much like me, Willis is used to dealing with dirtbags like Razor here. Hitmen, serial killers, and other types of filthy criminals, he's seen them all. He doesn't cower. "It means nothing. Nothing."

One of the most sought-after cleaners in New York has a point.

I'm here as a mediator who was given the power to resolve this shit. I can do it, right here and now. In less than five minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

Matter of fact, I can do it in less than one.

Except I'm way too fucking entertained.

Doesn't hurt that watching them takes my mind off last night.

Normally, I don't trouble myself with overthinking. Complicated emotions and what stands behind them bores me to tears.

That is until Amara's crazy soul latched on to mine. She softens the hardened parts in me. Makes me almost…care.

It confuses me. Last night confuses me even more.

Sure, the sex was fucking epic. Being dirty with my Amara like a man possessed while Killian watched was the best sex of my life.

But it didn't stop there. When I bathed Amara, I wished Killian were there with us. She deserved his strong, caring touch for being such a good girl. I wanted him to lather shampoo in my hair. The three of us could've—Christ, what's come over me?—cuddled.

I didn't articulate any of this.

See, I don't pray for what's out of my reach. I don't lament. I don't grow attached.

Hence, why it's basically therapy, sitting here, soaking up these fuckers' rage.

Chaos. Madness. Violence.

That I can do.

"I specifically told you to be there at nine p.m. sharp." The vein on Razor's temple throbs. His bald head shines bright red, more crimson than the red lights in our conference room. "On. The. Dot."

He'll probably be mad if I snapped a picture of him. If I laughed. I pull my lips in, taking a mental picture instead. One can never have enough entertainment on demand.

"Wanna know why?" Razor's fingers grip the arms of the chair. His muscles threaten to tear his charcoal gray suit.

The asshole gets off on pretending he's a legit businessman just because he runs in the right circles. Because he sells "rich people" drugs.

Oh, fucking well.

I'm not here to pass judgment. Don't care for it, either. I'm here to watch and fix their issues.

Right after I've had my fill of this distracting chaos.

I relax into my executive chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Too bad it's this early in the morning. Otherwise, I would've asked the hotel staff for popcorn.

"Why?" Willis pinches his lips, feigning courage.

By the way he's twisting his gray polo shirt beneath the table, I know better. He's losing his nerve.

I'm here to protect him, but Razor is a psycho. Before he showed up, Willis gave me a recap of what he had to pick up off the floor last night. A guy's broken teeth and a discarded eyeball. For poaching Razor's clients.

It didn't intimidate me. Just gave me another reason to hide my soft spot from him and everyone else.

Except my Amara.

"Well?" Willis gives his false bravado another shot. The hint of quiver in his voice whips my attention back to them. "Are you going to sit there and stare all day?"

Willis huffs. Razor growls. Nothing they have on Netflix could ever top this shit right here.

"My wife." Razor leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. "It was my in-laws' golden motherfucking anniversary. With traffic and you breaching our agreement, I was late."

He doesn't have to say another word. The second growl he lets out makes it pretty fucking clear. His wife—his real boss—gave him hell for this.

Good on her.

They continue to yammer on. Traffic, schedule, being respectful. Whatever.

I lose interest.

They're still angry. Still entertaining. But my eyes hone in on the porcelain vase with the white lilies in the middle of the conference table. Amara.

Never in a million years would I have imagined she'd be like this. That she'd be begging for both Killian and me. The adorable little flower girl I ran into six months ago has such a dirty mind.

"Excuse me, I'm new here." A woman whose face was hidden by two giant lily arrangements approached me. Practically bumped into me. "Can you tell me where they'd like me to put these? I can't find anyone"— she giggled—"more like, can't see anyone behind these."

Interesting. This wasn't the old dude—forgot his name, shit happens—who used to deliver the hotel's flowers.

Oh, right. Reece, our purchasing manager, informed me the dude had moved on to bigger and better things.

As in died.

Meaning I have a new toy to play with.

Normally, people steered as far away from me as possible.

Flipping my knife between my fingers or my psycho smile weren't exactly inviting.

I hadn't laid a finger on any of our suppliers—for no reason, anyway.

This girl was different. I couldn't see her. Other than the skirt and the long sleeves of her red dress with the bone prints on it, that is. I squinted my eyes and there, a button nose and red lips peeking between the vases.

That wasn't enough. I craved for more. Wanted to make her melodic voice a hoarse one after she choked on my cock.

Only after I toyed with her.

No. After I helped her.

For once, I didn't care if anyone witnessed me on my best behavior.

My twisted heart needed to be her savior. Her dark, perverted knight.

"Did you go?" Her head shifted to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of me.

She couldn't, with how big those vases were. Even though we were in the lobby of the hotel and she only just walked in, I got pissed off no one offered her help.

I'd have murdered our entire staff for ignoring her. Except Killian wouldn't have been pleased.

"I'm here." My dress shoes clanked on the black and gold granite floors and I opened my arms out. "Let me carry these for you."

Lauren, our head housekeeper, tilted her head as she walked toward us. Finally, someone here decided to be useful.

"I'll take it from here." Her voice had a lilt to it. The middle-aged, gray-haired woman was afraid of my reaction. Not for herself.

For the mysterious flower girl.

"I have this." No way was anyone monopolizing the Flower Girl's time. It was mine.

Mine.

"Oh, wow, everyone's so nice around here." Flower girl spread out her fingers, allowing me to grab the vases.

If she only knew.

Lauren patted the front of her black uniform shirt and mouthed, "Conference room number three." Then she spun on her heel, leaving us be.

"Thank you," Flower Girl sang to me.

I moved the vases to one side to peek at my new toy.

Behind stems and flowers, in the dimly lit lobby of our hotel, I checked her out.

The most beautiful human being I'd ever come across.

Her blond hair was knotted in two messy buns at her nape. Her brown eyes twinkled. Dark, thick eyelashes fluttered. I had a full view of her painted red pillowy lips and I was moments from biting them.

Toy? Fuck, no.

My woman. That was settled. I decided right then and there that she'd be mine.

At that point—after three long years of wanting a man I couldn't have—I gave up on Killian and me ever happening. I had to move on.

This girl was…she was something.

She was mine.

And not in the fuck-her-and-leave-her way.

I wanted to peel her skin with my pocket knife. Reveal layer after layer of her all by myself. To close my fingers around her beating heart to make her understand it belonged to me.

"Are lilies supposed to be this goddamn heavy?" I frowned at the tone of my voice. Why was I being an asshole? I wasn't mad at her.

It was the others that pissed me off.

She was half my size. Someone should've been there. Helping her. Shit, I hadn't known this woman for the whole of three seconds and she had me by the balls. Squeezing hard. Owning me.

"You're funny." She grinned, forcing me to blink. Such a huge smile, like the moon was shining directly in my eyes. "The lilies aren't heavy. That's the small rocks you asked me to add to the bottom of the vases."

"Rocks? Why would anyone need—" I stopped myself when it came back to me.

Brenn, one of our bigger members, had launched himself across the conference table last week. The dumbass knocked off the vase, and the porcelain vase hit Johanna, his goddamn sister. Nearly made her bleed out.

"Gotcha, pet." I winked at her and went in for one final test to see if my instincts were right about this one.

I flashed her my psycho smile.

She blushed. Fucking blushed.

Mine.

"Follow me." Satisfied, I whipped around and marched toward conference room three.

"Wait, I have more in my truck," the girl called behind me. "Are you going to call someone to help?"

The girl.

I tasted it on my lips again and it sounded all wrong. Pet was okay, but something was missing.

"What's your name?" I asked.

For the first time, her eyes raked across my body. She moved to the side to watch me behind the vases. Took in my black suit.

Her eyebrows pinched. Her red lips rounded in the hottest O shape. Her cheeks, on the other hand, lost their color.

Something upset her. I didn't like that. So, I frowned.

Not my brightest move.

"Oh, no. Oh, shit." She clasped her fingers around the vases, trying to pull them from me. Like that would fucking happen. "You don't work here. You're a guest. Don't tell me I harassed a guest. Give them back, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I'm not—"

"Shit, shit, shit." Through a tirade of more shits, she flung her arms around the vases, tugging on them harder. "Give them back, please. I apologize. So fucking sorry."

This tiny yet aggressive girl hugged the ceramic vases. Inadvertently, she stroked my suit jacket with her fingertips. Set fire to my arms.

I could've let her stay glued to me like this forever. Problem was, we were center stage to the beasts also known as our members. I couldn't let them witness my swelling cock.

To get to me, they would hurt her the first chance they got.

"Calm down," I whispered. "I'm not a guest."

We had to get out of here and to the conference room. Into a closed space where I could put the vases aside and touch her. Her slender neck. Her inviting lips. I'd eat up the intoxicating jasmine scent on her skin. Sink my teeth into her flesh.

"Let's go." The command in my voice shut down her arguments. "Conference room. Where those belong. I'll come back for the rest, so stop fretting over it before I lick the blush off your pretty cheeks. Now, what's your real name?"

Despite my kinky threat, her blush remained. Persistent little thing. Just like her.

The girl dipped her chin and gazed up at me beneath her eyelashes.

Fuck. Me.

"Amara Carmichael." Sex flowed from her pores and threatened to choke me. I would've died a happy man. "You're not Reece. Not a guest. So, who are you?"

Telling her I was one of the two hotel owners would've had her mouth rounding again. I wanted to see that. But it would've had to be for my eyes only. Mine and no one else's.

Meaning that would have to wait for when the two of us are alone.

I took a step back from the adorable clingy temptation—Amara—and started stalking forward. Her heeled boots clinked as she caught up with me.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Carter Steele," I said when we turned into a dimly lit hallway, away from prying eyes. Her bouncy buns appeared at my side. "One of the hotel owners."

I trained my eyes on her lips. Waiting.

Amara Carmichael, the woman of my dreams, screeched in her tracks at the conference room's doorway. Lips parting, just as I predicted. Just as I wished.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry," she repeated the unnecessary apology. "So sorry."

This time, I didn't stop her. I placed the vases in the center of the oval table and turned to her.

My silent reply was answered by her rushing into the room and closing the door behind her.

Clink, clink, clink, her sexy heels went.

"You shouldn't have been carrying these." She outstretched her arms between me and the vase, flailing them around. Amara was the definition of hysterical and adorable. "It's my job. Jesus. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. Please, don't fire me. I'll do better. I swear."

Her jasmine scent once more invaded my senses, getting me hard. Driving me insane in the best sort of way.

"Relax." I grabbed her shoulders and turned her to me.

The fabric of her dress felt smooth under my hands. We were inches apart.

What if I kept her for life?

I'd probably end up choking her so she wouldn't breathe anything other than my exhales.

This woman.

The only thing similar to this level of attraction was what I'd felt for Killian.

These feelings. The need to shove my hand into his sweatpants. To have my lips on his.

Like I wanted to kiss Amara. She wasn't second best, though. I couldn't make sense of that thought at the time. The two of them snagged the same place in my head. Coexisted in the space where possessiveness met another sentiment. Lust. Had to be lust.

After two and a half years of jerking off to Killian and not seeing anyone else, I was losing it.

Liar. There's something about her. Something you only ever saw in Killian.

A growl slipped past my lips. That was the truth. No use in pretending otherwise.

This girl had me in a chokehold.

Amara's nose twitched. Another adorable, seductive gesture.

I tipped her chin up. "What is it?"

"Carter, I swear, I'm not lazy." Her begging turned me on as much as the heaving breasts beneath her tight dress. "I'll carry the rest of the flowers in. In fact, I'll come every other day to water the plants you already have here. I'll sing for them and stroke the flower petals. Please, I'll do anything. Just don't take this gig from me."

"Lazy? Take it from you?" I scowled. She wasn't making any sense. Her craziness was cute, but this? Unnecessary. "Never. I'll never hire another florist. You're bound to us. Bound to me. That's why we're going to date."

"You… Me… Uh—excuse me?" A range of emotions ran across her expressive features. "For real?"

"Yes, pet. For real."

If there was ever a time to break the rules, it was now. For her.

Amara was mine.

I leaned a little closer. "Say yes," I whispered, tasting her breaths. Owning them.

The tips of our noses touched. I nuzzled hers.

Sweet, sweet Amara.

"Say yes."

"To what?" she breathed.

In a flash, I had my hand around her throat, my fingers digging in.

"To everything." Not that her consent mattered. The night sky was black as Amara belonged to me. End of story.

"Yes." Amara's smile barreled into me. "To everything."

Having her consent was the cherry on top.

The wait was over.

My last conscious thought fleeting through my head was, We're a match made in crazy-town, and I fucking love it. I slammed my mouth against hers. Sealed our fates together with that kiss.

Then I fucked her from behind with her face pressed to the table and her ass red from my spanking.

"Five minutes and twenty-eight seconds," Willis repeats.

I have the urge to smother him for dragging me out of my head. Where Amara was screaming into my palm as I shut her up and made it hurt until she came all over my cock.

An urge I have to shut down.

I'm at work. My boner and goddamn feelings will have to wait.

"It's three hundred and twenty-eight seconds too late," Razor bites back.

I turn my head to either side of me. The two men are standing now. Their palms are flat on the table where Amara's face was six months ago. Their faces burn crimson red, their mouths twisted into snarls.

Seeing Razor's pulsing violence doesn't surprise me. My eyebrow ticks up, intrigued by the sudden change in Willis. He leans forward, his energy as explosive as Razor's.

Fine, then maybe this isn't the worst thing to come back to from my Amara memory.

"Tell him he needs to pay up, Carter."

"Tell him being late fucking costs you."

Do I let them keep this up, or do I finally put an end to this charade?

Decisions, decisions.

I check my watch. Killian should be here soon.

His reaction to what happened last night is far more intriguing than this pay-per-view show these two men put on.

I have to see the effect Amara and I had on Killian. If I have something to work with here.

It won't happen if I tell him to join us. Killian doesn't respond well to commands. The man needs a push in the right direction, and I'm the master of pushing. Buttons, for example. Or people. Off a cliff. It happened once. I was in a creative mood. Sue me.

Back to the real world.

The decision is final. Their duel needs to end.

While the two men are busy pretending they're John Travolta and Nicolas Cage in Face Off, I smile.

Hand inside my pocket, my fingers curl around my trustworthy Cyclone. I slip the pocket knife out as the idiots here roar at each other. Focused on their petty back and forth.

I swear, sometimes I wonder if these people know me at all.

Razor screams first as my blade tears into the tissues and tendons of his hand.

Willis, the coward, pushes his chair back. Ready to escape.

The fuck he will.

"I bet you'd like that. Running like a fucking coward." I fist the collar of his polo shirt, relishing in how he stumbles toward me. The thump his body makes as he hits the table. "You're staying right here. Both of you."

Razor shuts the hell up.

Willis is a different story. "We didn't break any rules," he whines.

"You think I'm blind?" My smile doesn't leave me as I drag the cleaner's face close to mine. "Is that what you're saying, Willis?"

His face blanches. "N-no, Carter. I'm sorry."

"Another second, and you'd have been at each other's throats. Breaking. Our. Rules. Consider this your final warning." I turn to the choked, silent Razor. "You. Ten thousand out of the forty you settled on is a goddamn quarter. You're alive and your wife didn't put a bullet into you. So, no, 10k isn't a fair fine. You owe Willis another five. That's it."

"Sure, Carter." Razor, the big intimidating man, quivers. "Anything you say."

"Just five?" Willis has the nerve to sound outraged. "Carter, you can't be serious."

Bang.

The table shakes when I slam Willis's head on top of it.

I pull him up, and my smile widens. The blood on his forehead and his moist eyes are what I live for. "You're gonna tell me what I can or can't be?"

"N-no, of course not. I'm sorry, Carter."

I smell his fear and it turns me into a fucking ravenous beast. I want more. I want my people.

"You should thank your lucky stars." I release Willis and pull my knife out of Razor's hand. "Scratch that. You should thank me that I didn't do worse."

"T-thank you," he says wisely.

"Stay," I address both of them. I pull the knife out of Razor's hand, grab Willis's jacket from his chair, and throw it at Razor. "Use this to slow the bleeding. Now, get the fuck out of here. Both of you."

They scramble to the door. Neither of them can get away from me fast enough. They're scared of me. For the time being.

I snatch a sanitizing wipe from the box near Amara's flowers.

Amara.

One day, Willis and Razor will remember this moment. Revenge will poison their veins like many others before them. They might even try something.

Killian and I are basically the UN in this fucked up criminal world. The UN, not Miss fucking Congeniality. Never have, never will be. To be feared and respected, we've been terrorizing these assholes for years. Killian has been doing it long before I came along.

They might hurt Amara if they find out about her. Someone might've already done that. Last night won't repeat itself. I won't let it.

My protective side rages. I'm a caged lion, itching to tear someone's throat using my bare teeth.

Without telling Amara that the man she loves has blood on his hands, I can't show her off around here. Can't lick her neck in public. Dare anyone but Killian to look at what's mine.

What could be ours.

She wouldn't have her guard up around these beasts. They would use it to their advantage. Hurt her as soon as we turn our heads.

I'm not ready to tell her. It'll take time. Everything will.

I'll have to play it right, whether Killian joins our fun or not.

My smile is wiped off my face. I wipe my knife and toss it on the table.

Fuck.

Love is a blessing.

Love is a weakness.

"Morning." The bass voice reaches from behind me. "Your toys make it out alive?"

A hot current runs down my spine hearing Killian. Smelling his cologne. Feeling his all-consuming aura.

Guess I'm not pissed off anymore.