17. Victoria

I’m lyingawake way before I’d like to be up. Classes aren’t until mid-morning, and I’d hoped I would be exhausted, sated enough to have a lie-in. No such fucking luck.

The sheets are twisted around my legs, my heart racing as I can’t get my mind to switch off from Luke’s video. It’s everything I didn’t know I craved until I saw it. He’s rough, almost savage, as he strokes himself, the need etched into every tense muscle of his body. This powerful man who could navigate the dark recesses of the underground with his eyes closed is now unravelling because of me. It’s a rush, a fucking heady power trip that sends another wave of lust crashing over me.

I’m playing with fire, dancing on the edge of a cliff. But it’s not just lust that holds me captive—it’s the complexity of wanting both him and Cian. It’s a dangerous game, but I’m all in. I have to wonder what Cian’s response would really be. He is jealous as fuck, but with Luke and if it was something I truly wanted, would he get on board?

The thought lingers like the echo of a gunshot in an empty alley. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Cian has always been possessive, but his bond with Luke... that’s something forged in steel and blood. Could he share? Would he even consider it?

I grab my phone and dial.

He answers on the second ring, groggy as fuck. “Yeah.”

“I fucking love you, too.”

“Then come over here and sit on my dick, bitch.”

“That’s nice.”

“You left me to get pissed all on my own and now I feel like shite.” His Irish accent is thicker with his hangover daze and it’s sexy as fuck.

“You want me, come and get me.”

“Scared of coming here?”

“No. Why?”

“Just asking.”

“Just come.”

There’s a pause. “What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly more awake.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Demons got riled, and now I… I don’t know… miss you.”

“Tell me about these demons, killer. Can I kick their arse?”

“They get better when your dick is in my cunt.”

“I know how that goes.”

“We need to talk.”

“We are.”

“About the boxes.”

“Creeped out?”

“No,” I say again defiantly, but he knows me too well. “Maybe a bit. It’s too personal. If it were the usual shit, I wouldn’t care, you know.”

“I know. Give me ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

We hang up, and I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like the worst betrayer in the history of humankind. This is worse than Judas. I groan and press the pillow over my head but then fling it to the side and get up to brush my teeth before Cian arrives. The doorbell chimes, and I spit and rinse before heading down in just the oversized tee I wore to bed.

I open the door to him leaning one hand on the doorframe, looking like he just rolled out of hell, all dark hair and bloodshot eyes that are still sharp enough to see right through me.

“Five minutes,” he says with a slight smirk as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. His arms wrap around me in a rough embrace, and for a second, I can pretend everything is fine. But then his hand trails down my back, brushing over my ass, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Missed you in my bed last night.”

I let out a shaky breath, leaning into him despite the guilt gnawing at me. “Missed you too.”

He pulls back, studying my face like he’s trying to read the secrets I’m desperate to keep hidden. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, “something’s not right.”

“There’s just a lot on my mind.” I try to sound casual, but it’s like the words are stones in my throat.

Cian doesn’t push, just nods as if he understands, but his eyes don’t leave mine. It’s like he’s waiting for me to spill the darkness that I’ve invited in.

“We should talk about what happened yesterday.”

His eyes go hard, and he shuts down, stepping back from me. “What is there to say?”

“A lot, Cian. This is huge, and not just for you but for everyone. You’re head of this Gannon family faction. How do you even feel about that?”

Cian’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “How do I feel?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “Like everything’s about to go tits up. Like I have more enemies than friends.”

I watch him, trying to gauge his next move. He’s a fucking enigma—always has been. But now there’s a new edge to him, something raw and dangerous that wasn’t there before.

“You need to assert your strength,” I say, stepping closer.

He nods slowly. “What do you think last night was about?”

“You need to do more.”

“I trust you,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”

It takes me by surprise. “Why would I think otherwise?”

Then his mouth crashes against mine—a fierce, possessive kiss full of need and fire that scorches any remaining thoughts from my brain. His hands grip me hard enough to bruise, as if he can imprint his touch into my skin, claiming me more with each heartbeat. There’s a desperate edge to it that tells me something big is coming.

We break apart, panting. “Fuck, Victoria,” Cian murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. “Whatever you’re holding back... I need you to trust me with it.”

“I’m not?—”

“Don’t lie to me, Tory. We’ve been together for a year; have known each other for far longer. I know you whether you like it or not, and I know this darkness that you need to sate isn’t just being your father’s daughter. Who hurt you?”

It hits me in the heart like a bullet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grips my upper arms tightly. “I said don’t lie to me. Tell me so I can fix it.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

He stands up straight and stares down at me. “I wasn’t talking about you, killer.”

Every instinct screams at me to run. This isn’t anything he needs to know. It’s my business. My life. My darkness. But then I have to wonder if sharing that darkness will ease the burden. But it doesn’t last. I close down and step away from him, turning to head into the kitchen for coffee.

“Don’t walk away from me, Victoria. I want to protect you.”

“I don’t need it,” I call back over my shoulder.

After a beat, he follows me, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. I feel his eyes burning into my back as I fuss with the coffee machine, my hands shaking slightly. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s still trying to figure me out, piece together the puzzle that is my current state.

When I turn around, leaning back against the counter, Cian is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits.

“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” His tone is mocking, but there’s a thread of worry there that I can’t ignore.

“I am tough,” I retort, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’ve had to be.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, charged and electric. Then he comes towards me until he’s invading my space.

“Let me be tough for you this time,” he says quietly, reaching out to cup my face. His touch is gentle yet commanding. “Let me in.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse him, to push him away and keep guarding my secrets like a dragon hoarding gold. But then his lips are on mine again, soft and coaxing, and my resolve begins to crumble.

I part my lips and let him deepen the kiss. It feels like falling into a warm abyss—dangerous but irresistible. As we kiss, his hands roam over me, over every curve and every edge they can find beneath the fabric of my tee.

I’m losing myself in him, in this moment where nothing else matters but his touch, his taste. But then I push back, my hands on his chest, needing air, needing to maintain some semblance of control. “Cian, stop.”

He does immediately, pulling back to look at me with intense eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong, Victoria? Let me use this power that’s been shat on my head to help you.”

“Lovely mental image,” I murmur with an inappropriate giggle.

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t change the subject.”

Shoving my hands into my hair, I let out a huff. “I can’t do this, Cian. Not now.”

“When?”

“How about never?”

“Not acceptable. Let me in, dammit, Victoria!” he hisses, getting pissed off by my run around.

“Cian, stop?—”

“No, fuck it, Tory. We’re doing this. Tell me who the fuck hurt you!” His face is contorted with rage, but it’s not directed at me. I know that, but I’m frozen on the spot. “Please, open up to me, Tory. I need more. I need this to be more. Fuck!” He spins, hands in his hair as he kicks out at the kitchen island. “Fuck!” His fist flies at the fridge door, smashing into it and denting it.

“Your hand,” I mutter.

“Fuck that. They’re fucked anyway. Talk to me.”

“You need this to be more? More than what?” His words have turned me to ice.

“Sex,” he growls. “Fire, passion, danger, darkness. I need you one hundred per cent all in.”

“I am, I love you, Cian.”

His eyes snap up to meet mine, a flash of relief mingled with a thirst just as strong as the desperation clawing at his features. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” I repeat, and it feels like a confession—a surrender in the most vulnerable sense.

He closes the distance between us in two strides, his hands capturing my face again before he kisses me with a passion that borders on reverence. It’s like he’s trying to absorb the words through his lips to convince himself they’re real.

“Then let me love all of you,” he implores against my lips. “Even the parts you’re scared to show.”

“Back at you,” I say, gripping his hand and turning my face to kiss his palm.

“This isn’t about me.”

“I can’t tell you, Cian. You will lose it, and I just can’t face that.” The fear of this revelation makes my insides turn to liquid.

“Say it.”

I stare into his blue eyes and nearly drown as the memories flood me. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away, but they escape anyway. He wipes them away with this thumbs, more shocked than I am that I’m fucking crying.

“Tory,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to?—”

“I was sexually abused when I was an early teen,” I blurt out and see the shock register on his face before it goes so fucking dark, I gulp and push myself back against the counter, trapped between it and the building rage in the man I love.

Cian’s face is taut with the restraint he’s holding back. I can see his jaw working, the muscles clenching as he processes my words. He takes a step back, giving me space, and leans against the opposite counter. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is measured.

He opens his eyes, revealing a storm of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Emotions that surge and crash, ready to consume everything in their wake.

“Who?” His voice is barely a whisper, but it resonates with a danger that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I can’t,” I manage to say, my voice a broken whisper.

Cian looks like he’s about to tear the world apart brick by brick. “Victoria, I need to know who did this to you. I’ll fucking destroy them.”

I shake my head, tears streaming down my face now. “It’s in the past, Cian. Let it stay there.”

He pushes off from the counter and approaches me. This time, his movements are slow and deliberate. He cups my face again and forces me to look at him. “It’s not just in the past if it’s hurting you now.”

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. “Cian… please.”

“Who?”

I shake my head. The name will never be uttered. It can’t be. He is too much a part of this life, too powerful, too everything. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t make me say it.”

His eyes search mine, looking for something—anything—that’ll give him the name he’s aching to extract. But I steel myself against his silent pleas, locking the secret within the confines of my own fear.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, the word heavy with defeat. He doesn’t press further. Instead, he wraps me in his arms—his embrace is a fortress, an impenetrable shield against the ghosts knocking at my mind’s door.

This is Cian. He is rage and retribution but also protection and profound care. He won’t let this drop, but for now, I’ve escaped revealing what will undoubtedly be a death sentence.