A Worthy Opponent: Wicked Villains #3

by Katee Robert

  We’re multipurpose like that.

  What we don’t do, the thing that’s fucking us right now, is put the fear of god into these people.

  I don’t lead by love. That shit is for the birds. Love can sour and go cold and any number of bad outcomes. Fear works. And they do fear me, just not as much as they fear Peter. Because I have lines that Peter will happily cross whenever he feels like it. He’s got to this portion of the territory. I don’t know how, because we’ve had people watching that area specifically, but the proof is undeniable.

  I’m so fucking furious, I want to charge through the streets, bellowing his name until he meets me for the final battle we both know is bearing down on us. If I thought for a second it’d work, I might actually do it.

  But no, I have to stay the course. Peter has to come to me, and I have to deal with him once and for all.

  First, I have to deal with my wife.

  I find her working over a desk that definitely wasn’t in my suite when I left earlier. She’s got several colors of fabric draped over the open wardrobe doors and a dress form thing with thin white fabric pinned in place around it. I can almost see the shape of the dress she’s working on, but the blue marks on it might as well be Latin for all I understand them.

  Sap that I am, I stand there and watch her work. Her brows are furrowed in concentration as she circles the dress form with pins carefully held between her full lips. A tuck here. A fold there. Each deftly held in place in the span of a heartbeat, though I would have stuck my fingers several times by now.

  Tink is always beautiful. Always fierce. Always a woman I’m drawn to, often despite myself.

  Seeing her so lost in creating a piece of clothing? It’s like seeing through a tiny window into her soul. She’s more than the submissive with a snarky attitude and a quick mouth. More than the strong person who survived shit no one should have to survive. She’s a shining goddamn star barreling through the heavens and fuck if I don’t feel privileged to watch her trajectory.

  “Stop staring at me.”

  Apparently she’s more aware of her surroundings than she seems. I walk to the bed and drop onto it. My whole fucking body aches after today, and I can’t even blame the workout I snuck in before lunch. It’s stress, pure and simple. I still manage to dredge up a grin for her. “I like watching you.”

  “Creeper.”

  “Voyeur,” I correct.

  She finally lifts her head to glare. “Pretty sure we both already knew that.”

  “Indeed.” I allow myself to take her in fully, to let her see how much I appreciate the view. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that look worn and comfortable and hug her ass and hips in a way I truly appreciate. A fluttery green crop top gives flashes of her stomach beneath. She looks as fresh-faced as a college girl, and it’s like viewing the woman I know through a lens of what-if. If things had fallen out differently, she’d have already graduated college. She’d be exactly as wholesome and innocent as she looks right now, standing there with her bare feet and toes painted pink.

  Tink narrows her eyes. “What’s got that look on your face? You look almost … wistful.”

  I could lie, but I’m curious about how she’ll respond. “You look like the horrors of our world have never touched you.”

  She snorts. “Shows what you know. Appearances are deceiving. That’s literally my job now; helping my clients accomplish the image they’re trying to project, all without saying a word.”

  “If you hadn’t met Peter—”

  “Stop.” She carefully sticks the remaining pins into a cushion that looks remarkably like Hades’s head. “I can’t afford to play the what-if game. There’s a reason he found it so easy to get to me. My life wasn’t as bad as a lot of kids’ experience in foster care, but it wasn’t easy, either. Whatever rose-tinted vision of this alternate universe you’re looking at, it’s not what would have happened.” She shakes her head. “I can’t look back, Hook. I can’t. It’s what he wants, it’s why he’s trying to show up and fuck up my life all over again. I won’t let him win.”

  The thought of Peter winning anything, of what it would mean, leaves me cold. “I won’t let him.”

  Her attitude melts away, and she gives a sad little smile. “It’s not like he’s going to ask your permission first.”

  I push to my feet and cross to her. Without her heels, she barely hits my shoulder. Tink gives the impression of being bulletproof now, but I know better. I’ve seen her broken and terrified. I’d do damn near anything to avoid seeing it again. “I won’t let him touch you,” I repeat.

  “Don’t make promises you’ve already broken.”

  She keeps saying she doesn’t want to talk about the past, and then she nails me to the fucking cross and crucifies me based on shit that happened in that same shared history.

  If not for the frustration riding me hard, I would never let my control slip enough to say, “You don’t get to lay that sin at my feet. I tried to get you out. The first chance I got, I offered to get you away.”

  I can still remember that night, how fucking scared shitless I was. Both my father and Peter were out of the building for the first time in months. I had a truck parked on the corner, and Nigel had risked his neck by stashing enough cash to at least get her out of Carver City. To get us both out if it came to that. We hadn’t interacted more than a scattering of words over the years, but she had to know I had the best of intentions. I wasn’t one of Peter’s men. I never had been, for all that I was trapped in the territory, same as her.

  When I laid it out for her, Tink stared at me with lifeless eyes out of a wasted face sporting a new bruise on her cheekbone, and told me to take my escape and go fuck myself.

  I still don’t know why.

  She doesn’t look lifeless now. No, she looks like she wants to knee me in the balls. “That’s not fair.”

  “It sure as fuck isn’t; just like you blaming me for shit like I didn’t try to help.”

  “You call that help?” She laughs hoarsely and moves away from me, charging into the kitchen and hauling out a bottle of vodka. “You idiot. Do you really think Peter didn’t have little spies who reported my every move, my every conversation to him? That he wasn’t ready to take any sign of disobedience and punish me until I wished I was dead?” She flashes me a dark look. “We never would have made it out of the building. And we wouldn’t have survived the night.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I sure as hell do know that.”

  I follow her into the kitchen and snatch two glasses out of the cabinet. “No matter your reasons for saying no, don’t fucking pretend like I didn’t try.”

  “Trying doesn’t mean shit when it’s done so recklessly!”

  “Then stop punishing me for it!” I realize I’m yelling and try to moderate my tone. “Either you blame me for not getting you out or you realize we were both trapped in dangerous situations.”

  “Didn’t stay trapped, did you?”

  Ah. There’s the crux of the issue. Not what happened while she was still in the territory. No, it’s what went down after she left. “You have something to say. Might as well get it out.”

  Tink dumps vodka into each glass. I hate that her hands shake, but she won’t take comfort from me. We need to get this out now before it undermines our ability to work together.

  Yeah. Sure. That’s why I want the air cleared. For the endgame. Not because I can’t stand the way she looks at me sometimes, like I’m the enemy. Like I’m a monster akin to Peter. Even if I am.

  She downs her glass and flinches. “Should have had a chaser,” she gasps.

  “For fuck’s sake.” I stalk to the fridge and yank out the first thing I find—orange juice. I pour a second glass of it and pass it over while she watches me with wide eyes. When she doesn’t immediately drink, I give her the look, the one primarily reserved for Dominants when their submissive has pushed back too hard and is edging over into disrespect.

  Tink drinks the oran
ge juice.

  When it’s halfway gone, she sets the glass aside. Her voice has lost its hoarseness. “You say you hate what he did, but here you are, squatting in his territory.”

  “It’s my territory now.”

  “That’s exactly my point.” She waves a hand. “You’re occupying the same space he did. If you really loathed everything he and your father did, why didn’t you leave? You could have gotten out. Your trying to get me out proves it. But you chose to stay, and you chose to fight him and take his place.”

  The truth is there, edging my tongue. Speaking it means peeling away parts of myself I never show anyone. Oh, Nigel and Colin get pieces of me no one else does because they’re the kind of family a person actually craves, rather than one linked by miserable accident of blood. I got lucky with them. Everyone else?

  I’ve seen what this world does to people who expose their vulnerable centers. I might respect the hell out of Tink, but I don’t trust her. She only accepted my bargain because she has nowhere else to turn. She didn’t choose me. For the last five years, she’s been pretty damn clear that she never would if she had another option.

  I take my vodka as a shot and don’t bother to flinch. “I need you on my side, Tink. If not behind closed doors, then in public. You need something, you tell me. As long as it’s reasonable, I’ll do my best to make it happen. You pissed at me? You wait until we’re up here to rip me a new one. I cannot have you threatening my people and ignoring my orders out there.” I jerk my chin at the elevator.

  I expect her to yell, to snark, to do anything but look at me as if I’m a math equation that she can’t quite puzzle out. “I don’t understand you.”

  The problem is that she understands me all too well. She’s right. I could have gotten out. I could have convinced Nigel and Colin to come with me and blown out of Carver City without looking back. Even now, we could be holding down normal jobs that don’t stain our souls and worrying about 401ks or whatever the fuck normal people worry about.

  I didn’t. I chose to stay with eyes wide open. I knew exactly the price it would extract from me, and I decided it was worth the cost. Peter had to go, had to pay for his sins, and then there were too many people who looked to me to lead. Walking away meant abandoning a whole territory where I was suddenly sure I could make a difference. Arrogant? Delusional? I still don’t know the answer to that. “You don’t have to understand me. Just agree to keep shit behind closed doors.”

  She looks away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, and I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or embarrassment. “I’m sorry about earlier. You’re right. I shouldn’t have drawn a knife on him.”

  I clap slowly, mostly to break the tension of our fight. “So it can be done.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Yeah, well, say something else.”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She blinks. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I know, but I never did like playing by the rules. I shrug. “It’s the truth. The first time I saw you, I tripped over my feet like an asshole.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  No, she wouldn’t. It had been where Peter held court. It must have been a week or two after he got to her, because it was the first time he’d brought her out publicly and claimed her for himself. She stood at his side, a foot or so behind him, her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed. “You had on a hideous white dress that covered you from neck to wrists and looked like it had to be held for you to manage to walk.” Probably so she couldn’t run away, I think darkly.

  “I hated that dress,” Tink murmurs, looking at me like she’s never seen me before. She opens her mouth and seems to reconsider whatever she was about to say, because she closes it without continuing.

  “Whatever you just thought—say it.”

  Finally, she says, “If you were that affected by me then …” A line appears between her brows, but she’s not glaring at me, exactly. It almost seems like she’s pissed at herself. “I don’t look like that anymore.”

  Now it’s my turn to blink. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m fat.” She motions at her body as if I haven’t spent far too many hours fantasizing about exploring every inch of her.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “What’s your point?”

  “I wasn’t then. If you wanted me then—”

  Realization washes over me, and I might laugh if I didn’t think she’d lob her glass right at my head for doing it. “I want you. That’s the sum of it. You were gorgeous when we met, and you’re gorgeous now.” I almost don’t continue, but she still has the tiniest bit of vulnerability lingering around the edges. “You’re sexier now. You’ve …” I consider how to put it into words. “You know who you are now. That confidence, that attitude, the drive. It’s fucking devastating.”

  I step closer and grip her hips, ignoring her narrowed eyes. “That might sound like I want you despite the package, but you are the package, Tink. If you think I haven’t jacked myself thinking about your ass, your thighs, your tits, you, then you’re out of your damn mind.”

  She wets her lips. “You know, most dudes would have stopped with telling me how badass I am. They wouldn’t have gone into all the bits of me they’ve jacked themselves to.”

  “You know I’m not most guys, beautiful girl.” I want to strip her down and show her exactly how much I want to worship every inch of her, but there are still the terms to be met. Fuck, I hate when I paint myself into a corner, no matter how vital it was to draw that line in the sand for us.

  “That’s the damn truth.” She grabs the front of my shirt, and I’m caught off guard enough that I allow her to tow me down to her mouth. The kiss surprises the hell out of me, but my shock only lasts a beat before I take control.

  I tighten my grip on her waist and lift her onto the counter. She immediately opens her thighs to me, and I close the remaining distance between us. We’re not close enough. We won’t be close enough until my cock is sheathed in her to the hilt. But it’s still so fucking good. Tink is soft and strong, and it feels like she was made just for me.

  I dig my fingers into her silky hair and tilt her head back so I can get better access to her mouth. She tastes of vodka and the sharp bite of citrus, and I drink her down. This woman kills me.

  She runs her hands up my chest and fists them in my shirt as if trying to keep from wandering. Fuck that. I break the kiss long enough to lean back and yank my shirt off, and then I take her hands and press them to my bare chest. “Touch me.”

  “I’m going to do more than touch you.” She pushes me back a step, and I let her.

  Then Tink slides off the counter and sinks gracefully to her knees.

  Chapter 16

  Tink

  Now that I’m on my knees, the doubt falls away. This is the right course, the only course. Hook stares down at me with those dark, dark eyes. His hair is tangled from my fingers running through it, and his piercing glints against the black of his beard. He starts to say something, but cuts himself off before he gets the first word out.

  Finally, he steps back and keeps moving back, holding my gaze, until he reaches the bed and sits carefully on the mattress. I wait for his Dom persona to flicker over him, for the arrogant smile to appear, for the swagger.

  Instead his voice is hoarse as he beckons me forward by crooking a single finger. “Crawl.”

  If I’d planned this better, I’d be crawling to him naked instead of in jeans and a crop top. No time to think about that now. I move slowly, sinuously, giving him a show. The cool wood floors bite into my palms and knees, but the faint ache only heightens the desire.

  He’s utterly still, drinking me in as I move closer, inch by inch. If not for the tension in his shoulders and the way he fists his hands, I might be foolish enough to think he’s unaffected. As long as I don’t look at his eyes, that is.

  Hook stares at me like I’m the most
treasured possession he’s ever acquired and he looks forward to examining me at length. That earlier flicker of insecurity, of wondering if he prefers me as I was instead of as I am, dies under that gaze. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that Hook desires me exactly as much as he says he does. More, even. He holds himself so tensely, it’s almost as if he doesn’t trust himself to see this through, to allow me this game, before he falls on me like a starving man.

  “Hook.” No, that’s not right. Not here. Not now. I lick my lips. “Jameson.”

  His hands unclench and clench. “Tell me what you want, beautiful girl.”

  There’s no going back now. Maybe there never was. I stop just short of touching him. “I want your cock. I need your cock.” Maybe I’ll regret this later, but I don’t care. I sit back on my heels and run my hands over his knees and up his thighs. “I might die if I don’t have it.”

  I half expect him to topple me to the floor right then and there, but I should know better. Hook is made of stronger stuff. He catches my hands before they reach the front of his slacks. “No going back if we cross the line. You’ll be mine in truth.”

  Part of me flinches away from the honesty ringing in his tone. I belong to no one but myself. I can’t go back to that, not ever again. “I’m yours in bed. Nowhere else.”

  “Tink,” he says my name like he can already taste me on his tongue. “We’ve covered this already. You were mine from the moment you put that ring on your finger and said ‘I do.’ Crossing this last line only cements something we both already know.”