by Ciz, Alley
White berries?
White berries.
Mistletoe.
It was worse than she thought.
This wasn’t a warning, it was an outright threat.
Mistletoe was poisonous to animals. She'd learned that the last time she tried to stand up to her father and her dog paid the price.
No, she wouldn’t think about that now.
Leaving something behind delivered the message that they knew where she was. That something being mistletoe was their twisted way to let her know the lengths they would go to if she didn’t do what they wanted.
Vince’s arms turned to steel bands around her the longer she stayed silent. His eyes were the color of rolling thunder clouds in a storm as he watched her. He could probably tell something wasn’t right.
“Umm…what’s wrong?” Deck asked as he entered the apartment.
“Someone broke into our place.”
“What?” Deck asked.
“Hold on. What?” Vince asked.
“I don’t keep holly—or in this case, mistletoe—on my bed. Someone put it there.”
Vince reared back, and her body instantly chilled from the loss of his touch.
“It’s fine, Vince.”
“The fuck it is.” He raked a hand through his hair, sending the blue-black strands in a million chaotic directions. “Someone broke into your apartment and left mistletoe on your bed. That is the opposite of fine.”
If she thought he was shaking earlier, he was practically vibrating now. She’d witnessed his alpha side more times than she could count. This was something different.
Something primal.
“Please.” She wanted to reason with him.
His tumultuous thoughts were written clearly across his handsome face. It almost made her break, but this was too important to allow that to happen.
VINCE HAD NO idea how to even begin to process this information. Holly’s tone lacked any emotion, like she was shutting herself behind every one of the walls he had managed to break down brick-by-brick.
How was she so calm? She had just told them someone broke into her place like she would say it was raining outside.
Needing her to anchor him through the torrent of emotions rocking through him, he looped his arm around her middle, pulling her into his side. The thought of an intruder in her home enraged him.
“I think it’s time to talk to about that stuff you’ve been avoiding,” he said.
The five of them spread out in the living room. Vince pulled Holly onto one of the leather recliners, keeping her tucked tight against him. He rubbed her thigh with one hand, the back and forth motion meant to soothe the nerves radiating off her body, while playing with the ends of her purple-tipped hair with the other.
“Cupcake.” He was the first to break the heavy silence of the room, his heart cracking at the fear swimming in her honey-colored eyes. “Talk to us.”
She shook her head vehemently.
He thumbed away the lone tear leaking from her eye, leaving his hand there to cup her face. She nuzzled against it, seeking comfort in his touch.
“Baby.” He switched from his usual playful nickname, hoping it would show her how seriously he took the situation. “You’re going to have to let us in if we’re going to help.”
It was like her entire body collapsed under the weight of her sigh. No one spoke as they waited for her to find the resolve to give them a peek behind her curtain.
“How much do you guys know about Kyle and his family?” Her question was not what he expected.
“About as much as we know about yours,” Becky answered. “That you both come from wealthy families, with big wallets and small minds.”
Holly’s lips tipped up, giving the first hint of a smile.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty accurate description actually.” Another heavy exhale. “Kyle’s full name is Kyle Samuel Huntington the Third.”
“Huntington?” Gemma asked.
“Like the hotel chain?” Deck added in the question.
“Yup,” Holly nodded glumly. “Before he was disowned for falling in love with a man”—she rolled her eyes—“he was the heir to the Huntington Hotels fortune.”
“Holy shit,” Becky breathed out.
“That’s some serious coin to walk away from,” Deck said.
“Yup.” Again it was like Holly’s answers were on autopilot.
“Okay.” He squeezed her side. “But what about your family?”
He hadn’t pushed her to tell him to tell about her past, though he wanted to learn everything about her. He had a hard enough time convincing her to actually date him, he wasn’t risking his chance at building a relationship with her by pushing too hard. It was a testament to his self-control because his instincts had screamed at him to find out more about who abused her.
“So…umm…Kyle and I became friends because our families obviously run in the same circles.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, staring blankly at where she systemically cracked each of her knuckles. The pop-pop rang out like gunshots in the eerily still room. “My name isn’t Holly Vander,” she said and quickly backtracked. “Well, it is, but…my full legal name is Holly Meredith Vanderbuilt.”
“As in Vanderbuilt Pharmaceuticals?” Vince asked.
“The one and the same.” Her voice was small, almost like a wounded animal.
“Okay.” Becky made a rolling motion with her hands. “Help me out here. What’s the connection to”—she circled a finger—“all this?”
“My father…is…controlling. He will do whatever it takes to get his way.”
Vince didn’t like this—at all. He came from a family that loved and supported each other in all things. They would die to protect each other, so it was hard to fathom a parent purposely hurting their child.
“The mistletoe is his sick way to ruin my favorite holiday. He’s showing me he knows where I am and that he can get to me anytime he wants. But he wants to play with me first. Mind games are his specialty.”
“What aren’t you saying, Hol?” He needed all the information if he was going to keep her away from those trying to hurt her and where she belonged— by his side.
“About a month ago…I…ran away. Packed my car with whatever it could hold and drove away.”
“But you don’t have a car,” Becky pointed out.
“No, not anymore.” Holly continued to speak without making eye contact with any of them. Looking at the floor, the wall, anything but them. “When I left…I drove to straight to Philly. Kyle and Lyle met me there, loaded my stuff in their car, helped me arrange a tow truck to send my car back, and brought me home with them.”
“Why Philly?” Gemma asked.
“I didn’t want to run the risk of them tracking me here through the GPS in the car. I even sent my phone back with my car when I ditched it. Fat lot of good it did though, since they obviously found me. Not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay before they come to bring me back themselves.”
She slumped in his arms like the plug was pulled on one of those blow-up Christmas lawn decorations, resigned to her fate.
Fuck that.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His words were guttural. “This is your home. You belong here.” He hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her face around until her eyes met his again. “Baking at EP. Hanging out with your fellow Covenettes. And most importantly”—his thumb ran back and forth across her bottom lip that was swollen from her biting it—“with me.”
Holly was his. He'd be damned if he’d let anything or anyone hurt her.
Her family fucked with the wrong person. He didn’t earn a reputation for being one of the toughest fighters to step inside the octagon by being a quitter.
He was a fighter. He protected the ones he loved.
And Holly.
She was quickly becoming the thing he loved above all else.
No touching the gloves here.
This was a good old-fashioned cage match.
Bring
it on.
Chapter Thirty
When the unexpected drama of the night wound down, Vince knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting Holly out of his sight for the foreseeable future.
Now to broach the topic of her staying at his place for the night—their first ever sleepover. He didn’t want any of the girls sleeping across the hall.
“Why don’t you girls stay here for the night.”
“Yeah, we didn’t think Holly would be staying in her room,” Gemma said. “But we’ll get together for breakfast in the morning. We have some serious online shopping to do if we want to take advantage of Black Friday deals.”
“No, Gem.” He wasn’t sure if his cousin misunderstood what he was saying or if she was being purposely obtuse. “I mean all three of you should stay here for the night. Ray’s gone for the weekend, so you two”—he pointed to both her and Becky—“can share his bed.”
“Oh, Vin.” Becky walked over to pat him on the chest patronizingly. “This whole alpha thing you have going on lately might work with your girlfriend”—her green eyes flicked to Holly before returning to him—“but it doesn’t fly with us.”
He shared a knowing look with Deck, grinding his molars. Why couldn’t they ever make things easy?
“Hey, Hol,” Deck said to gain her attention. “Would it be cool if I crashed in your room tonight?”
He had never been more grateful for the decades' worth of friendship and the ability to read each other’s minds. As nice as it was going to be to hold Holly in his arms all night, a part of him would have been worried if the others stayed by themselves across the hall. He didn’t want anything getting in the way of his first sleepover with his girl. He wanted to be fully present in the moment, not stressed over if his loved ones were safe.
“You guys are ridiculous you know that, right?” Becky said as Deck put his arm around her shoulders and headed for the door.
“Humor us, Beck. Besides…I’ve always wanted to be invited to a slumber party.” He caught his friend waggling his eyebrows suggestively, not surprised in the least when Becky elbowed him in the gut.
“Does that mean we get to paint your nails?” Becky batted her eyelashes at Deck.
“Whatever you want, Beck.” It was the last thing they heard behind the snick of the door shutting.
He strode to the door, flipped the lock, and followed with the deadbolt for good measure. He’d lock the door to his bedroom too, but the best protection if anyone tried anything would be him. His hands were literally registered as lethal weapons.
“Come on, Cupcake. I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day. Time to Netflix and chill.”
Some of the sparkle had returned to her eyes when she peeked from underneath his arm. “Does that mean you’re finally going to make good on all those promises you’ve been making?”
“We’ll get there, baby. But I meant it more in the literal sense for tonight. You and I both need some time to decompress after everything, and I can’t think of any way better than holding you in my arms while binge-watching some mindless TV.”
He meant every word. Plus it wasn’t like it would be a hardship to have her soft curves pressed against him.
Once they were locked securely inside his room, he pulled one of his old BTU t-shirts from a drawer, the cotton soft and well-worn, and flicked on the television screen hidden inside the mirror on the wall above the dresser.
“Do you want a pair of sweats or anything?” He handed over the shirt he was sure she’d be swimming in.
“No. This is fine.” Then, in a move he wasn’t expecting, her arms crossed at the waist, lifting her sweater up so inch-by-inch the creamy skin of her torso was revealed, before neatly folding the garment and placing it on the dresser.
She calmly went through the motions, as if she were getting ready for bed any other night. He stood there trying to not swallow his damn tongue as her fingers flicked open the button on her skinny jeans, peeling them down her legs, uncovering the panties that matched the deep plum bra barely restraining the generous globes of her breasts. His mouth watered at the absolute perfection standing before him.
Unaware of how his dick now wore the imprint of his zipper, she pulled his shirt over her head, the hem of it falling past mid-thigh. Enthralled, he didn’t move an inch as both arms went behind her back, unclasping her bra, and pulling it free from her body through the armhole of the shirt. Jesus, that move was incredibly sexy.
“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer to sleep on?” she asked as if she didn’t strip mostly bare in front of him.
“You take the right side.” His voice was gruff when he shook himself from his lust-filled stupor. He usually slept on the right, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t be the one closest to the door.
He pointed to the slim black remote on the nightstand. “Why don’t you find us something to watch while I get ready for bed.”
He disappeared into his bathroom, needing a minute, or ten, to get his dick under control so he wouldn’t be popping a tent worthy of Woodstock when he came out in his boxer briefs ready for bed.
THE ADRENALINE FROM finding out her family had discovered her location was mixing with the raging case of lust Vince inspired whenever he was near, coming together in a volatile mixture.
Holly had never really be an overtly sexual person, yet the primary fantasy running on a loop in her brain was what could have happened if they weren’t interrupted the day they were caught dry humping against the oven in the kitchen.
Vince was turning out to be the complete opposite of everything she’d been conditioned for her entire life.
He was a genuinely happy person. He never put on airs or faked his affections. If he liked a person you knew it, and if he didn’t, there was no hiding it.
He was big and strong yet never used his size to hurt or intimidate. Not once did he make her feel small or like she was less than him. She only ever felt protected in his presence.
He was quick to lay claim to her, but it wasn’t as if she were a trophy or used as a method of control. Whenever he called her his, it was with a tone of pride rather than possession. He also didn’t hesitate in declaring he was as much hers and she was his.
Remote in hand, she slid between the cool—are those Batman?—sheets, and scrolled through the Netflix app for some mindless television. Spotting Friends in his continue watching queue, she pulled up her favorite sitcom, knowing the show so well it’d be easy to block out when things took a turn for the naughty. Because she had zero intention of actually chilling in a bed with Vincent Steele.
Hell to the no.
The faint sounds of running water cut off, and she lifted her eyes to watch the closed door, waiting for him to reappear. Thoughts of what he wore to sleep ran the gamut from a pair of adult-sized footie pajamas to his birthday suit, and she hoped it would end on the more naked end of the spectrum.
So when his form filled the doorway clad in only a pair of Superman boxer briefs, it came as no surprise that her lady parts stood up and cheered. She swore her nipples waved themselves like maracas and her clit pounded out a beat like a bass drum. The GIF of him in his fighting shorts and the countless other images she brought up on Google had nothing on Vince Steele in person.
Every.
Single.
Inch.
Of.
Cut.
Male.
Perfection.
On.
Display.
She wanted to slather him in frosting just to lick it off each bump and ridge of defined muscle.
“How are you real?” she asked as he continued to stand there, letting her take her fill.
“Whatever do you mean, Cupcake?” Mr. Funny Man smirked, popping out his dimple, knowing exactly what she meant.
“It’s like you’re a real-life Photoshop image.”
She couldn’t see one flaw on his entire six-foot four-inch frame. From the top of his messy blue-black hair to the tips of his sexy bare feet—yes,
even his feet were sexy, that’s how flipping good looking he was—he was the epitome of male perfection.
Why he wanted her, a runaway debutante baker who couldn’t cook without wearing half the ingredients, when he could have any girl he wanted by simply breathing, she had no idea, but you weren’t going to hear any complaints.
“You really know how to stroke a guy’s ego, babe.” He lifted the covers, slid in next to her, reaching to cuddle.
She didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, she shifted to the side, sitting cross-legged on the bed, peeling back the covers until they rested at his hips, eyeing up his sculpted torso. From what she understood, he still needed to cut weight to be eligible for his fight, but she couldn’t see a spare ounce of fat on his body.
His six-pack was so defined it looked like one of those plastic ones costume stores sold for Halloween when people wanted to be dressed like muscled superheroes. Then there was her, a girl who never met a cookie or cupcake she didn’t like. Her stomach was flat and she knew the curves she did have looked fabulous in haute couture, but she didn’t have muscles.
She walked her fingers up the length of his arm, tracing along the outlines of the superhero emblems on her trip up to the ball of his shoulder. Each inch of his skin from wrist to shoulder was covered in colorful ink, the most prominent piece being the Superman “S”-shaped crest at the top of his arm. Each symbol inked onto his skin was made to look like it was pushing its way out of his body, tearing through his flesh to be seen.
It fascinated her to no end how much a guy who had such a brutish profession was such a kid at heart.
He didn’t limit himself to only the male heroes either. Mixed in with the famous bat and spider symbols, was the double W representing Wonder Woman as well as the star and banner of Captain Marvel. Then again, he was one of the guys proudest to admit the Convenettes were the leaders of the pack.
“You really have a thing for my ink, huh?” His eyes tracked the movement of her roaming fingers.
“Do any of you not have ink?” she asked, thinking of all the tattoos she had seen on her friends. Most of them had large pieces decorating their bodies.
