by Rose, Callie
When he sets me down, he lays his body over mine, hovering over me as he kisses me again and again.
He lets the heat between us build slowly, reading my body like an open book and only taking things further when he can see me begin to writhe hungrily beneath him. Even then, he takes his time peeling off every article of clothing we’re each wearing, worshipping every new inch of me he can reach.
His cock brushes the inside of my thigh as I let my legs fall open for him, and he slides a finger through my folds, testing my readiness. Then he grips my jaw lightly between his fingers and thumb, gazing down into my eyes.
“I’ll never want anyone but you, Rose,” he whispers. “I’ll worship you. I’ll protect you. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you.”
I swallow against the almost painful lump in my throat, wrapping my legs around his waist to urge him closer. The head of his cock slips inside me, stretching me a little as the metal of his piercing slides against my walls.
I’m wet. He’s taken every bit of pain in me and turned it back into pleasure, and I can feel how desperate my body is to take him in, to feel him buried inside me.
But he doesn’t rush this part either. He takes me inch by inch, reframing my world with every small press of his hips.
Rebuilding my heart.
When he’s fully rooted inside me, he stills, dropping his head to my shoulder as small sounds of contentment escape us both. He tastes my skin as we begin to rock together, our bodies moving in sync to chase the pleasure that surrounds us like a cocoon.
I feel utterly safe in his arms.
Utterly loved.
And every time harsh memories of the past try to resurface in my mind, Theo draws them out of me with gentle kisses, as if he’s sucking the poison out of a wound.
Even now, even as he fucks me with strong, even strokes, he’s protecting me.
“Theo…”
My fingernails rake softly against his back as I arch against him, and I feel him groan in response. His whole body shudders, and he slows his thrusts, grinding his hips against mine every time he buries himself inside me. He brings me right to the edge twice, backing off just before my pleasure peaks, until every nerve-ending in my body is flooded with nothing but euphoria.
It’s like he’s erasing Jordan from my cells, from my atoms, forcing him out to make room for something perfect and new.
“Theo!” I clench around him, clinging to him as my head tips back on the pillow. My hips are swirling desperately, rolling against his as I squeeze his cock, and he lets out a choked groan.
“I know, baby. I’m right there with you. Look at me, Rose.” He fists my hair loosely, his thrusts growing harder and deeper as he braces himself on one arm, his face hovering above mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Let me see you come.”
I bite my lip, tears burning my eyes again as I let myself fly over the edge. My inner walls convulse, pleasure expanding outward as a naked cry falls from my lips.
As the last waves of my orgasm make me flutter around him, he shifts our position suddenly, sitting back on his heels as he pulls me up with him. Our chests smash together, and he thrusts up into me one more time as he comes with a deep grunt.
I watch him too, my eyes tracking hungrily over his face as his lips go taut for a second, his nostrils flaring.
Then he rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavily as he holds me close. He lowers me back onto the mattress and withdraws from me before rolling us onto our sides.
I’m sweaty. I didn’t realize I worked up a sweat, but my skin is a little damp. My body feels lax and exhausted, and I don’t think it’s just from the sex. It’s from the overload of emotions, the animalistic flight response that rose up in me when I saw Jordan earlier.
The thought of my onetime foster father makes my stomach clench again, but it doesn’t send the same debilitating rush of fear through me that it did earlier.
I’ve lived with the trauma of what happened to me long enough to know that nothing Theo does could erase it entirely.
But I don’t need it erased.
I don’t need to pretend it never happened.
I need to remember that Jordan didn’t take my strength. He didn’t destroy my capacity to feel pleasure or love.
And whether he knows it or not, that’s what Theo just showed me.
Chapter 23
We lie side by side in the darkness for several long minutes.
Theo’s cum is dripping down my leg, and I know I should clean it up, but I can’t bring myself to move yet.
I like that we don’t use condoms. I like that I’m a sticky mess afterward. I like feeling a little bit marked by them, a little bit dirtied up.
Theo’s blue-green eyes look gray in the dim light as he reaches out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You okay?”
I nod. Now that I’m clearer-headed, I can imagine how much I must’ve freaked the guys out. I felt like a zombie by the time we got back to the house, rational thought completely buried under a deep, instinctive panic.
“The man I bumped into at Saraven—he used to be my foster father.” I drop my gaze to Theo’s chest, reaching out to trace the lines of his muscled pecs. “He raped me for the first time when I was fifteen.” I clench my jaw, fighting hard to cling to the feeling of safety and security I feel in Theo’s arms. Reminding myself of who I am and where I am. “They had a big house. I was in the basement. His wife was upstairs. He put a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.”
“Jesus fuck,” Theo mutters, his voice strained.
I can feel his heart beating harder against my hand, and I keep my palm right where it is, maintaining the connection between us in an echo of the way he touched me earlier.
I won’t lose it—this connection between us. I won’t let myself push the men I love away.
“I haven’t seen him in years,” I say quietly. “When I looked up and saw his face, it was like… everything stopped. I stopped being who I am and became who I was. I was at his mercy again. Like nothing had changed.”
Theo’s jaw tightens. His face looks harder in this moment than I’ve ever seen it, and he shakes his head. “Everything has changed, Rose. You have us now.”
He leans forward to kiss me, rolling me onto my back as he presses his lips to mine, and for the first time since he entered the room, I feel a sort of violent desperation in him.
When he pulls away, there’s something in his face I don’t recognize. He kisses my nose, then each corner of my mouth, then rolls over and slides off the bed. He tugs his boxer briefs and pants back on quickly and scoops his shirt up off the floor before looking down at me. “Do you trust me, Rose?”
“Yes.” The word comes automatically. Thoughtlessly.
He nods, the hard glint in his eyes softening momentarily. “Good. Will you come with me?”
A little shiver of fear works its way up my spine at the intensity of his expression, but I nod, climbing off the bed after him. “Let me just clean up really quick.”
I slip into the bathroom and wipe up the sticky mess between my legs, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks still have a pink flush to them, and my eyes are bright and clear, although shadows hover in their depths.
When I emerge from the bathroom and slip my clothes back on, Theo takes my hand and leads me downstairs.
Marcus and Ryland are standing in the kitchen, and both men look up sharply as we enter. I lost track of time after I ran upstairs earlier, but I know it’s been significantly longer than a few minutes. My heart squeezes a little at the realization that they’ve been waiting down here this whole time—that they’d probably wait up all night if they had to.
Worry churns in Marcus’s blue and brown eyes as his gaze moves up and down my body, like he’s searching for some hint as to what hurt me earlier. Ryland’s expression has gone blank as stone, the way it does when he’s trying to master strong emotions, and the atmosphere in the large kitchen is so thick it’s almost hard
to breathe.
Marcus takes two steps toward me, a question clear in his expression. Theo doesn’t say anything, just threads his fingers through mine, gripping my hand tightly.
I know why he brought me down here. He must’ve known how out of their minds with worry his two brothers were while they waited. He probably knows how much self-restraint it took both men not to come charging upstairs demanding answers.
But despite all of that, he’s not going to force me to tell them anything. If I keep my mouth shut, I have no doubt that Theo will too. He’s giving me this choice. Letting it be my decision.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out, allowing the contact between my hand and Theo’s to ground and center me. Then I open my mouth and let the truth pour out.
I spare them some details. There are parts of my history with Jordan McCabe that don’t deserve to be spoken out loud—it would hurt me to say them, and it would hurt the men to hear them. But I tell them enough.
My voice shakes a little as I speak, the prickle of numbness teasing my nerve-endings again as my body threatens to shut down. I squeeze Theo’s hand so tightly I swear I can hear his bones creak, but he doesn’t wince or try to pull away. He squeezes me back, offering himself as a silent support, a pillar for me to lean on.
Marcus and Ryland both go rigid as they listen, becoming so deathly still that they might as well be statues.
When I finish, Marcus’s gaze cuts to Theo quickly, and I look up just in time to see Theo nod. Ryland gives a short nod too, and I realize that something was just decided among the three of them without a word ever being spoken.
“Take the Maserati,” Theo tells them. “I’ll take Ayla in the Bentley and meet you. The safe house on Avondale.”
Marcus nods. He flashes me a look that’s loaded with so many emotions it almost knocks me backward. Then he jerks his head to Ryland, and the two of them head for the garage. Ryland’s hazel eyes find mine just before they disappear through the door, and the expression on his face makes my heart skip a beat.
As the door shuts behind them, I look up at Theo, my heart slamming against my ribs. “What was that? What’s happening? Why are we meeting them at the safe house?”
He turns toward me, the fingers of one hand still gripping mine as his other hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck. The tenderness in his eyes is a stark contrast to the hard lines of his face. “I told you, Rose. You have us now. And we protect what’s ours.”
He kisses me softly, then leads me toward the same door the other men vanished through. The garage is down a car, and Theo leads me toward one I’ve never been in before. It’s sleek and black, and when he starts the engine, it purrs smoothly.
We drive in silence, although he keeps a firm grip on my hand the entire way. The only time he released it was to let me get in the car, and I missed it for that short moment we were separated.
I don’t ask again where we’re going, or why we’re going there.
Part of me already knows.
It takes us forty-five minutes to reach our destination, and Theo glances at me as he pulls up outside a small house. Just like their other safe house, it seems to be in a remote part of Halston, far off the beaten path. The clock on the dashboard reads 11:34 p.m., and the glowing numbers fade out when he tugs the key from the ignition.
The late fall air is cool on my skin as we step out of the car and head toward the dark house. Theo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
The inside of the house is eerily similar to the safe house they brought me to after rescuing me from Carson and Dominic. It’s clear it hasn’t been occupied in some time. There’s a staleness to the air, a sense of stillness that permeates the space.
“They’ll be here soon.” Theo flips the light on and checks that all the curtains are closed before settling on the worn couch and tugging me onto his lap.
I go willingly, straddling his hips as he rests his hands on the small of my back. He regards me seriously, the blue-green of his irises shifting like an agitated sea. “You know where Marcus and Ry went, don’t you?”
The words stick in my throat, and I have to work to get them out. “To get Jordan.”
He nods, watching me with a careful gaze. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want. I can bring you into the bedroom while they get him downstairs. He never even has to know you’re here.”
My stomach feels like someone grabbed it by both ends and twisted it like a rag, and my hand tightens reflexively on Theo’s shoulder. But I shake my head. “No. I want to see.”
Maybe want is the wrong word.
If Jordan comes into this house, I need to see him. In the few seconds that felt like an eternity when I ran into him at Saraven, I couldn’t form a single coherent thought. The whole encounter rushed by like a dream—like a nightmare.
But now I have a chance to truly face him.
And as terrifying as it is, I have to take it.
Theo’s grip on me tightens a little, pulling me closer on his lap. “You’re the strongest fucking woman I know, Rose. I wish my mom was more like you.”
I don’t quite know what to say to that. I know watching his mother slowly fall under the control of his uncle is torture for Theo, and that he’s doing everything he can to stop it. He seems to care for her—more than Marcus and Ryland, who both have distant relationships with their parents—but I can’t help but hate her a little for signing her son up to play in Luca D’Addario’s fucked up game.
If it means he wouldn’t have gotten roped into all of this, then fuck, I wish she was stronger too.
Before I have to come up with a response to Theo’s words, the door to the safe house bangs open. Marcus and Ryland step inside, holding Jordan McCabe between them. He sags a bit in their grip, and blood drips from his left nostril. His hands are bound roughly behind his back with duct tape, and his feet drag across the floor a little as they haul him inside, kicking the door shut behind them.
My heart kicks against my ribs as I scramble off Theo’s lap, and the blond man stands a second after I do, positioning his body close to mine protectively. It’s not the threat of violence he’s trying to protect me from this time though. There’s nothing Jordan can do to me right now. Instead, I get the feeling Theo’s trying to make sure I really can handle this, his body tensed and ready to come between me and my ex-foster father if he sees any sign that I’m about to lose it.
I watch, unable to look away, as Marcus and Ryland drag Jordan deeper into the house. They open a door halfway down the hall that leads to the back, and half carry, half shove him down a flight of stairs.
My pulse is an angry ache in my chest as Theo and I follow after them, and we arrive in the basement just as Marcus secures Jordan to a chair. I have another vivid flashback of the day I was kidnapped by Carson and Dominic, of waking up taped to a chair as the drugs slowly faded from my system.
Does Jordan feel the same rising terror I felt then?
Maybe it’s sick of me to hope he does, but I do.
When the older man is secured to the chair, Marcus kicks one of the legs, shoving the wooden chair back a foot and making it rock precariously. Jordan grunts, his dazed eyes rolling wildly. There’s a strip of duct tape over his mouth, and the blood that’s dripping from his nose coats the shiny silver of the tape.
“Look at me, you son of a bitch.”
Marcus’s voice is cool, almost unrecognizable. When Jordan is too slow to respond, Marcus grabs his chin and yanks his head up, forcing him to look at the man towering above him. Jordan grunts, raising his voice as he shouts profanities against the barrier of the tape covering his lips.
Balling his hand up, Marcus hits him with a broad punch to his temple that makes Jordan’s head whip to the side. The muffled curses cut off as the man groans.
“I said look, don’t talk.”
Marcus grabs his face again as Theo takes a step forward, bringing me with him. Jordan’s gaze darts to me, and I see the same flash of recognition
in his eyes that I saw back at the club.
He knows who I am.
His expression shifts as he realizes why he’s here. Why these men dragged him away from wherever the fuck they found him and tied him up in a basement. Because of me.
Because they know what he did to me.
His light brown eyes widen, and he starts talking in a rush behind the barrier of the gag. His eyes are bloodshot, and one cheek is swollen, making me certain that the punch I saw isn’t the only one Marcus landed on him.
Good.
My hand clenches tightly as I catch Marcus’s eye and nod, licking suddenly dry lips. His intense gaze burns into mine for a second before he reaches out and rips the tape away from Jordan’s mouth.
The bound man roars in pain, and Ryland pulls a gun from his waistband as Marcus kicks the chair again. His foot catches the seat of the chair this time, right between Jordan’s legs. It must catch his balls too, because he hunches over, his arms yanking at the binds restraining him as he groans and retches.
When he looks up, spit and blood are trailing from the corner of his mouth and he’s breathing heavily. His gaze lands on me, and his features contort slightly as he takes in my appearance.
“Jesus, Ayla. What the fuck happened to you?”
I don’t know if he’s talking about my tattoo, my amputation, or the company I keep, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t care what he thinks about any of it.
“I survived,” I tell him, stepping forward again.
My hand is still curled into a fist, and although the scrapes and bruises from when I hit Natalie have faded to faint pink marks, I can still feel the echoes of pain creeping up my arm.
I never knew I had so much violence inside me until that day. And as I stare down at Jordan’s twisted features, I realize he’s part of what instilled that violence in me. It’s been living inside me, festering and eating away at me, ever since the first night he touched me.
His lip curls a little as he drags his gaze away from me, and when he focuses on the three men that surround me, he grunts. “Wait a minute. I know who you are.” He chuckles. “You’re three of Luca’s guys. Three of his picks to run his empire one day or whatever.”
