HAN: Her Ruthless Mistake: 50 Loving States, Delaware (Ruthless Triad Book 4)

by Theodora Taylor

  “You’re coming. Nod.”

  I nodded. And the world exploded—every feeling I’ve ever wanted, hitting me all at once.

  I was a grown woman. I knew how to take care of myself.

  But I clung to him and whimpered as I died underneath his ocean… then miraculously came back to consciousness who knows how long later.

  All I knew was that when I opened my eyes again, he was there, staring down at me like I’d made him proud.

  “That was excellent, Jasmine. Now, you will come again for me. Nod.”

  No decisions.

  I nodded, and he started moving on top of me again.

  HAN

  Han kept Jasmine in his bed for hours, making her nod until the sun began to set beyond the lanai’s window. She didn’t know how to give in before he taught her. But he didn’t know how to stop once she submitted to him.

  He took her again, and again until they were both exhausted, until she threatened sometime after it got dark, “If you don’t let me go to my room, there’s no way I’m going to be able to follow that rule about never sleeping in your bed.”

  The rule…

  It had been a golden one of his for nearly two decades. But that night, Han found he was tired too. Tired of keeping his distance. Tired of fighting…whatever this was.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice was all sorts of wary when he drew her back into his arms, even though his cock was fully drained.

  “You gave me your decisions,” he reminded her, resting his chin over her shoulder.

  Then he held her. He just held her. Until they both fell asleep.

  23

  JAZZ

  We fell asleep like that. That night and the night after that and the night after that…until suddenly we were….

  Actually, I wasn’t sure what we were.

  We fell into this weird routine. He did his thing, and I did mine like ships passing in the night. But more often than not, when I got home from a long day of summer camp, I found him waiting for me with show-off dinner plans.

  I ended up getting a lot of use out of the dresses he picked out for me. We never directly confronted K Diamond again, but Han ensured that we were seen at all the ritziest places on the island. Even though they were boring AF, and in my opinion, not worth the money he was showing off in them.

  But Han rewarded me for my patience by taking me to bed and “putting her to sleep,” as he called everything he did to my pussy before I fell into a satiated coma, and he headed out for a vampire night of business.

  He’d let me keep all of my clothes. But on Sundays, I returned to swapping out my baggy t-shirts for one of the cut ones as soon as I got home from visiting my dad. Then I went about my business, testing to see how long it would take before the Fae King shape-shifted into a wolf.

  It was never long. Though once I got through making myself breakfast and a whole five minutes of yoga before he fell on top of me and taught me a new way to do Happy Baby. There was a lot of nodding on Sundays and a lot more fun.

  After the camp session was done in late July, he started staying up to have breakfast with me after Dawn Patrol. Have breakfast could have also been put in quotes, though. Sometimes we drank smoothies out on the lanai. More often, he fucked me, over the table, against the wall, on top of the kitchen counter right next to the blender—whatever this was, we were both out of our minds….and low-key obsessed.

  It was like whatever regulating switch was placed in most people to keep them from having too much sex had suddenly been flipped off inside the two of us.

  Days of this turned into weeks of this, but I kept my heart out of it. I kept on working, kept on saving toward my goal of paying him back. And I tried not to think about what would happen when it came time to either pay him what I owed or say goodbye because he needed to get back to Rhode Island.

  I figured we’d go on that way until one of those scenarios popped off, but one day I woke up in bed alone. Which almost never happened. Maybe it had been on purpose, but Han always returned to the condo before it was time for me to go on Dawn Patrol.

  I climbed out of bed and slipped on one of my large t-shirts, worry gnawing at my stomach. What if he’d been right about K Diamond? What if he hadn’t come home because he was hurt? Or worse?

  However, the explanation for Han’s absence turned out to be even more unexpected than death or maiming.

  “What are you doing?” I asked when I found him rooting around like a bear underneath the sink.

  “Trying to find a measuring cup,” he answered.

  I scrunched my brow. “Why are you looking underneath the sink?”

  “It wasn’t in the glasses cupboard, so now I’m looking everywhere else,” Han answered, his tone suggesting this was the perfectly obvious next step.

  “And why were you looking in the glasses cupboard?”

  He came out from underneath the sink to ask me, “Where else would you keep a measuring cup?”

  “Oh wow…” I dipped my chin to keep from laughing. “What exactly are you trying to make again?”

  Han came to his feet, looking like an ad for Fae Kings who liked to work out in his District Vision mesh shirt and running shorts.

  His eyes swept over me the same way mine swept over him, making me wonder if the poor blender was about to get a show again. But in the end, Han just wrapped a hand around the nape of my neck and stroked a thumb over my cheek as he informed me, “I’m making breakfast. I was going to bring it to you in bed. But you’ve ruined that plan.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t strike me as a bring a girl breakfast in bed sort of guy.”

  “I'm not,” he admitted with another stroke of his thumb. “But I wanted to be this man today. For you.”

  He held my gaze as he told me this, and even though we’ve been smashing for weeks, that kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach came right on back.

  “Okay, well, thanks for wanting to do that,” I mumbled.

  Then I pulled away to go over to the stove, where the measuring cups were hanging in plain sight on a little metal hook. “Just so you know. These are measuring cups.”

  He cursed in Cantonese, then held out his hand. “Okay, give them to me and return to bed.”

  Instead of doing as instructed, I pressed the cups to my chest and said, “I really like breakfast.”

  Han stepped closer with his hand still held out. “Good, because I'm going to make it for you.”

  I cut my eyes to the side. “No, I mean, I really like breakfast. I take it very seriously. So maybe you should let me make it, not you.”

  Han stilled. The way he often did right before he decided to make me nod.

  “Give me the cups, Jasmine,” he told me, his voice low and threatening. “I can handle breakfast.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I had to ask. “The fact that you didn't know where to look for the measuring cups is kind of saying to me you can't.”

  He stepped closer and pried the cups out of my hand before commanding in a much harder voice, “Return to bed.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but before I could, Han asked, “Do you really want a repeat of what happened the last time you defied me for no reason?”

  Ugh! Fine! I dashed back to the room I was now sharing with him, just so I wouldn’t lose all my clothes again.

  And as for breakfast, it turned out I was right to worry.

  “Wow. I didn't know you could burn eggs!” I said when he set the tray down in front of me.

  To Han’s credit, he actually looked a little chagrinned when I dipped my fork in and took a huge bite—gotta jump on those big waves no matter what.

  “Are these eggs supposed to be crunchy?” I asked a few moments later.

  “No,” Han admitted.

  He took back the tray, his shoulders sagging in defeat, “We'll go out for breakfast.”

  “Awesome!” I answered, so glad he finally came to his senses. “I know the perfect place. It's inside this little orga
nic produce farm that only operates on Sundays. They have the best Loco Moco on the island if you ask me. And get this, barely any tourists know about it, so it’s mostly locals eating there.”

  I was excited about taking him to one of my favorite restaurants, but Han frowned like I’d proposed taking him to the local dump for brunch. “No. Get showered and put on something nice. We’re going to The Royal Hawaiian.”

  My happy mood disappeared. This again. The reminder that while we were having fun—like, a lot of fun—I was mostly here to be some kind of weird, psychological pawn in Han’s cold war with K Diamond.

  But I still haven’t paid him back, so I headed off to the shower like a good little possession.

  However, when I came back all scrubbed clean, Han was talking on the phone, his forehead as scrunched as mine had been at the prospect of him making breakfast.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “You look pissed.”

  Han glanced up at me, then said something in Cantonese to whoever was on the other side of the phone before hanging up.

  “Change of plan,” he told me. “We’re flying back to the States.”

  “Actually, we call it the mainland,” I corrected, holding up a finger. “Because, you know, Hawaii is one of the states. It’s a real pet peeve for us locals—”

  I cut off my explanation, though, when the penny finally dropped. Did he just say we were flying to the mainland?

  “Wait…what?”

  24

  JAZZ

  Less than three hours after my shower, we were on a plane to Boston, in the front, not the back like I was used to. I’d never flown first class before this. One of Brad’s sponsors was an airline company, so he got to go often. But when we were together, I’d always had to ride in economy and just meet him at the gate.

  The whole experience kind of blew my mind. The dedicated attendant called me Ms. Hayes because apparently, she’d memorized the entire passenger list. And she offered us champagne and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts before the flight even took off.

  However, I had to accept the flute with my left hand because Han was holding my right. He hadn’t said why we were flying to his East Coast home, only that we needed to. And when I pointed out that I wouldn’t be able to work if I went with him to the mainland, he just offered to pay me for whatever classes I had to miss.

  And when I reminded him that I didn’t want his money—that me working was already about me paying him back on my own terms, he drew me into his arms and hugged me to his chest.

  “What will it take?” he asked, his voice quiet and sober. “What will it take for you to come with me? Because I need to go back, and I will not be able to operate if I’m worried about you down here.”

  And when he put it like that….

  Well, let’s just say, here I was, on a flight to Boston.

  But under the circumstances, the trip was uneventful. We ate free meals, drank complimentary champagne, and watched a couple of movies together, just like all the other couples in first class.

  Except we weren’t a couple. Those other people had labeled each other, had probably started their relationships out with first dates—not six-figure debts.

  But we burned more intensely than those other couples in first class. It was a flight out of Hawaii, so none of them were holding hands the entire time.

  And as we made our way down the escalator stairs after we landed, I was pretty sure none of the other males dipped his head down to whisper in their woman’s ear, “Twelve hours. That’s the longest I’ve gone without having you for weeks now. Is she angry at me?”

  My face burned. By now, I knew exactly what Han referred to when he said “she”—and she clenched in answer to his question, awakening at just the sound of his voice.

  Han kept going as if he could hear exactly what she was saying. “Tell her I have to see to my brother. Then I’ll see to her. Just a few more hours until I am inside her.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to answer. Everything with Han was the opposite of how it’d been with Brad, who would’ve just said something like, “Hey, Jazzy, let’s do it when we get back to the hotel room, K?”

  Han was the one who didn’t do relationships, but he made me feel like a newbie surfer on the North Shore in December. So, so not ready for the big waves.

  “Han! Hey, Han! Over here!”

  I looked up from our intimate conversation to find a huge guy standing by the baggage carousel where we were supposed to pick up Han’s suitcase.

  He appeared to be Chinese, like Han, but he was no Fae King. More like an ogre with a human overlay. His face seemed to have been carved from granite. And his dark brown eyes were even harder, especially when he regarded me.

  “Who the hell is this?” he demanded to know as soon as we came to a stop in front of him. And his voice didn’t carry a hint of Han’s careful ESL accent.

  I could only assume he was a product of where he grew up like me. I spoke with a laidback Hawaii surfer accent, and he sounded like he’d fallen out of a movie featuring East Coast gangsters.

  “Hey, I’m Jazz,” I answered, throwing him a shaka.

  Instead of matching my polite greeting, the guy blinked hard at me then looked to Han to ask again. “Who the hell is this?”

  Han answered him in Cantonese, effectively cutting me out of the conversation before he dropped my hand to pull his suitcase off the conveyor belt.

  It made sense. I’d only brought my carry-on since just about every piece of clothing I was keeping in the 2nd bedroom closet could fit inside of it, along with a couple of dresses. Whereas, he had that suit every day of the week thing going on along with the rest of his Silent Triad crew.

  So it was probably a coincidence that he decided to drop my hand as soon as his nameless friend showed up. However, after he grabbed his much larger suitcase, he fell in step with the ogre, speaking with him in rapid Cantonese. Leaving me to follow.

  I wasn’t one of those ugly American tourists who got upset when people conversed in a language I didn’t understand. But I felt a little abandoned as I trailed them to the airport garage where the ogre had parked a black Audi RS Q8.

  This was another way Han was opposite from Brad. There’d never been a lot of hand-holding for us in private. But in airports, out and about, and at public-facing events, Brad had always made sure to take my hand. When I was pro, too, he and his PR team wanted everyone to know that we were the surfing dream couple.

  Han turned back to me long enough to throw my suitcase in the trunk before I could do it myself. But other than that, he didn’t acknowledge me at all as we drove for about an hour to the Rhode Island Coast.

  And by the time we pulled drove through the gates of his super lux apartment building, I began to wonder why he’d brought me along at all.

  However, those miserable thoughts fell away when we walked into a grand foyer.

  “What the…?” I said to the two of them, my mouth falling open.

  As it turned out, the stone building I was sure had to hold at least six super nice apartments when we pulled up was just one house. A mansion like I’d only ever seen in movies with a huge living room on the right and what looked like a receiving room on the left. Both spaces had more square feet than my parents’ entire two-bedroom house.

  This must be the home Han told me he shared with his fellow Dragons. I continued to gape as we made our way toward the grand staircase. This was waaaay more space than three guys needed. I mean, three whole families could live here, no problem.

  “Do you want me to take her to a hotel or something?” the ogre asked Han, finally in English. He glanced back at me like I was a dog he kept forgetting Han had brought along with him.

  “I’ll show her to my room,” Han answered, also in English. “Then I’ll go see Victor.”

  The big guy looked from Han to me like Han had suggested he was going to store a pile of radioactive trash in his room as opposed to taking it out to the dump where it belonged.


  I shifted uncomfortably. Was this the kind of racism I’d heard about? Growing up in Hawaii, things had been pretty cool between other Asians and me. Filipinos had a reputation as a kind of get along with everybody group, and military Blacks had a long history of staying on and thriving in Hawaii. But my dad had grown up in California. He’d told me stories about Blacks and Asians sometimes clashing.

  The ogre took my carry-on from me like a reluctant valet. But as he and Han walked up the stairs with me trailing behind, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of those Asians who didn’t want anything to do with Blacks.

  Without any warning, a song started blasting when we were halfway up the stairs. Dramatic and strange, a singer with a Freddie Mercuryesque voice wailed about how his lover had left him with no happy ending.

  The ogre glared up at the song blaring from unseen speakers.

  “Son of a bitch! I took his phone and the Alexa device. How the fuck is he even playing that damn song again?”

  The ogre raced away with my bag, leaving me on the steps with Han.

  “C’mon, my room is right at the top of the stairs,” he told me.

  When we arrived at Han’s room, I spotted my bag—abandoned outside an open door at the end of the hallway. And the ogre was yelling, “Give me the remote, Vic. Give me the remote, or I swear I’ll rip the fucking television out of the wall.”

  Vic… Victor, the boy who’d had his tongue cut out.

  I could also see him in the doorway, dressed in a long dark velvet robe even though it was the dog days of summer. His face appeared sunken and gaunt underneath a patchy beard. One of his hands was fisted around a nearly empty bottle of clear liquor while the other signed something back to Phantom that I couldn’t understand.

  “She’s gone,” the ogre yelled, apparently too angry to bellow in Cantonese or sign language. “You’re the one who let her go, so you’re the one who needs to just accept it already instead of acting like a fucking psycho, playing this song on repeat. Now give me the remote!”