“Iris …” he said after finally pulling away, though his forehead still rested against hers.
He didn’t try to push her away or widen the minuscule distance between them. He held her exactly where she was, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
Even as her hands tightened in the front of his shirt, fisting the material and already thinking of pulling it off him, he shook his head once, then twice, and said, “This isn’t what you want.”
That was the furthest thing from the truth. Right now, being with him was the only thing she wanted. “I want you, Syn.”
She wanted what only he could give her.
She wanted to forget how lost she felt, and how unsure she felt as to whether she would feel this way forever.
“Don’t—”
“I want you to fuck me,” she murmured, knowing he heard her when she felt the shudder rush through him.
She knew what those words did to him. Even now, she could remember the keen roughness that overtook him when she whispered those words in his ear. As if he’d always wait for her permission to ruin her.
And right now, that was exactly what she wanted.
She didn’t waste any time before dragging his shirt up and off, nearly smiling when he lifted his arms to further assist her. She was glad he was giving in.
But he was still thinking too much. He was too in control of everything around him when she wanted his savagery.
Iris dropped to her knees before he could stop her, pulling at the zipper of his jeans until the denim went lax and all she could see was the thick root of his cock nestled among dark hair. Her thoughts were only on the task at hand as she glanced up at his face before easing the denim down and freeing his cock.
She was hypnotized by the way his expression changed when she grabbed him, pumping her fist in slow strokes, just enough to make the muscles of his abdomen tense.
No one had a body like Synek. All the hard lines and scars that covered him. The dark ink from his tattoos and the musculature that made her feel as if she were gazing upon a god.
If this was the last time she would ever have him, she damn sure wanted to appreciate every second of it. She wanted to memorize every contour and slope. And the way that intoxicating V at his hips was all the more prominent with his jeans undone and his cock in her hand.
She could see the war raging inside him. The way he wanted to deny the thing she wanted most, but it only took rubbing the flat of her tongue over the head of his cock to elicit a groan from him. For his eyes to squeeze shut as he stopped fighting the urge to tangle his fingers in her hair and draw her closer.
“Suck me.”
If only for a moment, he was giving in.
And maybe some selfish part of her was glad for it because she felt that sweet blooming ache below the pit of her stomach, the sensation making her throb and work her mouth over him faster.
Every groan she coaxed out of him, every time his cock jerked in her mouth, she was sure he would break first. That he would yank her off him and mount her right there on the floor until she was a sobbing, shuddering mess beneath him.
Instead, when he did pull her off him, his movements weren’t hasty as he scooped her up and carried her back to the bed before tossing her on it. It was all very deliberate.
Even the way he crawled up the bed and knelt between her spread thighs.
He didn’t have that mindless, wild look in his eyes that she had grown accustomed to. It was softer, yet more intense somehow, but still in complete control.
She saw his intentions too late as he fisted his cock and tilted her hips just so until it was only a matter of him pressing forward before he was slipping inside her.
Her head tilted back deeper into the mattress with every inch he gained, her breath exploding out of her when he eased out again.
Here, she could bury it all. The pain. The frustration. Everything she didn’t want to feel she let slip from her mind, staying anchored to the moment by him.
Synek kept most of his weight on his forearms as he stretched out over her, the fingers of one hand coming up to cup her face. To force her to look at him.
And she knew, even before she opened her eyes to meet his stare, that it would be her first mistake. She should have known with the way he was fucking her with deep, toe-curling strokes that he wasn’t going to let this be rough and filthy.
He would take his time.
He would make her feel it. Feel him.
And he wanted her to know it.
“Don’t,” she whispered, resisting the pull he had on her, the way she could see emotion reflected in his dark eyes. This wasn’t the plan.
This was supposed to be a punishment, something to make her feel worse.
Yet he was turning something that was supposed to be rough and ugly into something darkly beautiful.
His lips were mere centimeters from her own, and even if she was capable of it, she didn’t think she would be able to resist him.
“I love you,” he said against her lips, punctuating the words with a harsh jerk of his hips.
Her cry echoed around the empty room, loud to her own ears. It spurring him on further, but he wasn’t giving her the recklessness she thought she wanted.
He fucked her like he loved her.
And just hearing those three little words threatened to break some other part of her, a part that had longed to hear those words in the past week while they had been separated.
No, this felt too right. Too much like a good thing.
But when she tried to escape, he caught her wrists before she could get anywhere and pinned them to the bed. “I love you,” he said again, right at her ear, right before his lips pressed against the wonderfully sensitive spot just below it.
When she said his name, it was supposed to be with a clear firmness, followed by a demand that he fuck her like he meant it.
Make her hurt.
Bruise her.
Leave his marks all over her.
But he wasn’t doing that in the way she wanted. His went beyond skin deep. He was branding himself on her, in her, until she stopped caring. Until her mind grew blissfully unaware of everything outside this moment.
Until there was just her and Synek and their connection.
This time when she kissed him, she melted when his lips connected with hers. She arched into his hold, her nipples scoring over his chest as his thrusts sped up.
“I love you,” he said again, his voice harsh and slightly out of breath.
Honesty leaking from every word.
It took nothing at all, no hesitation and no fear, to whisper those same three words back to him.
Chapter 18
Another Tuesday. Another day spent in the small beige lobby, counting down the minutes until she had to leave again.
No one had said anything to her, but she could feel the corrections officers’ curiosity. If not for the fact that she didn’t look very much like a threat, she was sure they would have asked her to leave by now. Instead, they just let her sit in peace.
Iris considered giving up early this week and taking off. She wasn’t in the right headspace, and if she wasn’t careful, she would wind up reaching for something to take the edge off later.
But as she got it into her mind that it was time for her to leave, a voice stopped her.
“Adler?”
Iris blinked before she turned to face the man who had called her name, wondering whether she had heard him correctly. When he repeated it, she knew she had.
She didn’t question it, merely followed him until they reached an all-too-familiar room that had her hurrying down the booths until she reached the one she had missed.
The one where her father was sitting, waiting. His relieved expression melted away once he got a good look at her.
“What—”
“I failed.”
Iris had thought a dozen times what she would say to her father once she saw him again. Had imagined that she would
n’t break down if only because she hadn’t seen him yet.
She hadn’t faced the reality that he was never leaving this place and all because her trust had been misplaced.
The tears came sudden and unstoppable, all the pain and rage and sadness pouring out of her. She didn’t care about the people staring all around her. Or that she was attracting unwanted attention.
It didn’t matter anymore.
It was over.
She’d lost.
As her tears lessened, Iris swiped her hand beneath her eyes, trying to erase the wetness on her face. “Say something,” she begged, knowing that even if he was disappointed, that would be better than his silence.
“Iris, darling.”
She met his gaze, that gentle voice he was using making her eyes water again, but this time, she wiped away the tears before they could fall. “I—”
“I’m still your dad, Iris. Whether in here or out there, it doesn’t matter. You know the truth about me. You know I’m not guilty of what they accused me of. That’s the only thing that matters. Nothing else. You hear me?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“We’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”
He pressed his hand against the glass, waiting for her to do the same.
His was a promise he would keep, Iris thought as she touched her palm to the glass. She just hadn’t been able to keep hers.
It had been two weeks since Belladonna had left the Kingmaker’s organization in shambles. Two weeks since she had ruined any chance Iris had of getting the one thing she wanted in the world, and in that two weeks, Iris had yet to begin to process everything that had happened.
The last thing she expected to see when she walked out of the prison toward her car was the white Rolls Royce and the woman standing next to it.
She couldn’t be fucking serious …
But Iris was all out of anger. She hardly felt anything at all. Instead, she slid her hood over her head, turned down the opposite street, and started to walk back to her hotel.
“If I could have a word, Miss Adler.”
“You can’t.”
And had she not thought she saw a hint of someone sitting across from the woman, she might have been inclined to cause the woman bodily harm.
Still did.
“I can understand you might be cross—”
“Are you serious?” Iris asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk as the Rolls Royce slowed to a stop. “The two of you destroy lives for a living and think because you throw money at the problem, that’s it? It’s all forgiven? Whatever stupid fucking ideology you have that makes you think you’re better than he is, clue the fuck in, you’re not.”
They were just two different shades of the same fucked up nature.
Iris was done with both.
If anything Iris had said offended Belladonna, she didn’t show it. Instead, she climbed out of the car entirely and crossed the short distance until they were eye to eye.
“Before Spader died, I had a contingency plan set in place, and even with the infinite number of variable outcomes, I always intended to get your father out of prison.”
“Right, because you care so much?”
“Because it’s not about you,” Belladonna said on an exasperated breath. “I have stated very clearly that I had no intention of harming you or the mercenaries. It’s about him and always has been.”
Iris was inclined to believe that the other woman thought that was true. That she actually believed the only person harmed in her plots was the Kingmaker. But she was wrong.
In their quest to hurt each other, they didn’t see the casualties around them.
“What do you want?” Iris asked, too tired to drag this on any longer. She knew the way the woman worked, just as she knew how the Kingmaker made his deals.
They dangled what you wanted most in front of you to get what they wanted in return.
“I want to give you what you want,” Belladonna answered, her gaze unwavering. “Your father’s freedom.”
Right. “For what price?”
Belladonna glanced down at her watch, expression shifting to unease. “Perhaps we can discuss this at my office?”
Iris wasn’t aware she even had one, considering her penchant of just appearing places. “Why would I want to do that?”
Belladonna gestured to the door. “Because at this point, you don’t have any other options.”
And hope … hope was a dangerous thing.
Hope had her believing there was still a chance, despite everything that had happened. Hope had her sliding into the back of the Rolls Royce without so much as a second thought.
But she also knew only two results were possible at the other end of that hope, and if she didn’t get the one she wanted, Iris fully intended to put an end to that hope once and for all.
She was expecting some English villa tucked into the countryside. That they would spend at least twenty minutes driving through trees and brush to reach Belladonna’s secluded hideaway.
Here was a woman who had effectively evaded the Kingmaker for years and someone who had managed to destroy one of his facilities and jeopardize his entire organization, yet she wasn’t hiding.
Her office was right in the middle of Manhattan.
Either the woman was extremely good at covering her tracks, or the Kingmaker was bad at what he did—Iris leaned toward the former.
As the driver pulled the car around the building, a seamlessly built garage door lifted. Once they drove through, darkness engulfed them as it came back down again. A few moments later, a row of lights turned on one by one, revealing an underground garage.
Iris stepped out of the car after Belladonna, staying a couple of steps behind her as they approached an elevator where the woman had to press her hand against a scanner before the doors opened and they stepped inside.
Iris stood in the corner of the elevator, her arms folded across her chest as she watched the numbers flitting across the monitor with each floor they passed. She didn’t know what to expect once the doors opened, but once they did and the first thing she saw was a sea of white furniture and colorful dresses, she did her best not to look surprised.
Her office wasn’t dark and foreboding like the Kingmaker’s. It looked inviting and expertly decorated, and not at all like the office of a criminal mastermind.
“My office is through here,” Belladonna stated as they turned down a hallway, away from the women milling around the office.
“Do they all work for you?” Iris asked, glancing back before they disappeared out of view.
“Essentially, yes, though none of them work directly under me.”
“Because they’re expendable?” she asked.
Belladonna paused as they reached another biometric lock. “Because the moment someone is associated with me, their lives are in danger. Contrary to what you might think of me, Iris, I do have a conscience.”
“Just not when it comes to the Kingmaker.”
Her expression grew pinched even as she rested her hand on her stomach. “Well, he stole mine from me.”
Before she could question what that meant, Iris watched as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow.
She had only just entered the room when the sound of furniture crashing made her jump.
“He’s unstable! Someone needs to sedate him!”
“Then fucking SEDATE him!”
The ‘he’ in question was the man Synek had called the Jackal. He was tall—taller than Synek even—with dark hair, wild blue eyes, and a body that made it clear he was the weapon.
Back at the Den, Iris had only seen a killing machine. Someone as well trained as the mercenaries, as ruthless as the Wraiths, and as fearless as the Wild Bunch. Now, the man was coated in sweat, his chest heaving with every breath he took, and if the man nearest him wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t live long enough to jab him with the needle he held.
“Don’t touch him.”
With the way the men jumped away from the Jackal, Belladonna might as well have screamed the remark. It was clear, however, that she didn’t think of him as just a soldier or a man who worked to do her bidding.
There was genuine concern in her voice.
More surprisingly, as soon as he heard her voice, he calmed considerably, his gaze seeking her out, but the pain there made Iris hurt for him even as she hated him. She didn’t care very much that he had nearly killed the Kingmaker, but she did care that he was responsible for taking Grimm and nearly killing half the mercenaries at the Den.
She wasn’t inclined to forget that, even with her anger toward them.
“He … he said my name,” the Jackal said slowly, in thickly accented English, his voice gritty and rough as if he didn’t speak very often.
“Who?” Belladonna asked, her voice soft. Caring. As if she were speaking to a scared child instead of a man who had been hunted by the Den for years. “Who said your name?”
The Jackal shook his head hard, a pained expression crossing his face as he glanced down at his shoulder where an ugly wound was still bleeding. But he seemed less concerned with the wound as opposed to trying to answer her question.
“He … they all did,” he said, looking down at his hands as if they might be able to provide him with some answer.
Belladonna said something to him then, the translation lost on Iris as she spoke in what Iris thought had to be Romanian. Which made sense, considering who he was.
But Iris was sure, whatever she did say, she probably wouldn’t have liked it.
“They need to repair your arm,” Belladonna said, switching back to English. “Will you let them? For me?”
It was clear the Jackal didn’t want the men anywhere near him, but reluctantly, he nodded once.
“Paulina, could you have Eros come in to oversee them?”
At the mention of whoever’s name that was, she could see the tension easing in practically everyone in the room. Perhaps, whoever it was, had a way of keeping the Jackal under control.
Iris. (Den of Mercenaries Book 7) Page 21
