by Eva Ashwood
It takes all my willpower not to blurt out every one of my post-orgasm thoughts as I kiss her temple again, trailing a path with my lips down the side of her face and over the curve of her jaw. I want to whisper in her ear how amazing she is, how she’s ruined me for all other women. But I’m afraid if I tell her that shit, I’ll scare her off. She’s still learning to trust us, and if we’re ever gonna have a shot at anything real, we can’t push her into anything. Not even a little.
All we can do is show her what she means to us and try to make her understand that even if she was once our prisoner, we want something different now. No matter how complicated it might be, we want her to be one of us.
With a low growl, I turn her head and claim her lips in a kiss before Zaid helps her off my lap. He grabs some tissues from a box on the desk in the corner, and we help her clean up before he pulls her panties from his pocket and goes down on one knee, holding them out like they’re a pair of glass slippers.
She laughs as she delicately steps into them, but her laugh turns into a moan as he drags them up her legs. Judging by the length of time he has his hands up her dress, he’s doing more than just helping her get her panties back on.
She lets out a sexy little moan, and my brother chuckles. He finally pulls his hands out from beneath her dress, sliding them all the way down to her calves before he releases her and stands up.
“Come here, princess.” I tug Grace toward me until our bodies are flush up against each other. “Let’s fix this real quick.”
She watches through hooded eyes as I wet my thumb, running it under her swollen lips, bringing the crimson lipstick back to perfection. Her plump lips are an even deeper shade of red than they were before, love bitten and pouting already.
“Much better,” I murmur, my voice rough.
The party’s probably starting to wind down outside. I don’t think there’s time for another round, but I’m definitely considering it.
She seems to read my thoughts. Her lips part slightly, her body melting against mine. Zaid groans, coming up behind her and shifting her hair over one shoulder to trail kisses down her neck. She squirms and presses back against him, still clinging to me.
Fuck. I just had her, and I already want her again. She’s addictive as hell, and if I thought this would get her out of my system, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Not that I want her out of my system. I’m done pretending I want Grace anywhere but in my bed, in my life—in my heart. That’s where she fucking belongs, and if she’s carved out a space in my brother’s heart too, or in Hale and Ciro’s, then we’ll just have to figure it out.
Maybe, just maybe, there’s room enough in her heart for all of us. It almost seems like too much to hope for after the entirely fucked up beginning we all had. How could she ever come to love one of us after we stole her from her old life and got her mixed up in all of our shit, let alone all four of us?
Unaware of my thoughts, Grace rises up onto her tiptoes and kisses me again. I grip her hips tightly, kissing her back with everything in me. In this moment, it feels like maybe the impossible could actually happen. Because I don’t feel any hesitation, distrust, or coldness in her kiss.
Just warmth.
Sweetness.
Grace.
She grinds against me a little, and it’s a tempting-as-fuck invitation, but the last thing I want to do is get caught in here. It would ruin the moment, and although I don’t give a fuck if the entire syndicate knows how badly I want Grace, I don’t want her to be embarrassed. I don’t want her to feel like what happened between the three of us was about anything but us.
So I kiss her once more and then regretfully pull away, shaking my head. “Shit’s probably winding down out there. We better go find Hale and Ciro.”
The disappointed look in her eyes is a boost to my ego, but she nods, biting her lip. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She glances at our surroundings, biting her bottom lip as she grins. “I can’t believe we did that. In here.”
“It just became my favorite room in this whole damn place,” Zaid jokes, nipping at her shoulder lightly before stepping back too. Her eyes darken in response, and it takes all my fucking willpower not to grab her, rip her dress off, and bury myself inside her, fuck the consequences. But instead, I focus on putting myself back together, tucking the tails of my shirt back in and slipping my jacket back on.
As I guide her across the room, I love the way she seems to sink into my touch. There’s no wariness or stiffness.
Just trust. Desire.
I open the door and lead the way through, with Zaid behind us. We keep her sandwiched between us, and it’s not just because we both want to be as close to her as possible. I feel better this way, better knowing that the two of us are surrounding her. Keeping her safe.
We’re walking so close together that her body bumps and brushes against mine, but she makes no move to pull herself away as we move back into the main room of the bar.
I don’t see Ciro yet, but Hale’s gaze quickly finds us from the other side of the room. His eyes narrow a little as he registers Grace between me and Zaid, the way my hands brush against her hips as we move through the crowd.
One look and I’m sure he knows exactly what we were just doing, but I meet his gaze without flinching, for once not giving a fuck about what he thinks. I’m not going to apologize for wanting Grace, and I’m not going to tiptoe around that fact. The truth is, it ultimately all comes down to her and what she wants. If she wants all of us, I’m willing to share. I’d rather do that than push her away out of some ego-driven need to claim her all for myself.
I wouldn’t even consider it if it were anyone but my best friends. But Zaid and I already know how to share, and the idea of Grace with Hale or Ciro… with all four of us? Honestly, it turns me on more than it pisses me off.
I don’t know whether Hale and Ciro would be up for sharing, and I can’t even fucking contemplate the possibility of this driving a permanent wedge between us all. We’re gonna have to work this shit out eventually, but for now, I’m just gonna bask in the sated satisfaction of what just happened.
It’s clear that the party is dying down. We were in that back room longer than I thought. Time slipped away while I was distracted by her soft lips and her sweet little noises.
Just thinking about it makes my cock twitch. Fuck, I want to pull her back in there and do it all over again. But the crowd has already thinned a lot, and the remaining people are beginning to gravitate toward the bar’s exit. Ciro slips into place beside us as we head out the door.
The night air is cold, but compared to the warmth of the bar, it feels refreshing. Ciro casts a look at Grace before shifting his gaze to me and Zaid, and I know he’s noticed her flushed cheeks and swollen lips just like Hale did. His expression is hard to read, but I’m used to that with Ciro. I pay more attention to his body language than his face, since that’s what usually clues me in to his mental state.
He doesn’t look pissed, thank fuck.
“It’s cold,” Grace mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders, and she shoots me a grateful look as she tucks it around herself.
“We should get out of here,” I tell my brother and Ciro. “I’ll go check in with Hale—see if he’s planning on coming with us, or if he needs one of us to stick around.”
He may still have business that needs to get done. The Boston deal was big, and securing that trade was a major victory for the Novaks. But it also comes with a lot of logistics to work out, so it’s not like we can all sit back and coast from here on out.
Leaving Grace alone with Zaid and Ciro, I make my way through the small crowd gathered on the street, finding Hale in the middle of a conversation with Damian, Myles, Frank and Stanley.
“Where’s Leland?” Stanley mutters, turning around. “He should probably hear this.”
I find myself unconsciously glancing around at the dying crowd, searching out the other ca
ptain. He’s one of the few that make up Damian’s most trusted circle, and I didn’t even realize he was missing from the small group until now. As someone opens the door, I catch a glimpse of him inside the bar.
“He’s still inside,” I offer. “Talking to Connell.”
“Tell him we need him out here,” Hale says. His gaze flicks to Grace. “I’ll join you and the others in a minute.”
I nod, then head back toward the entrance to The Blind Pour. The bar is mostly cleared out, with just a few people left inside.
“Leland.” I call his name as I open the door, and he looks over. “Damian is looking for you.”
He grunts, throwing back the last of his drink. He claps Connell on the shoulder and then follows me out of the building.
Pop!
A loud sound pierces the night, and then several more follow in rapid succession. Screams erupt as bullets spray, and my senses sharpen as people throw themselves to the ground. One thought rises above all the others, an urgent drumbeat in my head.
Where’s Grace?
20
Grace
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Before I have time to register what’s going on, Zaid is on me, pulling me to the ground and protecting me with his body as the crowd around us scatters. Shouts fill the air, punctuated by the sound of bullets firing. Ciro crouches beside us, and he and Zaid pull me to the side, practically dragging me along the pavement as they seek cover. Lucas is there a second later, joining his brother and Ciro.
Memories of the church come crashing back, making bile rise up my throat. My dress, soaked in blood, my father lying next to me, clutching my veil in his dead hands. The gunfire between two sides of the church, being caught in the middle of it until Hale rescued me…
Hale. Where is Hale?
Unlike at my wedding, my mind is quicker to catch up this time. My heart slams hard against my chest, but I don’t let panic overwhelm me.
Hale. I have to make sure he’s okay.
“Grace, you need to come with—” Lucas shouts.
“No,” I cry, tearing away from them. “I need to—”
The gunshots have stopped. Loud, angry voices still fill the air around me, but no one is shooting. I surge to my feet, pushing through the crowd. I’m searching for Hale without realizing I’m doing it, needing to know if he’s okay, trying to figure out what’s going on. I refuse to be held back and sheltered by Ciro and the twins, not when Hale might be hurt.
Not when this might have something to do with me.
The image of the murdered dog flashes through my head again, and my stomach turns to ice. Was this shooting another attempt to end my life? To bring down the people who protect me?
As the crowd clears, I finally find him.
And my heart stops.
Hale’s ragged shout hits me like a bullet in my own heart. The raw, pained sound dies in his throat as he leans over his father, who lies crumpled on the ground.
Fuck. No.
The scene is too familiar, too painful, but I can’t tear my eyes away, taking in the blood on Hale’s face and shirt with horror. It’s like I’m watching a replay of my own tragedy—only in this version, Hale has been cast as me. I could be watching myself hovering over my father, not wanting to believe the truth.
He’s dead.
The realization seems to wash over Hale with the same horrifying intensity that it struck me the day my dad died. His back stiffens, and he stands quickly. His face is a mask of grief and rage as he draws his gun and stumbles away from his father’s body, already giving directions to his captains.
His captains.
Tires screech from down the street, and several heads whip in that direction.
“Motherfucker. They’re getting away!” Hale yells hoarsely, pushing people aside as he runs in the direction of the assailant.
I duck my head at the sound of shots being fired, my heart rate spiking again. Somewhere close by, a car peels away with a loud revving noise. Bullets ping off the frame with a metallic sound—shots I’m assuming Hale is firing.
“Hale!” I try to call out, but the words barely make it past my lips. I stumble in my heels, my legs are shaking so badly. Reaching down, I pull them off my feet and I toss them aside. “Hale!”
I know this is dangerous. Another car could whip by any second, bullets spraying from the window. But I’m terrified that not all of those shots were fired by Hale. Did he get hit? Is he bleeding out on the pavement, dying just like his father did?
“Grace!” Zaid wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me back. Ciro and Lucas are right beside him, their weapons drawn and gazes scanning the street.
“Hale,” I pant. “Is he—”
“He’s okay. We have to keep you safe, Grace. You can’t run after him.”
I can tell by the rasp of Zaid’s voice that he doesn’t know Hale is all right. Nothing is all right. My heart is still pounding so hard it feels like I might throw up, my thoughts spinning chaotically, but I allow the men to pull me away from the street. It’s only when I see the people crowded around Damian and the puddle of blood around his head that I truly absorb the magnitude of what just happened.
Damian Novak, the leader of the Novak syndicate, is dead.
Hale will take his place.
“There.” Ciro only says the one word, but it’s all I need.
My head whips up, and I turn around at the sound of footsteps, almost sagging in relief at the sight of Hale limping back, still holding the gun at his side. He’s favoring his left leg, grimacing, and I have a moment of panic that he got shot.
Then I remember his old injury. He probably exacerbated whatever lingering issues he has in his leg by sprinting flat-out like he did. His face is grim, spattered with blood, as he seeks his new captains out. He doesn’t stop for me, only giving me a fleeting look, barely a flicker of his gaze toward me.
Are you hurt? Are you safe? Are you okay?
I want to rush to him and comfort him, but I know it’s not my place. It’s not the time. Appearances matter in the mafia, and right now, Hale has to keep up an appearance of utter strength.
Damian’s old captains are standing over his body, and when Hale reaches them, his voice is cold as ice. “I don’t know who the fuck that was, but they got away.”
His shoulders are rigid, his back straight, but the hoarseness of his voice makes my heart ache. I know he’s trying to hide his grief, but I can hear it in every syllable.
I listen to Hale give his men orders, soldiers falling into place around him at his command. He looks different, and I know it’s not just the pain twisting inside his soul.
It’s the responsibility.
In the space of a few seconds, the weight of the world just came crashing down on Hale’s shoulders. He’s always been a key part of the Novak Syndicate, trusted and relied upon by his father. But the day when he would inherit the mantle of leader was supposed to be a long way off. Damian was supposed to live for decades longer. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But that doesn’t matter.
I know better than anyone that there are no guarantees in this world, and that the life you thought you were building for yourself can change in an instant.
I hate that Hale had to learn that lesson too.
Things move quickly, Hale barking out orders as they clear his father’s body and begin to disperse before the cops arrive.
“Lucas, Zaid, take her home,” he says, finally looking at me before shifting his gaze to his closest friend. “Ciro, I need you with me.”
The look in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. It’s empty and haunted, and it takes the air out of my lungs.
And when he turns away from me, he takes a part of my heart with him.
21
Hale
As I settle into the leather chair behind the desk that I’ve never sat behind, numbness spreads through my body. There’s a high frequency buzz that seems to fill the room. Or maybe it’s in my head. I’m not sure wher
e it’s coming from, but it blocks all other noise.
I look down at my hands. They’re still streaked with bits of blood, and red stains mar my shirt too. The tips of my fingers and my palms feel too cold, and the sensation spreads up my arms. The feeling of shock has slowly been overtaking my body since the moment I saw the bullet hit my father’s head, and now the edges of my vision seem to pulse and darken.
Gritting my teeth, I grip the armrests of the chair to stabilize myself, shifting my focus to the duties I have to perform. My father’s body is barely cold. There’s been no ceremony, no solemn moment to mark my rise to authority.
It just happens as it happens—me sliding my ass into this chair, everyone falling back into their places as if nothing has changed.
As if the world hasn’t shifted on its fucking axis.
Never mind grief, never mind death.
Eventually, they’ll read my father’s will, they’ll hold a service in his honor, but until then, business resumes as normal.
I could let my grief swallow me whole right now. I could stop fighting against it and let it drag me under like a choppy sea. But there are more important things that demand my attention.
Like finding out who the fuck did this to my father, and why the fuck they thought they could get away with it. Because whoever did it, they’re going to fucking pay. Not just them. Their sons, daughters, mothers, fathers—anyone associated with the people who did this will be burned to the ground.
Because my father is dead. And I wasn’t ready to lose him.
The captains file in one by one, standing in front of the desk, hands clasped behind their backs, respectfully waiting for me.
Leland, Stanley, Myles, and Frank. They’re no longer my father’s captains, but my captains. They no longer report to my father, but me.
Goddammit. I didn’t fucking want it this way. I wasn’t fucking ready.
I’m not going to be able to grieve like a normal fucking person, so I just need to suck it up and move on with it. There are more important things to think about. I knew that one day I would have to take his job, I was prepared to have him die, even if it wasn’t from natural causes.
