by S. Massery
He’s the heir, after all.
The one in control.
Keep reminding yourself that, I think. I can’t afford to forget it. If I want to survive him, I need to be smarter.
Aiden releases me and strides forward, nodding to a man on his left. “Put her in my car.”
“What—” I backpedal.
The man comes toward me. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m actively trying to get away from him. My gaze skates around the atrium, and I cringe at the blood on the floor. Broken glass from a skylight.
“You said you weren’t running,” Aiden reminds me. He stands off to the side, watching me. “Prove it.”
“Now you’re just being an ass,” I say under my breath.
His eyes narrow, and he raises a hand. The man stops.
“Okay, Gemma.” Aiden glances at someone else, and they disappear into one of the stores. “I was going to spare you from seeing this.”
My gut churns. He smirks at my expression.
A chill sweeps down my spine, but I stand tall. Even when the man and his partner reappear, dragging a hooded man between them. Their captive is already bloody. A dark-red spot blooms in a circle from the hollow of their shoulder, and besides that, he’s filthy. His light-gray shirt is streaked with dirt, his jeans are ripped.
Aiden strides forward and rips the hood off, and I’m suddenly face-to-face with my cousin.
Kai has been my brother’s best friend since we were kids. He’s basically another brother. He certainly was at my house enough growing up, soaking up everything my father would teach him. He’s the one who stopped our other cousins from picking on me.
The one who taught me math because my mother hated the subject.
The one who helped me get Amelie away from the DeSantises.
He… He’s family.
And right now, he stares at me like he knows exactly what’s coming, and he pities me for not seeing it.
I can’t tell what Aiden’s plan is. I was blind to the fact that today was a trap in general, like the stupid little girl he thinks I am. So happy for a day out, for a shopping trip, that I neglected to spot the red flags.
“Don’t hurt him.” I can’t help it. All these memories race through my mind of my brother and Kai, the inseparable duo. My heart has transformed into a frantic animal battering against my ribcage. “Aiden.”
I catch his attention, but the man who stroked my hair this morning has vanished. He’s the cold, savage prince I heard stories about.
They force Kai to his knees, and I rush forward. Aiden steps to the side, letting me pass. No one speaks—the whole mall is silent except for my footsteps and harsh breathing.
“Kai,” I breathe, stopping myself from throwing my arms around him. I sink to my knees in front of him, my hands hovering by his chest. “Are you okay?”
“Gem.” His expression is closed off. A complete opposite from his general warmth toward me. “Get up.”
“Kai—”
“Begging will not be enough for them.” He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. “It’s okay.”
“Get up,” Aiden echoes.
He grabs me under the arms, hauling me back to my feet.
“This is what we do to Wests who threaten us,” he says to me. He grips Kai’s shoulder and digs his thumb into the wound.
My cousin grits his teeth, but his silence doesn’t last long. His face turns red, and he screams. A vein pops out in his neck.
I stagger back, but I can’t go far. Aiden still has my arm in his grip. I’m tethered to him.
“This is what happens to those who try to hurt us. We do this time and again, Gemma. We protect ourselves. We come out ahead. Always.”
He releases Kai, and the latter sags. His chest rises and falls in the aftermath of the pain, and fresh blood runs down his chest. It leaves a wet trail on his shirt and spreads like a stain.
This is it. This has to be enough.
“Look at me, West,” Aiden orders.
I shiver at the violence in just four words.
Kai’s gaze stays glued to the floor for a long moment, then he meets Aiden’s glare. His eyes are bloodshot. A bruise is newly forming on his jaw from a hit that must’ve happened during his capture.
Aiden punches him in the face, knocking him sideways.
I yelp and claw at Aiden’s arm. “Stop this,” I plead. Whether it’s just to let him go or abandon him here—we can leave. It’s not too late. “We can walk away from this right now and still… Still be okay.”
Aiden’s men step back and wait for Kai to pick himself up off the floor. I look around, wishing my brother would come to Kai’s rescue. To save his best friend. Colin’s aim is good. He could kill everyone in this room.
Kai struggles to his feet and meets my eyes. “Love you, Gem. It’ll be okay.”
It won’t be okay. He cradles his arm against his stomach, and that pity has returned to his expression. Poor naïve Gemma, he must think.
“Gemma is mine,” Aiden says in a low voice.
My heart aches, but the relief is sudden, too. He wants Kai to tell everyone about his claim. I can be okay with that outcome. It was going to be revealed eventually, anyway. Especially if I can’t figure out a way to end this.
My family will find out about my impending marriage through my tortured cousin. They’ll be furious, rightly so. This duty is going to kill me.
They know you wanted to save your brother.
In slow motion, Aiden pulls a gun from his waistband and raises it. I scramble against his hold, but I’m not fast enough. He squeezes the trigger.
The bang rattles my brain. I can’t even comprehend it for a long moment. Just the echo of noise over and over.
Kai falls backward. He’s got a hole in his forehead that I can’t seem to make sense of. An eternity later, he hits the floor and blood pools around his head. His eyes are still open, though. Staring into oblivion.
All I can hear is my frantic heartbeat. A rush of blood in my ears. The horror just seems to descent like a fog over my head, moving too slow. Too fast, too slow. Time comes unraveled around me.
Kai is dead.
Aiden DeSantis killed my cousin. He shot him in front of me. I touch my face, surprised when my fingertips come away red.
That’s how close. That’s how terrible.
I open my mouth and scream.
11
Aiden
Gemma is inconsolable.
Then quiet.
Later, she’ll be furious. But for now, her tears have dried and she’s lapsed into silence.
I lift her out of the car and into the elevator. Sam waits for us at the entrance to my apartment, and I toss him my keys. He unlocks it and follows us in, pausing when I go straight upstairs. He’ll wait.
She doesn’t say anything when I set her on the counter and turn on the shower. She’s a limp doll, letting me untie and remove her boots, then socks. She doesn’t react to my cold hands on her skin, skimming under her shirt and finally raising it over her head. Her blonde hair caught some of the pink mist, but it’s her face that wears the most blood.
I toss her shirt to the floor. It’s stained, too, probably unsavable.
Steam billows from the shower and fogs over the mirror. I undo the button of her jean shorts and wrap my arm around her lower back. I pick her up enough to slide the fabric down, then set her back on the counter. Denim and pink panties slide down her legs. She curls her fingers in her lap and refuses to look at me.
My heart lurches. She’s so damn beautiful, even despondent.
I shed my own clothes. A bloody shirt, black pants. The gun and holster clipped to my belt. I step into the bedroom and slide back the fake panel next to the bed. I type in my safe’s passcode and set my firearm inside, then relock it.
When I return to the bathroom, she’s still in the same spot. Her gaze is unfocused, but her eyes are wet with tears again.
I sigh. There are a lot of things I want to say. That her cousin�
��s death was inevitable. That he killed two of my men before we captured him. He had DeSantis blood on his hands, and that’s inexcusable. We moved them before Gemma came into the atrium. I didn’t want to traumatize her…
But then I shot Kai.
The sickly sweet affection between them made my blood boil. She’s mine—not his. Not her family’s. Her brother, her father… they all gave up claim to her the minute they left her in that house to wait for me.
“Get up,” I say.
She flinches.
Flinches.
But then she stands. I drop my briefs and usher her into the shower. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat when I step in after her. I check the water and guide her back, until it soaks her hair. With more care than I thought I would be capable of, I wet a washcloth and swipe at her face.
Her hand covers mine, taking over. I watch her scrub viciously at her skin.
“It’s gone.” I take it away from her and drop it behind me. I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t help myself. I slide my hands up her arms.
She hits at my chest. “Why did you do that?”
“You know why.” I grip her chin and tilt her face up.
Her eyes are filled again. “Just let me break down in peace. Alone.” She rips out of my hold and puts her face into the water.
Anger boils my blood, and I wrap my hand around her throat, dragging her back. Her shoulder blades hit my chest. “No. We’ve been over this before. You want to cry? Cry. You want to scream? Go ahead—no one will come running, princess, so make as much noise as you want. But I’m not leaving.”
It’s just me and her and all our ugliness between us.
Her pulse quickens. I tighten my grip and lean down, kissing her shoulder. There’s a mark on her breast from this morning, and my lust stirs. I want her to wear my mark—visible ones. Claiming ones.
She trembles.
I shift my hips, showing her how turned on her fear makes me. Control is sand slipping through my fingers. She braces a hand on my thigh and pushes against me.
“I can’t,” she says, squirming. “I’m a virgin. And I’m not going to have sex with you the same day you murder my cousin. I hate you, Aiden DeSantis. There’s a reason our families are enemies.”
I still.
And fuck if her confession doesn’t make me harder.
Angry little virgin. I knew she was, even before I questioned her the other day, because I was the one keeping the boys away. The one who killed and threatened to get my point across. If not for me, she might’ve been stolen away by some Lawrence West-approved gunslinging asshole.
But she’s not dealing with boys anymore—just one man.
Me.
The urge to fuck her gets stronger, but I won’t—not here, anyway.
If I kiss her, I’ll lose control. So, I release her throat. She doesn’t step away from me or release my leg. The hot water hits her in the sternum, running down her body. My cock bobs as I try to maintain my control.
I reach over her and grab the shampoo.
“You didn’t even question him,” she whispers. “You just… killed him.”
Her gaze catches on my bruised knuckles.
“I grew up with him and you murdered him like it was nothing.”
Her nails dig into my thigh again, but I like that I’m the one grounding her. She can’t look at me, but she will. I squeeze the soap into my palm and set the bottle back down. She stays perfectly still when I lather it and massage it into her hair.
“It was nothing.” I need her to understand that she didn’t walk into a fairy tale by coming with me. “It was easy to kill him. It would be easy to kill your whole family.”
She stiffens.
I turn her around and guide her back, rinsing her hair. She glares at my chest, refusing to meet my eyes—or down. She just lets me manipulate her body, and her gaze stays level on my tattoos. From her squint, it’s the first time she’s seen the artwork, and it holds her transfixed.
Interesting.
“Are you going to kill them?” Her gaze now snaps up, colliding with mine. “Where’s your remorse?”
“Not your whole family, Gemma. Not if you tell me the truth.” I step into her space again. “Did you see your brother?”
“No.”
The most surprising part is that I can’t tell if she’s lying. I knew she’d say no, but her conviction controls her voice. Keeps it from wavering, or her eyes from sliding away. She narrows her eyes and pokes her finger into my chest.
“No, he didn’t show up to save me. If he did, I would’ve had him take me far, far away from you.”
I sneer. “Dear Gemma, if you wanted me to believe you, you should’ve stuck to one word replies. And to answer your original question: I don’t have remorse. That’s how I survive in this world.”
She motions for me to move, and we switch places. She runs conditioner through her hair with her fingers, seemingly done with talking to me. That’s fine, I’m done talking to her, too. But I keep an eye on her, even as I take my turn under the water, dousing my head and scrubbing my skin.
The blood flakes off and swirls down the drain. My knuckles aren’t too busted—there were a few people I punched, Kai West only one of them. There were too many Wests there, and that’s a puzzle I can’t seem to figure out.
Yes, it was a trap. For her as much as them.
But I expected Gemma’s brother, maybe her father. Some backup to protect them.
What we got was a whole damn army of people willing to rescue her.
I watch her stand out of the water, her arms wrapped around her body. The longer we stand in silence, the more broken her expression becomes.
I rinse the soap off and switch places with her again. She takes her time with her hair, her eyes closing. It’s just a moment of peace that she takes for herself, and I wonder if her whole shower would’ve gone like that if I’d left her alone.
But we won’t find out.
I reach around her and shut the water off, then grab a towel and wrap her in it. I snag one for myself and step out. She comes along slower.
“What are you going to do?” she asks me. “Where’s your empathy?”
I lift my chin. “What do you call this?”
Her lips twist. “This isn’t empathy. It’s pity, maybe. Or regret.”
“If I regretted every choice I made, I wouldn’t last long in this job.” I invade her space again, loving the way her breathing hitches. I should be sensitive to the fact that Gemma is hurting.
But at the end of the day, I’m the asshole who would burn the whole world down for her. I trap her against the door. “Does that scare you?”
“It makes me want to stab you,” she says. There isn’t nearly enough vinegar in her voice for her to go through with it, though.
I smirk. “I’d love to see you try.”
Reality comes crashing down around me when I remember Sam waits for me below. I step back regrettably and make a snap decision.
“Get dressed,” I order. “You’re coming with me.”
Her eyes widen. “Where now? Another trap?”
I roll my eyes. “No. But I don’t trust you not to do something stupid.”
She marches out of the bathroom, unhooking the towel and wrapping it around her hair as she goes. I stare at her ass and smother a groan.
She’s going to be the death of me.
We get dressed in relative peace—relative because she’s trying to put on a brave face, and I think she’s holding on by a thread. Sam had deposited her bags in the closet, and her cheeks turn a pretty shade of red when she realizes he must’ve been up here.
Her stomach gurgles.
“Hungry?”
“We didn’t eat much.” She shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“Nonsense.” I gesture for her to follow me downstairs and text the restaurant chef. They’ll bring something up, no questions asked.
She opted for a flowing black dress covered in daisies. It’s similar
to the one she wore when I found her—sleeves that flare at her wrists, a high neckline, loose fit. Nothing ostentatious.
And it makes me wonder if she chose black to quietly mourn her cousin’s death.
Sam sits at the table, a magazine open to an article.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“The councilwoman.” He slides it toward us.
Gemma peeks over my shoulder, her curiosity getting the better of her. Under the headline: Interview by Amelie DeSantis.
“She interviewed a councilwoman?” Gemma asks. “Why?”
“Luca had a meeting with her.” She’d demanded to be brought to him. She was angry. And they sorted out their issues… or maybe not, seeing as the end result was her in a locked room. “That was before he shut her away.”
She sinks into the chair across from Sam. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
I raise my eyebrows. “No?”
“No,” she snaps.
“Boss,” Sam cuts in. “The councilwoman and her construction bill can wait. We have bigger problems.”
I sigh. Of course we have bigger problems. The dead customs officer, for one. The fact that Gemma’s brother killed mine and is still breathing. Our missing supplies.
“Coroner called, wants to discuss.”
Gemma quietly closes the magazine. I hadn’t realized she’d slid it closer to her, scanning the interview.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” She tilts her head.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s weird?”
“Councilwoman White, under DeSantis influence, helps pass a huge bill that basically gives her control of what permits to approve, and now your construction supplies were stolen? When you were guaranteed approval.”
Sam and I trade a look. It wasn’t just construction supplies as she said—it was expensive Italian marble and a shitload of firearms. But I’m not about to open my mouth and admit that to her. It’s easier to say it was just construction supplies, as insignificant as that seems.
Better than creating a fuss about high-end product going missing. If that got out, our reliability would tank, along with our credibility. What use is a powerful family if we can’t keep one lousy shipping container from being broken into?
