by J Bree
I lean down to kiss her cheek, her hands wrapping around my biceps and drawing me in. She smells fresh and clean and entirely too sweet for all of the things running riot in my head at having her this close to me.
The moment we break away from each other Ash stares me down like he can tell exactly what I want do to to his sister, everything I’ve worked so fucking hard to have the chance at having some day.
He’d really kill me if he knew half of it.
“Thank you for coming,” I murmur, and Avery smiles at me a little wider as she takes her seat.
The waiter brings over the extra chair right as I hold my hand out for him to take, but he stares down at it like he’d very much like to rip it from my body.
“Ash, please. You promised,” Avery says, her voice calm and even which is the most dangerous of all of her tones.
He shakes my hand and then takes his seat, ordering a bourbon immediately and no one questions it. Avery gets a glass of wine the same price as a family vehicle, but there’s nothing pretentious in it, her choice is excellent.
As always.
“Is there a reason you wanted to meet or are you still just pretending you aren’t panting after her? Fucking pathetic,” Ash sneers, flicking his eyes over the menu and just generally bringing down the entire mood of the room. The man at the table next to ours stares at Avery’s exposed shoulders for just a moment too long, and when Ash notices, he picks up a steak knife.
“There’s nothing that would make me happier than slitting your fucking throat.”
The man blanches and wipes his mouth with his napkin, standing up and ushering his date up from the table and out of the restaurant.
Avery smirks back at Ash, “I did need some extra elbow room.”
He doesn’t smile back, their relationship more strained than I’ve ever seen it before. “We shouldn’t even be down here. There’s nothing Crawford couldn’t say in a phone call.”
I shoot him a look and flick a hand to call the waiter over to take our orders. “I was hoping to speak to Avery privately.”
Avery stifles a smile, her eyes darting over to mine. I think I’m softening her anger, getting to her and maybe working my way out of the hole I’ve dug for myself by keeping her safely away from Mounts Bay.
Ash stares me down, his fingers still wrapped around the knife tightly.
“Over my dead fucking body.”
Chapter Fourteen
When we get out of the warehouse, the first signs of the morning sun out on the horizon, Atticus is still directing his men from the parking lot. Luca is nowhere to be seen but the moment Aodhan breaks away from us with a chaste kiss to my cheek, Atticus meets my eye and motions to me to speak with him.
Illi grunts unhappily but leans back on the driver’s side door of his car to watch Atticus’ every move, a sharp knife in his hand that he twirls idly. He looks relaxed and almost bored as he checks the perimeter, but there’s nothing casual about him.
No one would get within ten feet of me without that knife lodging in their throat.
Atticus waits until the Impala is nothing but the roar of an engine in the distance before he speaks to me. “I received another photo today. I need to show it to you and speak with you in private.”
I frown. “We can speak here. Illi already knows everything.”
Atticus glances over to him and then leans closer into me. “He knows about the senator? Because Amanda Donnelley does now too.”
Fuck.
He hands me an envelope and I barely open it, just peeking inside at the image of Elijah Blakeley, his wife, and two children in there.
Their eyes are all crossed out.
“This isn’t good. This is not good at all; Lips is going to come home to deal with this herself,” I murmur, and Atticus shrugs.
“Maybe it’s time for her to come home. I have Jackson at your ranch right now, fitting the last of the new security in there. It’ll be safer than the White House and if you’re open to it, I’ve spoken to an old friend about some improvements to the boundary fencing and gate. It doesn’t have to be as extreme as mine but you need something more secure.”
I nod slowly. “Can you take me home? We can… discuss this there.”
He nods again, glancing up at Illi like he’s preparing to fight him but I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll speak to Illi; he’s not my keeper.”
It does take a little convincing before Illi leaves me with Atticus, his eyes full of loathing, but he trusts me to know what the hell I’m doing. I’m not a child and I’m not an object to be guarded and coveted.
If I want to argue with Atticus about our plans to murder people in the privacy of my own home, I can do it.
I slip into the Bentley and decide I can’t stand another second in the Kevlar and strip down to get it off. The windows are tinted dark enough that I’m not worried about any of the Crow’s men seeing, and I’m wearing one of my lace bralettes underneath it anyway.
One of the perks of not having a huge cup size.
Atticus slides into his seat right as I pull my blazer back on over the bralette, his eyes burning into my skin as I get it pulled into the right position and buttoned up. I should really put the camisole back on first considering Jackson is back at my house, but so long as the blazer is buttoned up, it’s revealing but not obscene.
I’m too goddamn tired for this shit.
“I’d be more comfortable if you kept the vest on until we’re inside your house,” he says as he starts the car, pulling out smoothly.
I settle back in my seat and message Lips with an update of everything that happened in the Game. All of it vague and entirely in a code that changes so often we’re lucky we’re both geniuses and can keep up with it. There’s nothing any type of law enforcement could take us down for that I couldn’t pay our way out of, but there’s a lot of other players on the board who would love nothing more than knowing our plans.
“Just because you want it, doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Hasn’t the Bay taught you anything?” I say with a smile, and he doesn’t bite back, doesn’t flirt with me or argue at all.
He just leans across the car and takes my hand in his. “I’m very good at getting what I want. Almost as good as the ruthless queen everyone keeps whispering about. All I used to hear about on the streets was the Wolf who hid in the shadows and would take you out before you even realized she was there, but now? Now all of the talk is about the girl she trusts with her life and her business, the Beaumont who single-handedly arranged the coup against the Jackal and had her own father slain in his bed while he slept.”
I gape at him. “That’s not what happened and you know it.”
He smirks. “The first rule of infamy is that no one ever gets the details right. That’s how legends are started, and that’s how a thirteen-year-old girl became the most dangerous person in the city—because she walked out of the Game alive. She was as close to a superhero as you can get to the other kids who have grown up here, and when she chose you to be her friend after being alone for so long? You took on God-like status. That’s the real truth of the Bay, Avery. You’re a god here until you’re not, and now you have the power, everyone is going to try to take it from you. That’s the life you’ll have now.”
I look out of the window at the city passing us by, and his fingers stay tightly wrapped around mine. His words don’t change anything. They don’t scare me or have me changing a goddamn thing, because my life has always been that way. I’ve always looked over my shoulder and had to assess every aspect of my life because those around me have been a danger to me.
“I have a family now, Atticus. Everything might be darker and more dangerous now, but at least I’m happy and loved. Ash is happy; fuck, I’ve never seen him so happy. Harley is alive and happy. Morrison is alive and happy. These are all things that I thought were impossible two years ago. I’m not saying that I’m thrilled at being hunted for the rest of my life, but it’s the price I’ll pay for our happiness. I’ll pay it over
and over again.”
He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive but there isn’t any anger radiating toward me, no frustration at the situation until we’re spilling out into a raging argument.
When he pulls up outside the ranch, Jackson’s Porsche is sitting out front.
I really don’t want to see him and ruin this moment.
When we unlock the front door, I immediately open up the staircase and usher Atticus down into my panic room. He raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t comment, just steps carefully down the marble staircase, and I hit the lights the moment I can.
His eyebrows hit his hairline at the sight of my murder board.
“It’s a work in progress. The missing pieces are over at the safe house, but if everything is cleared for me to come home then I’ll bring it back here.”
He nods and pulls out the photo of the Blakeley family, waving it in my direction. “Are you going to tell me about him? Another of Grimm Graves’ bastard children, and he’s on the Senate.”
I shrug. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice the resemblance earlier; you’ve been trying to own him for some time.”
He grimaces. “There was something there but I never saw his daughter. She’s… well, the girls are definitely where the genes show through.”
A dry laugh tumbles out of me as I sit back on the couch, the weight of the entire day falling onto my shoulders. “It was startling in person; there’s no way anyone from the Bay could look at Kennedy Blakeley and not know whose blood she is.”
“Blood. You’re talking like a biker now; the Bay is slowly corrupting you.” He pins the new photo up on the wall next to Colt and Chance then stalks back over to join me on the couch. I toe my shoes off and tuck my feet up and underneath myself.
“This is the realest version of myself. This is where I’m most comfortable and happiest. I—Atticus, I never really had a plan for a life that was safe and clean. I don’t know how to be that woman. I know you wanted that for me, and I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done—“
“I don’t want your thanks, Avery, I want you alive, safe, and happy. If you insist on being here in the Bay, then I’ll have this place wired up to be safer than the fucking Pentagon.” He rubs a hand over his face and unbuttons the top three buttons on his shirt.
Those damn tattoos of his are peeking out, and I’m getting desperate to see them finally. I’m about to lean over and just strip the shirt away from him when his phone buzzes again, and he shifts to grab it out of his pocket.
“Jackson is done with the security upgrade. You’ll be safe to sleep here again, no need to wait for O’Cronin to come back.”
I shouldn’t.
I really fucking shouldn’t.
But I say it.
“I was hoping you’d stay with me instead.”
It feels weird to be leading Atticus up the same set of stairs that Aodhan carried me up, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t cheating. Aodhan knows about my feelings, he knows he has to share me, and he gave me back my locket with room in it for Atticus’ diamond.
There’s still something inherently different about the situation and I can’t help but be nervous, worried, dammit, scared about it because the one and only time Atticus and I had sex was before my feelings for Aodhan had developed.
It was before I knew that I love him.
I almost want to text him and double check but then I’m opening my bedroom door and leading Atticus in. Everything is perfectly clean. Immaculate really, because even when I’ve come home to pack bags, I’ve made sure to leave it looking tidy.
I flick the light on and the moment I attempt to turn around, Atticus is holding my hands by my sides as he slowly steps into my body until he’s pressed against me. He’s already hard, his hips moving to rub himself against my ass, and I have to bite back a moan.
“Put your hands on the mattress, Avery.”
I huff but bend over obediently, planting my hands against the plush white comforter on my bed. He gently nudges my legs wider with his foot, his shoes still on and his hand slowly running down my spine.
“You’re not even going to kiss me first?” I say, my voice more breath than substance.
His hands curve down my ass until they find the hem of my skirt, pushing it up and over my hips. “I’ll kiss you first, now stop talking. Stop making demands, or I’ll make you.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the tone of his voice, but I barely focus on the words. There’s too much still happening in my brain. I need kissing and foreplay to shut everything out and this abrupt beginning of… well, I’m not even sure what this is the beginning of.
All I know is I want more and I need it to start now.
There’s a rustling noise and I glance over my shoulder to see that he’s stripping his blazer off, folding it neatly and dropping it onto the plush chaise at the end of the bed. He notices me looking and his hands drift back to my ass, tugging my panties away from one cheek.
Then he slaps me hard enough that I gasp, rocking forward only as far as the grip he has on my panties will allow. His hand strokes over the hot flesh as though soothing the sting away.
“Eyes ahead, mouth shut, legs spread. Do you think you can do that, Floss?”
I shouldn’t be enjoying this and I definitely shouldn’t be longing for him to keep going, for his hands to keep spanking me until I can’t sit right for a week, but I am.
I turn to look back at the wall, shifting a little and widening my stance even more. I’m not sure why exactly I need to spread out so much, but I’m hoping my obedience will earn me what my body is craving.
There’s more rustling, more clothes being shed, and I force myself to stay still no matter how badly I want to see those tattoos of his. Or his body, I haven’t seen him naked before, and it’s been years since I’ve seen him without a shirt. It makes more sense now, knowing who he is and the tattoos decorating his body, but it doesn’t change the fact that his distancing hurt me. Where would we be now if he hadn’t pulled away?
I can’t think about that either, because that’s a rabbit hole of what-ifs and alternate endings that will keep my brain occupied and online for days.
His hands touch me again, tugging at my panties until the crotch rips and then he pushes them further up my waist and out of the way. I’m about to tell him to get the hell on with it when he drops to his knees and spreads me open, his tongue dipping into my pussy as he groans at the taste of me.
Oh God.
Oh fuck. I can’t help but moan and writhe against his tongue, his hands clamping down over my hips and holding me still until I can’t help the words falling out of my mouth. My entire body starts to shake, trembling from the orgasm building up, so close, so close—
He stops and moves away from me.
His hands leave me, his mouth already gone, and I’m ready to cry, or worse.
Beg.
Beaumonts do not beg but maybe just this once I might.
“Atticus—”
“I told you, Floss. I warned you what would happen if you couldn’t keep your orders to yourself. I decide what happens in this room between us, not you.”
I move to straighten up and tear him a new one because no, that’s not how this is going to work, not at all, and his palm cracks down on my ass again, harder this time. My legs almost give out on me, a gasp ripping out of my throat and I feel like I might come just from that.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I seal my mouth shut, biting the inside of my cheek even as he stands up and walks away from me.
Okay, he walks into my closet so it’s not like he goes that far away but still, it feels as though he’s abandoned me to just stand here, awkwardly bent over, with my pussy fucking weeping for him to come back and finish me off.
It almost kills me, but I do exactly what he’s told me to do, not even turning my head when he walks back into the room.
“Shut your eyes, Floss.”
Dammit.<
br />
I squeeze them shut and his hand caresses my cheek, a reverent gesture. “You can’t keep your mouth shut so I’ve had to improvise. Keep this on and I’ll let you come.”
They’re magic words. I don’t even care what he wants me to wear, I’ll do it.
Then he slips one of my silk scarves over my head and into my mouth, tying it off at the back of my head tight enough that my mouth can’t close around it. I must look obscene, but with my eyes shut I can’t see whether he’s laughing at me or not, so I just focus on my orgasm.
I kind of want him to spank me again.
Clearly I need therapy.
He waits for a moment, like he’s testing me and waiting for me to push the boundaries again. I think I will next time but for right now I need that orgasm; I need that high to wipe everything out of my brain like a giant reset button.
Then his mouth touches me again, diving straight back into my pussy like he’s enjoying this as much as I am. When his fingers slip inside of me and his tongue circles my clit, I shatter, my teeth clenching hard on the scarf as I sob. I try to be quiet for him, but there’s no holding back the sounds he’s coaxed out of me.
When he stands up again, I wait for the sharp sting of his palm against my ass, but it never comes. I wait patiently now that the edge has been taken off, my body more relaxed and pliant. His palm strokes down my ass one last time before he steps back again.
There’s more rustling of clothing and the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper, and I wish I could tell him not to bother using one, but I’m too scared he’ll stop if I speak and I need him inside of me.
His palm returns to my ass, squeezing and stroking me. “Not a word, Floss. Don’t say a word and I’ll fuck you until you’re screaming around my cock.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, locking my body down tight like I’m waiting for it to betray me and ruin this for me, and then I bite back a moan as he pushes in, a tight fit even with my legs spread so wide.