“What are you?” he growled, close to the edge.
“Yours. Sir.” Her eyelids lowered, her lips parting again as he plunged deep inside her once more. “I’m yours.”
“My what?”
“Your everything.” Her reply was immediate. “Anything you want. Everything you need. Your whore, your goddess, your firecracker.”
Dalton’s lips curled. That’s exactly who she was.
Delilah’s explanation was fucking perfect.
“Yes, you are.” He ground his length into her warmth. “You’re all of those things and more, beautiful, but do you know the most important thing you are?”
Delilah panted, twisting to catch his eyes. No, sir. She never vocalized the response, but Dalton heard it, nonetheless.
“Yes, you do.” His hips stilled. She writhed around him desperately, squeezing his cock in a futile attempt to rouse him back into action.
“Sir, please!” Delilah bit her lip, pushing back against his hardness again.
He shook his head, lifting one hand from the bedstead and wrapping it gently around the front of her neck.
“Settle down, firecracker,” he snarled into her right ear. “You’ll get my cock when I say so, not before.”
Delilah mewled in response, her eyes widening slightly when his hand edged closer around the leather at her throat.
“Tell me.”
He was moving again, but this time, each thrust was slow and sensual, each lunge deeper, possessing her in a primal way that had been lost on him before.
“Tell me the most important thing you are, Delle.”
“Sir, please.” Her voice was a gasp, her chin rising as though she was wanted to be free of the fingers at her neck.
Settle down. Dalton sent the thought to her even as his cock slid back inside her cunt, their bodies entwining in the most blissful union.
“But Dalton, I…” Wide eyes met the instruction. I can’t breathe.
“You can breathe,” he assured her. “And you can be fucked with my hand at your throat while you answer me.”
Her eyes fluttered in response. “I-I don’t know, sir.” All of a sudden, she sounded frantic. “I don’t know the answer!”
Dalton smiled, burying himself back into her hot, tight body.
“Oh, yes, you do, gorgeous. It’s simple.
“You’re mine, and while there’s breath left in my body, you always will be.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saul
Saul drained the cooling coffee from his cup, grimacing as he slammed the china back down onto his desk and forced the liquid down his throat.
Dammit, one of these days he was going to actually finish a beverage when it was hot, but clearly, today wasn’t going to be that day. Sighing, he lifted one hand to his temple and rubbed. The last few weeks had been trying at best, and constantly dodging the bullets which accompanied the mess was tiring.
Tiring but necessary.
It was one thing for his oldest friends to get into trouble and look to him for assistance. Saul had no issue with that. Hell, that was part of why he’d established The Syndicate in the first place—an organization that demanded unyielding loyalty from its members, a group where everyone bled for each other. He chuckled as the old society motto echoed through his brain…
“You bleed for us; we bleed for you.”
Saul recalled the time he’d contrived that maxim, an ethos he had most certainly lived by in the intervening years.
It was quite another thing to have to keep bailing the Reilly brothers out of the messes their twisted love lives kept landing them in. Saul smiled bleakly, considering the recent complications the Reillys’ desires had culminated in. First, there was Connor, and while he loved him like a younger brother, Saul was under no illusions—that guy was a psychologist’s wet fucking dream. Connor had been preoccupied with the darker side of BDSM for years, and even as a teenager, there’d been something about him, a glint in his eyes which warned of edgier times to come. Saul knew Dalton had known it as well, and he’d worked hard to protect his brother until, of course, Connor had gone off the grid.
Then, along came Molly.
Molly—the woman Connor had effectively stalked, then snatched from some shitty London street in broad daylight.
Molly—the woman he’d kept in that crappy little house and done God knows what to.
Molly—the woman he’d done time for and the same one he’d chosen to protect on the stand.
Saul laughed. He still couldn’t believe he’d chosen to protect her! If The Syndicate hadn’t stepped in and grabbed Connor from the prison van that day, Connor might still have been rotting in a jail cell.
And all because of the love he felt for Molly.
Saul blew out a breath. It was obvious how badly Connor had it for his hot little brunette, and when he saw them together, it was clear his affection was reciprocated. However twisted its origins, they were evidently very much in love.
Saul rolled his eyes. It was fucking sickening.
His desk phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought as he reached for the receiver.
“This is Morrison.”
“Sorry for the interruption, sir.” The smooth tone of his hot, blonde secretary vibrated in his ear, curling his lips out of instinct.
“Hilary, what is it?”
“I just received word from Molly Clary that Connor Reilly wants to meet with you later this afternoon.”
Saul shook his head. What was it with that family? It was like they could read his thoughts. It always had been.
“Why didn’t he just call me?” Saul’s brow furrowed at his own question.
“Apparently, your phone is switched off, sir.”
“Really?” Saul reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone to find it was indeed switched off.
“Damn, it’s out of power.”
Hilary laughed softly. “We’d guessed that much, sir.”
Saul ignored her teasing tone, imagining the way she was perched on the seat just beyond his door, her thighs crossed inside some delicious little skirt or another. Hilary was delectable, and one day, he wanted to enjoy her.
“Tell Molly they can come up any time this afternoon.” He pictured her strewn naked over his desk. “And clear my diary for the rest of the day, you and I need to have a little talk.”
Her giggles dried up immediately.
“Sir?” Hilary sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”
Saul smiled at the waver in her voice. He had never especially been aroused by the power games, which enthralled most of his top team, but he wasn’t blind to them either. It had been too long since he’d heard the trepidation in a woman’s voice, too long since he’d had one on her knees before him, too long since he’d stroked back the silky strands of her hair and ordered her to devour him. His eyes closed at the thought, his cock stirring from inside his expensive suit.
“I’ll tell you later,” he told Hilary, intentionally choosing to leave her waiting and wondering. “Just make sure I have no meetings, then come see me once Connor and Molly leave. Understand?”
There was a pause, and he swore he heard the attractive blonde gulp.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
Saul placed down the receiver with a smile. That certainly gave him something to look forward to. He wasn’t in love with Hilary, but she was certainly an intoxicating distraction and one he would relish once the impromptu meeting with Connor was over.
Connor.
Saul’s mind shifted back to the dark, brooding thought of the younger Reilly brother.
For all his idiosyncrasies, Connor was loyal. He’d understood the meaning of the motto right from the start, and despite the many jibes Saul had given him over the years about his dalliances and disasters, Connor had never let him down.
He had bled.
He had bled more than his share.
But then, they all had, so had Dalton.
Connor’s older brother popped into S
aul’s mind, and Saul smiled.
Dalton was the more mature, more reliable of the two, yet apparently, even he wasn’t immune to falling in love. In her own way, Delilah had caused more of a ruckus than Molly. She’d managed to bring gang warfare to their doorstep the day she’d sauntered into the line at Diablo, but Saul didn’t blame her.
Delilah was a victim, every inch as much as Molly.
Based on what Dalton had told him, she’d been used and manipulated by Hyland’s odious men for most of her life. No wonder she was such a sassy little firework when they’d first encountered her. He grinned at the apt metaphor.
Dalton was totally enraptured with the petite redhead. They had found, in each other, something Saul himself hadn’t felt for years. His brow knitted at the depressing realization.
How many years had it been since he’d truly cared for a lover that much?
Had he ever really been in love?
Saul pulled in a deep breath at the nonsensical train of thought. What difference did it make if he’d ever been in love? Love had never given him anything worth clinging to. It was merely a short-term state of infatuation, which almost certainly ended in pain and cost. Love, it seemed, was an expensive pursuit. It had never given him respect or assets he could hold on to. That was why Saul had never looked to it for affirmation.
The only affirmation he needed was the trust and loyalty of those in The Syndicate. That’s what he clung to, and that’s why news of the mole in his organization had stung so much. Saul’s fist clenched as the idea reverberated once more.
There was a fucking traitor in the group.
That much was obvious after the way Dalton and Delilah had been jumped in St. James’ park, and according to Dalton, it had been confirmed by Hyland, but Saul had always suspected. There was no way the attack had been a coincidence. In Saul’s experience, there were no such things as coincidences, only appropriately timed offenses.
It had taken Saul weeks to analyze the hierarchy and identify which of them was the collaborator. Weeks of mistrust where he could scarcely look any of his people in the eye without wondering their true intentions and that reality cut him to the quick. In this business, trust was everything. In many ways, it was all they had, and anything that ripped at that certainty riled him.
All this crap with Dalton and Delilah had only exacerbated the situation. The fact Dalton had almost died, then finally recovered his strength to leave the hospital, and the way he’d taken yet another beating from Hyland. Saul’s jaw tightened as he recalled the state of his friend’s battered body when he’d set eyes on him in Hyland’s office.
That was why he’d had to take Zander Hyland out of the equation.
The time for games had been over.
They had both played for long enough.
It was also why Saul had to come down hard on the traitor now that his identity had been revealed. Tapping on his laptop, Saul watched as the screen came to life, the image of the culprit flashing up on the monitor.
Carter.
Saul’s gut twisted at the smiling photo of the man who’d worked for Dalton at Diablo for so long. He didn’t know how long Carter had been double-crossing them, feeding information back to their greatest enemy, the way Craig Lauper had done for him inside Hyland’s organization, but he knew that duplicity had caused a lot of shit, a lot of pain to people he cared about and cost profits, too. Money that would take him months to recoup once he’d finally ironed out the remaining creases with the authorities.
There was no doubt in his mind, Carter was going to pay for his betrayal.
He would pay dearly.
The phone at his desk buzzed for a second time, jolting Saul from his internal monologue. As he lifted the receiver, he already knew it would be Hilary, and his grin returned at the thought of her.
“Morrison.”
“Sir?” She sounded hesitant, her tone doing nothing to quell his glee.
“Go ahead, Hilary.”
“I have Connor Reilly and Miss Clary here to see you.”
“Okay, send them in, please.”
He’d barely placed the receiver down before the door to his office opened, and Connor’s looming figure appeared. He hobbled into the room, clearly still in pain whenever he bore weight on the afflicted knee, but the expression on his face reminded Saul of the real character of the man. A gunshot wound wasn’t going to slow Connor Reilly down, nothing was. Even in his current injured state, he cut a predatory stature.
“Connor!” Saul rose from his desk and hurried around to greet his old friend. “How are you feeling?”
Connor shot him a glare. “Fucking brilliant. How are you? And why isn’t your phone switched on?”
Saul laughed at Connor’s dry tone. “My apologies about that, but you managed to get through to me via Hilary, anyway.”
“Ignore him, Saul. My Master is just in a little pain today.”
Connor’s accusing stare was on her in a moment. “I am not in pain,” he hissed rather too insistently. “You should watch your tone, pet.”
Molly’s face lit up into a smile, and Saul pulled her into an embrace. He hadn’t always been certain of the American woman’s motives. Stockholm Syndrome was a very real phenomenon in cases such as theirs, but there was no denying their affection for each other. These days, she seemed to have little embarrassment about referring to Connor as her master. To Saul, it was endearing, almost amusing.
“Never mind,” he told them both, releasing Molly. “Take a seat, both of you—I’m all yours.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Connor
The meeting with Saul went on longer than he’d hoped, especially considering the only reason he’d really come was to find out what Saul had decided to do with Hyland. It took nearly half an hour before Connor could steer the conversation in the direction of Hyland’s fate, and even then, Saul managed to successfully swerve it twice.
Irritated, he drew Molly toward him, running his fingers through the length of her smooth brown locks.
“So, what became of Zander?”
Saul’s gaze flitted from him to Molly.
“It’s alright,” Connor assured him, “Whatever the answer is, I’m certain Molly has heard worse.”
“More like, you’ve put her through worse, you mean?”
She giggled at Saul’s quip, the gesture doing little to calm his burgeoning frustration. What was the fucking problem here? Why didn’t Saul just tell him the truth?
“Perhaps.” Connor’s reply was curt. “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
Saul sighed. “I took care of him.”
“Meaning?”
“You know bloody well what it means.” Now Saul’s tone was brusque, and Molly’s body straightened. “It means you don’t have to worry about it.”
“That’s bullshit, Saul, and you know it,” Connor spat at him, ignoring the thrum of agony in his knee. “It’s all for one and one for all, around here. You started the mantra, didn’t you?”
Saul’s expression darkened. “I know you’re in pain, Connor, but stop being a dick.”
Molly gasped beside him, her wide eyes traveling between the two men in the office.
“Is he dead?” Connor shot the question at him. “Because if he isn’t, I need to know, Saul—we all need to know—and even if he is, there will still be repercussions.”
“He’s dead.” Saul leaned on the desk in front of him. “I shot him at point-blank range, Connor. They’ll still be wiping his brains off the walls.”
Connor’s lips curled at his friend’s crude analogy. He liked it, and it was what Zander Hyland deserved. It was what they all bloody deserved.
“So, you left a power vacuum at the top of his organization. Are you hoping Lauper can fill it?”
Saul’s brow rose as though he hadn’t even contemplated the eventuality.
“Maybe,” he replied at length. “There aren’t that many of Hyland’s men left, and honestly, I have him on standby. If they fi
gure out, he’s a mole, he’s a dead man.”
Connor glanced over at Molly, wondering for the first time how she was absorbing the conversation and whether she should have just stayed in the room, but it was too late now. At any rate, his little pet was a lot stronger than she looked—after everything he had put her through, Connor knew that better than anyone.
“Ah, yes.” Connor’s attention landed back on Saul. “The mole. Do we know who it is yet?”
Saul’s jaw tensed. “Yes. I’m going to call a meeting of the top team about it. The matter has to be dealt with in the right way.”
Too damn right, it did, and by the right way, Connor assumed Saul meant tearing the fucker limb from limb.
“Fancy sharing his name now?” It was a long shot, but Connor gave it a go.
“I’m afraid not,” said Saul with a sardonic laugh. “Though, obviously, you’ll be in attendance when I make the announcement and work out a plan.”
A brief silence fell over the room as Connor mulled the decision over in his head. “Okay.” There was nothing he could do. No way to press the point for the time being. “Just let me know.”
“I will.” Saul leaned back in his executive recliner. “So, how are you two doing? How’s that knee really faring?”
Connor stretched his injured leg out gingerly. “It’s getting there,” he answered with a sigh. “But it’s bloody frustrating waiting for it to recover.”
“What have the surgeons told you?”
Molly turned in his direction, catching Connor’s gaze. She had been with him every step of the way, holding his hand when he wanted to pass out from the pain and wiping his brow when he’d come around from the surgery. His little pet had been worth her weight in gold.
“That they’re happy with the wound.”
“And?” Saul’s tone was demanding.
“And now it’s just time and recovery,” Molly interjected. “There’s no rushing things.”
Saul laughed. “I bet you fucking love that, Connor.”
“Yeah, it’s astounding.” Connor arched a brow at the man who’d been more like a father to him over the years than his own dad had ever been. “I’m loving every moment.”
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