by Eva Ashwood
But he would never intentionally hurt me. I know that. He’s a good person, underneath his scars and trauma. He’s protective and caring and loyal to the people he loves.
Not like Brian.
The man I once thought I’d marry tried to kill me in cold blood. He’s the one I should’ve been afraid of, but I was too blind to see any of the warning signs in him—and to be fair, he was a fucking good actor.
The nightmare I had the night I slept with Ciro has come back over and over again, haunting me, making me not want to sleep. I know Brian is dead, that he can’t hurt me anymore. But that’s not what scares me about the dream.
What scares me is that I don’t know what the fuck Brian was doing, or who he was working for.
If he was working for someone, whoever it was, they still want me dead.
Thoughts and questions tumble around in my head like clothes in a dryer, and after several days of self-imposed isolation, I can’t take it anymore. If I keep sitting around in my room thinking any longer, I’ll go crazy.
It’s a few hours past dinner, and I don’t know where the guys are. Usually, I head straight back upstairs after we eat, so I don’t know how they spend their evenings. They could be out taking care of mafia business, for all I know—although I somehow doubt they’d leave me entirely alone in the house, no matter what they tell me about not seeing me as a prisoner anymore.
Boredom gives me boldness. I’ve avoided snooping around the house until now, but if I’m truly going to be here for months or even years, I can’t spend the whole time in my fucking bedroom. So I head downstairs, turning left instead of right when I reach the bottom and heading deeper into the house.
As I make my way down a wide hallway, my footsteps slow at the sound of low voices. Up ahead, a large open door leads to a warmly lit room, and the voices are coming from inside it. Biting my lip, I shrink back against the wall, debating.
The men have never explicitly told me no in regards to going anywhere in the house, but I’m not sure creeping around eavesdropping on conversations would be considered acceptable behavior for a prisoner.
Or… whatever I am.
Although we have dinner together most nights and I see them around the house fairly often, I’m aware that the men don’t discuss mafia business in front of me. I’ve been paying close attention, as desperate as they are to find out who the mole in the Novak Syndicate is. It concerns me too, considering whoever it is wanted me dead.
So instead of turning around and heading back up to my room, I tiptoe toward the open door silently, staying close to the wall to remain out of sight.
“My father is going to be at our throats until we figure out who this mole is.” Hale’s deep voice carries down the hallway, slightly muffled.
“I still can’t believe we have a fucking mole,” one of the twins says. From this distance, I can’t tell who. “That one of our own betrayed us.”
“Whoever it is, they signed their own fucking death warrant,” Hale growls. “I’ll kill the motherfucker myself once we find them.”
The controlled fury in his voice makes goose bumps prickle over my skin. He means it.
“Damian’s sent me and Lucas on a few undercover ops in the lower ranks,” Zaid says, “but we haven’t found anyone. They know who to fear and who to stay loyal to.”
“Makes things worse if it’s someone higher up,” Lucas interjects. “Someone in a high power role with access to privileged information.”
Hale mutters something under his breath that I can’t make out, but continues, “Have you made any headway with the organization in Boston?”
“If you could call it that.” I can hear the grimace in Zaid’s voice. “We got a meeting set up with one of the captains, which is more than we’ve been able to do in months.”
“He knows the deal would be beneficial to both of us,” Hale mutters. “I’m not sure why he’s hesitating.”
“Not sure. Could be they’re afraid of spreading themselves too thin,” Lucas says. “Their forces are smaller than ours, and—”
He cuts off mid-sentence, and I freeze. I can almost imagine Hale holding up a hand, silencing him. My heart beats so loudly that I’m sure they can hear it from inside the room.
“Grace,” Hale calls, almost lazily.
Fuck.
How the hell does he do that? Even that night in his office, when he was drunk on half a bottle of whiskey, he seemed to have a sixth sense for my presence.
“Come in here,” he adds when I don’t respond. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, underlying the commanding tone.
Knowing I can’t disobey a direct order, I step into the room, my pulse racing. I could just pretend that I got lost in the big house and haven’t been in the hallway long, but I have a feeling Hale knows exactly what I was doing outside the door.
Snooping.
The room is occupied by three out of the four men. Ciro is absent, and I feel bad that I’m almost thankful he isn’t here. I’m not sure if I’m ready to face that awful self-loathing in his eyes again. It’s hard to be around him, knowing that he won’t let me shoulder some of the burden for him, that he doesn’t trust himself around me.
A large leather couch and several large chairs dominate the space. I get the feeling this is the heart of the house, and I’ve just stepped into a den of hungry wolves, waiting to eat me alive. Lounging with suit jackets off and ties untied, they’re the picture of elegant leisure. Each of them is dangerously attractive, watching me through hooded eyes.
“Come here,” Hale repeats when I pause at the threshold, his gaze burning into mine. When I hesitate, a smile slides across his face. “Don’t be shy.”
He watches me like a predator watching its prey, lazy and alert. Like he holds a chain that’s tied to me, I cross the distance between us, my bare feet padding across the cool floor. Flicking that chain closer, he doesn’t let me stop until our knees touch and I’m staring down into his eyes.
“Eavesdropping will get you into a shitload of trouble, Grace.” He cocks his head to one side, his blue eyes glinting in the warm light. His dark hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it, and it makes him look sexy as fuck. “Should I punish you?”
A shock of awareness travels through my body, a jolt so strong it makes my clit throb.
Just from four little words.
“No.”
My voice is breathy, and as he watches me bite my lip, his answering smirk tells me that he knows exactly what he just did to me.
I open my mouth to say something else, but before I can, Hale sets his glass on the small table beside his chair with a clink. His hands find my hips and roughly tug me down to his lap without warning, positioning me sideways on his legs and pulling me against his body.
I let out a little yelp, taken off guard by both the sudden movement and the possessiveness of the gesture.
It’s a touch that says, mine.
My clit throbs again, arousal dampening my panties. Everything that passed between us a few nights ago is fresh in my mind as Hale’s large hands settle on my waist, his fingertips brushing my ribs before one hand slides down over my ass.
I can’t avoid making eye contact with Zaid and Lucas from where I sit. They’re on the couch across from us, and as Hale palms my ass, Zaid’s gaze tracks the movement. My heart breaks into a gallop. I’m acutely aware of every place that my body touches Hale’s, and I’m torn between conflicting impulses to run away and to arch into his touch, grinding my body against his.
A flicker of movement near the door catches my eye, and I realize I was wrong earlier. Ciro is here. He’s leaning against the wall near the doorway, almost completely still, which is why I didn’t notice him when I first walked in.
He stays where he is, although his gaze locks on me, and the intensity of his gray eyes makes me burn.
And it’s not just him. Three sets of eyes watch me as Hale drags his nose through my hair, inhaling me. It’s almost too much to have ev
ery single one of these men focused on me, and I shiver a little as Hale presses a kiss to my temple. The other three don’t look jealous, exactly. Or at least, they don’t look angry. But they look like they want what Hale has.
Like they want me on their laps too.
I fight the sudden urge to try to make that happen—to somehow crawl into Zaid’s lap, and Lucas’s too. To pull Ciro over to the couch and curl up in his arms. To touch all of them at once.
To be with all of them at once.
The heat simmering in my belly from Hale’s touch pulses, burning even hotter, and I try to hide my reaction to that thought.
Clearing my throat, I twist a little to meet Hale’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to overhear anything. I just wanted to get out of my room for a little while. I can leave if you guys are going to talk busine—”
He tightens his grip on me, and I can feel the hot press of his cock against my thigh. He’s not fully hard, but the feel of it is enough to make my breath catch.
“You don’t have to sneak around, Grace,” he murmurs. “You can go wherever you like in the house. We’ve got nothing to hide from you.”
I snort softly, because they’ve got plenty to hide from me. I already know more about Novak business than I should—that’s part of why Damian couldn’t just let me go. They’re not going to discuss their business in front of me, which is why I was eavesdropping.
But Hale surprises the fuck out of me when he shifts his gaze back to Lucas. His arms are still wrapped tightly around me, and his breath stirs a few loose tendrils of blonde hair as he speaks. “What were you saying? It’s a small operation?”
“Yeah,” Lucas says slowly, not taking his gaze off me. Then he shakes his head a little, as if trying to summon an earlier thought. “Yeah, they’re small. But despite their size, if we get them on our side, it’s a solid trade deal. They have what we need and we have what they want. It could be a good alliance for both of our syndicates.”
“They also have intel on the Rook syndicate,” Zaid adds, leaning back on the couch a little. “Damian has been up my ass about them. They’re some new upstart organization, but no one seems to know a lot about them. They’re hungry for the power and pushing hard to get a toehold here.”
My eyebrows practically shoot up to my hairline.
What… what are they talking about?
I know what they’re talking about, I just can’t believe they’re talking about it in front of me. To my shock, they continue on with their conversation as if I’m one of them, not changing the topic or getting quiet around me like they usually do. And as much as I want to believe that this means they trust me, I know the truth. And the truth scares the shit out of me.
This isn’t about trust. Or at least, it isn’t only about trust.
It’s because they have no reason to hide things from me.
Because I’m never getting out.
I fight the urge to squirm out of Hale’s lap, and as if sensing my tension, his hands press into me a little tighter, his chest brushing against my back as he leans over to pick up his glass again. He offers me a sip, but I mutter a hasty, no, thank you. There’s no way I’m getting drunk around these four men, especially when they’re already a few drinks in, relaxed and handsy. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight as it is.
The conversation continues, and I try to focus on their words and not the feel of Hale’s hands on my body.
“They’ll figure it out soon enough,” Hale mutters. The vibrations of his deep voice rumble through my own chest. His fingers begin tracing a pattern on my thigh, and my skin awakens with anticipation. I try not to lean into him anymore than I’ve already unconsciously done. “This is Novak soil, not Rook soil. The Novaks don’t take well to having their things taken away from them. We defend what belongs to us.”
Hale’s nose brushes against my neck, and I take a deep breath, trying to push away from the warmth of his body, but his hold on my hips is firm, keeping me in place.
And something about his words make me think he’s not just talking about whoever this Rook syndicate is.
He’s talking about something else.
He’s talking about me.
Did they feel that way when Brian tried to take me away?
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, learning that they see me as theirs. But I’m absolutely certain it shouldn't feel like an achy knot inside my chest, spreading down to the lowest part of me, heating my blood.
What the fuck am I doing?
I almost want to laugh like a maniac, or maybe scream like one. In less than a month, my life was completely turned around, my hopes and plans changed. I went from planning to marry a cop to living in a fucking mansion with four mafia men.
Four dangerously alluring men, each whom I’ve either kissed or had sex with.
Four men I feel drawn to, heart, body, and soul.
10
Lucas
It’s crazy how fast people can adapt to new circumstances. Not a bad thing, just pretty mind-blowing, when you think about it.
A few weeks ago, it was just me, Zaid, Hale, and Ciro living in this house. Now, I can’t fucking imagine the place without Grace in it.
She’s changed everything.
She’s filled a hole in our lives that we didn’t even know was there.
I know she wasn’t happy about this arrangement. After everything she’s been through, I wish I could’ve given her freedom—true freedom. But it’s not possible. Damian won’t just let her walk away from all this, and not even Hale can make him.
Besides, if there’s a mole in the syndicate, if there’s someone out there who wants Grace dead, she’s better off with us.
We’ll keep her safe. We won’t let any motherfucker hurt her.
And even though she was unhappy with the arrangement at first, I think she’s settling in at our house, getting more comfortable and starting to feel less like a prisoner. After we caught her eavesdropping a few nights ago, she’s come downstairs after dinner a few more times. Hale openly talks Novak business in front of her, and the rest of us follow his lead and do the same.
She listens too. She pays attention, and I swear I can practically see the thoughts behind her eyes as she processes every bit of information she picks up. It’s a dangerous game Hale’s playing, allowing her to see that deeply into our organization, but I know why he’s doing it.
Just like the rest of us, he wants to show her that she’s not a prisoner. Not in any of the ways that count.
The lines are still blurry as fuck though. I hate it. She has free rein to go anywhere she likes in the house, but she still sometimes tiptoes around like she’s waiting for a trap to spring on her. And who can blame her for feeling that way? No matter what feelings exist between us, our past always seems to bleed into the present, a constant reminder that she shouldn’t trust any of us.
It doesn’t help that trust is in short supply in general these days. I find myself looking around at my fellow syndicate members anytime I’m at Onyx, wondering which one of them might’ve betrayed us.
Hale is stressed as hell about the mole. We all are.
But since no one except the four of us and Damian knows we’ve got a rat in our midst, we have to pretend nothing’s up. We don’t want to potentially scare the fucker and lose him, and as much as it’s gonna suck to find out exactly who’s been playing us behind our backs for so long, it’s our top priority. The only way we’re gonna find out who it is will be by catching them in the act of betrayal, and that’s not gonna happen unless our mole feels confident he’s succeeding. The way we do that is by continuing on as if nothing has happened.
But we can’t keep this up forever. Every day that goes by without us nailing that asshole to the wall is another day he has to plot against us.
Who knows what else he’s got planned?
On Saturday, Zaid and I leave the house and head outside the city for a pickup from one of our suppliers. It’s a routine errand, and I’m relieved
as fuck that at least some things are going smoothly.
We head back to Onyx, and as I pull into the alley behind the club, Zaid alerts security of our arrival. He hangs up his phone as I turn left, heading down the ramp into the parking garage below the building. We’ll swap out for our own car after we meet with Damian, leaving the van here for some of the soldiers to unpack and inventory. If there is anything missing, which there shouldn’t be, our dealer will pay for it.
After ducking out of the van, we take a small flight of stairs that opens to the back of the club, and as we step inside, three older men emerge from Damian’s office.
Frank Leblanc, Leland Bennett, and Stanley Wheeler are all older members of our syndicate with a personal hatred for Grace’s father. They were all close friends with Landon Novak, and they’ve nursed a grudge against Samuel Weston for his betrayal ever since he got Landon sent to jail and then fled Chicago.
“Zaid. Lucas. How is it living with the offspring of a Judas?” Stanley smirks, sauntering over to us.
Frank grimaces. “Fucking bitch. She may be pretty, but even I wouldn’t want the daughter of a rat wrapping her sweet little mouth around my—”
My whole body tenses, red filling my vision in a flash. I lunge without thinking, but my brother’s reflexes are quicker. He stops me from doing anything stupid with a hand to my chest, pushing me back as he catches my gaze. He shakes his head, his green eyes flashing. He’s just as pissed as I am, but luckily, he’s not as stupid. He’s got the sense to know that picking a fight with Damian’s captains is a good way to end up dead.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Stanley’s dark hair gleams as he cocks his head, his eyes narrowing.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Nah.” His voice lowers. “I’m not the one who can’t see straight, son. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Leland steps up beside him. He’s got reddish-brown hair with gray at the temples, and his blunt features twist into a scowl. “Stanley’s right. Westons are fucking rats. She’ll turn out just like her father, I guarantee it. So enjoy that pussy while you can, before it grows teeth and bites your dick off.”