by J. Kenner
I’m in a funk for days. I think it’s only three, but it feels like a month. And other than my shower that first night, I’ve done nothing in the way of personal hygiene except brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and pull my hair back into a ponytail.
I know Brandy and Lamar are worried about me. They’ve been taking turns making me food, suggesting TV shows, offering to take walks or chat. Mostly, though, I sleep.
Which is why I’m rumpled and gross and probably a little ripe when Tamra comes by one evening.
“How are you doing, honey?”
I raise a shoulder. “Honestly, I’ve been better.”
Her smile is thin. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
I shrug, not sure I want to hear that, mostly because I’m not sure what I want. What kind of weight I can bear on my shoulders. He killed my uncle. There’s no getting around that. And no matter the reasons, he left me. He came back long enough to fuck me—and then he left me.
I lead her to the kitchen, and we sit at the counter sharing a plate of cookies Brandy left for me before taking Jake for a walk.
“I know,” Tamra says. “In case you weren’t sure. If you want to talk about it, I know what happened to Peter, and I know why.”
“Oh.” I sit up a little straighter. “Did you know back then?”
She shakes her head. “No. Devlin told me later. It’s been eating him up for a long time. Hell, a lifetime.”
I pick apart my cookie. “Oh.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but he always wanted you to know everything.”
I scoff. “That’s a nice line, but I don’t believe it.”
“I’m just telling you what I’ve seen. What I believe. He’s always wanted you to know the truth, but at the same time, he’d do anything not to hurt you.” She shrugs, her smile a little sad. “You do the math.”
I shake my head, not sure I’m liking the way her words are softening my heart. “Regrets are a dime a dozen. And they don’t change the reality. He killed Peter. He shot my uncle.”
“He did. And he was scared to tell you.”
“Well, he should have been.”
She nods. “It’s hard to hear. But at some point you’re going to have to decide if you forgive him or if you condemn him.”
I look up sharply. “You mean turn him in? Tell Chief Randall?” The thought makes me ill—and so does the fact that I would never consider it. I’m a cop’s kid, a former cop myself, and yet the very idea is repugnant.
A hint of a smile flickers on Tamra’s lips, and I have a feeling she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “All I mean is that you need to decide in your heart. For you. But you can’t do that if you don’t know everything.”
I almost laugh. “Gee, that’s what Devlin said. And now you’re saying he didn’t tell me everything after all? Why am I not surprised?”
She ignores my sarcasm. “I don’t think Devlin would ever tell you this himself. And especially not now. It would seem too self-serving.”
I catch myself sitting up straighter, then frown. “What?”
“He feared—didn’t know, but feared—that if he disobeyed, his father would punish him.”
“How?”
“Well, by killing you, of course.”
I lean back, shocked I didn’t see that coming. “Oh, God,” I say. “Nineteen years old and he had to shoulder that.”
“He’s always been willing to carry the weight of the world for you, Ellie. Don’t you know that?”
I nod automatically, no longer sure what I know.
We chat a bit more, and I walk her to the door. “Thanks for coming,” I say.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’m feeling less hollow,” I tell her. “Like I can start thinking and stop crying.”
She brushes my cheek. “I’m glad.”
I stop her as she’s crossing the threshold. “Wait. One thing I forgot. Why did you give me that ticket to the gala? I know Devlin didn’t want you to.”
“Oh that?” Her smile is pure sugar. “That was just me being hopeful.”
I spend the next hour doing exactly what I told Tamra—thinking.
And I keep coming back to the same bottom line—whether Peter was vile or not, Alex still killed him. Nineteen years old and beholden to the biggest crime lord working in those days, and not just by virtue of a criminal brotherhood. No, they were bound by blood.
But even then, it wasn’t enough to spur Alex to pull that trigger. He only did that to avenge me. Because he believed that Uncle Peter killed my father. Maybe even to protect me if Tamra’s right and he believed that his father would punish disobedience by killing me.
Does that matter? Should it matter?
Legally, no. But in my heart?
I draw my fingers through my greasy hair. Maybe it damns me. Maybe it means I’m not my father’s daughter. Maybe it means I’m a goddamn fool. But, yes, it matters.
Because what it means is that Alex loved me. Deeply. Dangerously.
That he was willing to do whatever it took to protect me, just like he’s told me so many times. To clear a path for me in a dangerous world even if it meant that he had to run afterwards, from me and from his father.
Alex justified the kill because he loved me. And he left for the same reason, because he had to protect me.
The only question left is what to do about Devlin, the man born of the boy. A man who loves me, too.
I know he does because he called me El at the racetrack and again when he came to Brandy’s house. And I know how deep that love goes because once again he’s willing to walk away because he believes that will keep me safe.
And then there’s the most important thing of all—I love him, too. I never stopped loving him.
But is that enough?
My phone rings, and I snatch it up, irritated when I see that the caller is Roger—and realize I’d been hoping for Devlin.
“I’ve been expecting your call,” he says. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m not,” I say, without hesitating. And that’s the moment I realize I’ve made my decision. I’m choosing Devlin.
I’m choosing love.
“Listen, I have to go. If you have to fire me, I’ll deal, but I’d rather work from LA. But we’ll have to talk later, because right now, there’s somewhere else I need to be.”
And then, without waiting for him to answer, I end the call.
It’s time to go see Devlin.
But first, I really need to shower.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I go first to his office, but when I ask to see him, it’s Tracy who comes down.
“I’m really sorry. He says to tell you he’s unavailable.”
I swallow, then nod. I’m not too surprised. He said his piece, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s over.
But he’s wrong.
“Can I talk to Tamra for a minute? Or Anna?”
She grimaces. “They’re both in Vegas. He sent them this morning to cover a meeting.” Her brow furrows, and she pulls me away from the reception desk. “I don’t know what’s going on. Normally, I’d think he was sick because, honestly, he doesn’t look good. But with that stuff in the papers about you two…”
She trails off, looking awkward. “Well, it’s none of my business, but I’m sorry he won’t talk to you. My guess is that he probably should. And I hope you guys can work it out.”
“Thanks,” I say. I don’t tell her that I’m determined that we will.
Since he won’t see me at work, he’s going to have to see me at his house. It’s presumptuous and bold and technically illegal, but these are desperate times, after all.
I make a few stops, first. The fact that he won’t see me at the office drives home how hard it’s going to be to convince him. But I’m going balls-out on this one, and if that means playing dirty, then that’s what I’m going to do.
Except Devlin has apparently
anticipated me, because he’s changed the key code, a little fact that pisses me off, but at the same time gives me hope. Because there’s no reason in the world to change it unless he thinks I’ll come by. And the only reason he would think I’d come by is if some tiny part of him knows that I can forgive him.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
I consider simply camping on his doorstep, but I have a feeling that if he drives up and sees me, that he’ll just drive off again.
Which means I have only one option, and I hope that it will work. I pull out my phone, find Tamra’s number, and hope that it doesn’t go to voicemail.
“Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?”
I sag with relief. “If you help me, I will be.” I hesitate, knowing I’m asking a lot. If he finds out—and of course he’ll find out—he could fire her. “He changed the code to his house. Can you give me the new one?”
I can practically hear her grin when she replies. “Ellie, I was hoping you’d ask.”
I tap it into my phone, thank her, then turn to the lock. Five-twelve-twelve-nine-five.
The lock whirs, and I sigh with relief, then step inside. I close the door behind me, then lean against the wood. It’s only a first step, but it feels so important.
Now, though, the work begins.
I take a step toward the living room, then pause, the numbers running through my head again. There’s something familiar about them. About the pattern. I try to think where I’ve seen it before, but nothing comes to mind, and I shake it off as I continue toward his living room, my overstuffed shopping bag in my hand.
I’m heading to the bedroom, because I know what I need to do. How to prove to him that I understand what being with him means, that I forgive him for Uncle Peter, and that I’m going to convince him to forgive himself.
Most of all, I’m going to tell him that I love him. And prove that I trust him.
And the first thing I intend to do is recreate the scene I’d set before the world spun out of control. Which is why I’ve bought all new candles to put around the room, along with a few other treats.
But when I reach his bedroom, I stop dead, not sure whether to laugh or to cry.
The room is exactly how I left it. Candles on every surface. Burned down a bit, yes, but still there. And the rose petals I’d scattered on the bedspread are undisturbed.
My heart flips, but it takes a moment for me to fully understand what this means. That he wants this too. That he’s not as closed off from me as he wants me to believe.
That there is, at the very least, a tiny crack through which I can slide to get into his thick skull that the only way to protect me is to be with me. Because if he’s not, I will surely die of a broken heart.
I wonder where he’s been sleeping if not in his bed, but that question is answered quickly enough when I go to the room where he’d put me up the night I learned about The Wolf. The sheets are mussed and there’s a book by the bed. He’s been sleeping here, and I wonder if it’s simply out of necessity or if that room reminds him of me.
I hope it’s the latter, and as I put my bag down, intending to change my clothes for tonight, I realize that I’m right. Of course it’s about me. Just like the candles are. Just like the key code is.
Five-twelve-twelve-nine-five. The letters of the alphabet. E. L. L. I. E.
My knees go weak and I sink to the floor. He wants me. Hell, he always has.
I only hope I’m strong enough to convince him that I still want him, too.
I’m on the sofa when I hear the beep of the key code. I’ve changed into a cute little wrap-around dress and my favorite designer heels—a pair of pink Manolo sandals that I bought for my interview with Roger over three years ago. I got the internship, and now I wear my lucky Manolos whenever the situation warrants.
Tonight, I figure I need all the luck I can get.
I stay seated, trying to look casual, but I’m pretty certain he’ll hear the pounding of my heart.
I hear the door open, then close, then his footsteps in the hallway. I swallow, my body going tense. I have absolutely no idea how he’s going to react when he sees me, and the best that I can do is hope that he doesn’t pick me up bodily and toss me out. Because God knows I’m no physical match for this man.
And then there he is, standing in the hallway, his hair gleaming in the light from the dim overhead fixture. He stands tall, his face emotionless. It’s the posture and expression of a man used to dealing with the public even when he wants to do nothing but disappear. It’s poise and control, but I see under the surface. I see him, and in that moment, I realize, I always have. There’s still Alex in him, just as there was a bit of Devlin in the boy I used to know. None of that matters now, though. He’s the man he is, and that’s the only thing that counts.
Because he’s the man I want.
I stand up, then move around the couch to him.
“El,” he whispers, his voice laced with the tiniest hope. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t be stupid, Saint. You know why I’m here.”
For a moment, that hope flares, only to fade again. “You don’t want me, Ellie. I’m not a good man. I’ve done things. So many things. Some I regret. But others…” He trails off with a shake of his head. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”
“I know that you thought your father would punish you if you didn’t kill Peter. He’d have me killed, right? To teach you a lesson?”
He drags his fingers through his hair. “Tamra told you.”
“Don’t be mad at her. She only did it because she knows I love you.”
He looks at me, his gaze sharp.
“Yeah, you heard me. I love you.” The words come so easily, not scary in the slightest. “I always have. Don’t you get that? I love you, and the rest of it doesn’t matter.”
“But it does. There will always be secrets between us. Things I’m not willing to talk about. Not ever.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “You should have stayed away. I’m a dangerous bet.”
I swallow, my head tilted back to meet his eyes. “Did you mean what you said before? That you would never hurt me? That you’ll always protect me?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then believe me when I say that I will always trust you.” I move closer, but he still doesn’t touch me. “Who doesn’t have secrets? And besides, I thrive on danger, remember?”
That earns me the hint of a grin, and I’m so joyous at the reaction you’d think I’d just won the lottery.
“I trust you, Devlin. More than that, I need you.” I lick my lips, then swallow. “And you were right.”
He cocks his head. “About?”
“That it’s not control I need. It’s surrender.” I draw a breath and meet his eyes. “But you need the control, don’t you? Because for so long you were at your father’s mercy. It’s why you do what you do.”
His laugh is raw. “Well, you’re right about that. More than you know.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but right now, it doesn’t matter.
I take one more step, so close that I can feel his breath and the air between our bodies seems to shimmer. I untie the sash on my dress, opening it to reveal a lacy bra and very tiny panties. I let it slide off my shoulders, then fall to the ground behind me.
“Ellie…”
I shiver from the heat in his voice, my nipples going hard against the lace. “Remember what you wanted at the track? Take me like that now.”
I slide closer, then pull his hands to my breasts. “Tie me up. Bind me. Use me however you want to and for as long as you need to get it through your head that I’m yours. I always have been. And if you want to get rid of me, you’re going to have to fight harder than you ever have in your life, because I’m not going willingly. Instead, I’m surrendering, but only to you. Because you’re the only one I trust to pull me back out again.”
“Trust,” he repeats, an ironic edge to his voice. “El, I—”
“H
ush.” I take his hand and tug him to the bedroom. I’ve already lit the candles, and when I open the door, I hear his sharp intake of breath. The room is aglow from the light of dozens of flickering flames. I leave him there, then crawl onto the bed in bra, panties, and my pink Manolos.
I’ve threaded a rope through the headboard so that it emerges on either side, a slipknot at each end. I lay back, put my wrists into the loops, then tug sharply, forcing the knots to tighten at my wrists. Then I flash him my most innocent smile. “You could untie me. Or you could take advantage of the situation.”
I know I’ve won when I see his lips twitch. “I’ve never been one to close my eyes when opportunity knocks,” he says, letting his eyes roam slowly over me. “And right now, opportunity is pounding at the door.”
I lick my lips, but don’t say anything.
He comes to the foot of the bed, then leans forward, still in the tailored suit he wore to the office. He puts his hands on my thighs and slides them down to my ankles, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his hands upon me, only to open them again when he breaks the contact.
He takes off his jacket, then tosses it over the back of a nearby chair. His tie comes next, and then the button at his collar. I expect him to continue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he meets my eyes. “Spread your legs.”
That’s all he says, but it’s enough to make my entire body tighten with longing. I’m wet, I know I am, and I know he can see how soaked my panties are, especially when his heated glance at my core is ratcheting my own desire up higher and higher.
“You like that,” he says, moving onto the bed. He kisses the back of my knee, his hands stroking up my thighs like an advance team. “You like being open for me. Being on display.”
I want to deny it, but how the hell can I? I never knew before what a turn-on it is to be watched—at least when the person watching is exactly who you want.
He inches closer, then teases his finger along the elastic band that separates my thigh from my pussy. I bite my lower lip and squirm a bit, anticipating the moment when his finger dips under.
Except it doesn’t come. Instead, he strokes his fingers lightly on the outside of the thin cotton. It’s a delicious sensation, but not nearly enough. “Please,” I murmur. “Devlin, please.”