thirteen
The alarm continues to sound, a constant buzzing contained to this room. “Does that mean someone’s breaking into the castle?” I ask as Kayden yanks his shirt over his head and I scramble to the ground to snatch up my own and slip it on, reminded I have no buttons or panties.
“They aren’t inside yet,” he says, grabbing his black lace-up boots and walking to the fireplace, where he punches a button by the mantel. To my shock, a panel beside it opens. He disappears inside and the alarm stops, assumedly by his hand. I quickly follow, entering what appears to be a surveillance room, to find him sitting at a long, built-in desk in front of a row of monitors showing various parts of the castle.
He curses and scrubs his jaw, his urgency turning to agitation.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
He indicates a monitor showing a woman hunched over by the front door. “It’s Adriel’s sister, Giada. She appears to be at the front door of the west tower, throwing up, when her passcode is for the east tower.” Relief washes over me that it’s nothing more serious. “Adriel’s off with some woman tonight, so she clearly didn’t want to call him. I told you. She’s a mess.” He stands. “I need to go get her.”
“Should I come? Maybe a woman can help?”
“She doesn’t know you and she’s prone to outbursts, so stay put.” He grabs me and pulls me to him. “And be naked when I get back.” He kisses me, hard and fast. “Understand?”
I smile, pleased that he wants me to stay. “Yes. Understood.”
His lips curve. “Good.” He releases me and exits the security room, and I claim the seat in front of the panel to discover Giada sitting with her knees at her chest, rocking back and forth. My heart aches for this young woman so obviously heartbroken; she really is “messed up,” as Kayden had called her. The bedroom door opens and shuts, signaling Kayden’s departure. I glance at the various views of the castle and back to Giada, and immediately get to my feet at the sight of a man rushing toward her.
“Gallo,” I whisper in shock. I yank my shirt together and dart across the bedroom. I pull open the door and start yelling, “Kayden! Kayden!” I’m at the top of the stairs, looking down over the railing, as he starts running back in my direction.
“Gallo is with Giada.”
He stops in place. “Holy fuck. What the hell is he doing here?” He points up at me. “Stay where you are.” He turns and takes off down the stairs and I stand there a minute in stunned disbelief. What the hell is Gallo doing here? And why am I standing here when I could be watching the action on the monitors? I take off running again, my feet brutalized by the cold, hard stone floor, but I don’t slow. Finally, I’m in the bedroom and back at the monitors, letting the shirt gape as I watch what is happening.
Giada is still on the ground, on her knees, and I watch Kayden reach the porch. She starts screaming at him, but Kayden doesn’t react, focusing solely on Gallo, the two men stepping toe-to-toe, looking like they are about to come to blows. I reach for the keypad to the MacBook connected to the cameras and try to figure out if I can get volume, with zero success. Gallo waves a hand at Giada and then points at Kayden, and I’ve heard enough of the war between these two men to know Gallo is blaming Kayden for the mess that Giada is in. I hold my breath, fearful of how this will end. While I am certain Kayden is a man of control, not easily rattled, I am equally certain this trait will infuriate Gallo and drive his actions to who knows where.
As if proving I am right, Gallo throws his hands in the air and starts walking away. Kayden watches him until he is long gone, only then focusing his attention on Giada, who either starts screaming at him again or never stopped. Thank goodness the place is too big for next-door neighbors to hear. Not even Marabella has surfaced with the disturbance, though I’m fairly certain that will change once they enter Giada’s tower. Kayden reaches for her and she starts kicking and punching him. Lord help that man, she is testing him, and still he doesn’t become rough with her. He patiently snags her arm, I’m guessing to wait for the effects of the alcohol to deplete her surprising supply of energy.
I stand up, wanting to go to him and help, but I know better. He’s right. She’s a mess and I very well might make it worse. Still, she is kicking the crap out of him and my fist goes to my mouth as I watch the hellish struggle he’s having with her, until finally, he’s had enough. He picks her up and throws her over his shoulder and enters the house. I switch to another screen to watch as she continues to punch at his back, brutalizing him as he punches in a code for the east tower, and the dungeon door seems to take forever to open. Apparently impatient—and who can blame him?—he ducks under it and I sit back down and wait, and wait some more, but he doesn’t exit. Activity appears on one of the monitors as Adriel’s Rolls-Royce pulls into the drive, and I’m wondering if Kayden called him on the way downstairs or if Adriel’s in for a fun surprise. Either way, I have a feeling Kayden isn’t going to be back anytime soon.
My mind goes to Gallo, who was surely watching the house, and I’m not sure if he’s protecting me or stalking me. I’m not even sure this is about me at all, but rather about hurting Kayden. His hyper-focus on either one or both of us scares me and, while I know he’s whatever Italy’s version of a detective is, something feels off. Very, very off. Kayden was worried about insiders working for Niccolo in the police department. Could Gallo be an insider? Surely not, or Kayden would be more worried about him. Still . . . maybe Kayden doesn’t want to freak me out, so he hasn’t expressed that concern.
I grab the pad and paper sitting on the desk and write Gallo on it. Then I underline it. I’m not sure why. I just need to make my mind work. Then I write Niccolo. I underline it as well and wait for either name to really mean anything to me, but they just don’t. Niccolo can’t be him. I don’t know his name or his image. I start writing again and the name I end up with on the page is David.
“David?” I whisper. “Who the heck is David?” Images start to flicker in my mind and I see myself standing in a hotel. I write down Hotel and underline it. It feels important. I’m in a hotel, and this David person is there. He’s tall, blond, refined, and good looking, but he’s not him. I write that down: Not Him. I shut my eyes. I see him and his face clearly. I’m yelling at him. “We were supposed to elope and we can’t even legally get married here.”
My eyes pop open. Elope? My hand goes to my throat. How many men were in my life? I didn’t even love that man. I force myself to think, closing my eyes again. We keep fighting, but this time I can’t hear the words we’re speaking. I just see and feel the anger between us, my hands swiping in the air, his jabbing at his hips. He takes a call, as though it’s more important than our conversation, and he ends the call and leaves. Just . . . leaves. My mind tracks forward in time, and I have a sense of hours having passed. I’m pacing the room and he hasn’t returned. Something isn’t right. He’s not who he says he is.
I open my eyes and write that down. Not who he says he is. I stare at the paper. “He wasn’t who he said he was,” I whisper, and one certainty comes to me. David is how I ended up turning to him for help. I went from one evil to another. David left me. He betrayed me, but I don’t know how or why. I blink, and I’m drawing another butterfly. Why am I drawing another butterfly? It’s ridiculous. No wonder my head is starting to hurt, an unwelcome reminder that I need to go to my room and get my pills.
I push to my feet, closing my shirt around me, and exit the security hideaway to enter the bedroom. Pausing in the archway, I stare at the room that is as masculine as the man who owns it, replaying the way he’d touched me. The way he’d kissed me. The way he is somehow demanding and controlling, and yet gentle, even tender. What he makes me feel is the polar opposite of what the man in my flashbacks does, to the point where I don’t know how I could have ever considered them to be the same. I’m not sure I really did. The two of them create intense feelings in me. But David? No. I don’t understand how I let him into my life.
My eyes catch on my hoodie and I pull it on, zipping it up to hold my shirt shut. Next come my slippers, and I hurry to the door, eager to take my medicine before I end up in troubled waters again. I hurry to the door and crack it open, listening for any activity, disappointed to find only the same old moans and creaks, now becoming as familiar to me as Kayden has always been.
I step into the hallway, the chill of the castle touching my bare legs, urging me to double-step toward my room. Once I’m inside, I rush to the bathroom and grab my purse, opening it and staring at that damn gun again. “Glock 41 Gen4,” I whisper. “My father’s favorite handgun.” My hand presses to my forehead. He loves guns. Or he loved guns. I don’t know which for sure. He was—is?—a gun enthusiast, of that I know, and he expected me to be as well. He made me go to the gun range. I have a momentary flashback of myself at a target range, and him yelling at me for my horrible shooting. He got angry when I couldn’t hit the targets. Very angry, and so I got very, very good with a gun. A wave of nausea rushes over me and I double over, grabbing the edge of the sink. I start breathing hard, sucking in air with effort.
Angry at my weakness, and for other reasons I don’t understand, I straighten and open a drawer, shoving the gun inside, sealing it away, out of sight and I hope out of mind. I grab the bottle of pills and open it, popping one in my mouth and cupping water in my hand from the sink to swallow it. Then I shove the bottle into my pocket and enter the bedroom, where I grab my journal from the nightstand. I open it and stare down at the butterfly. I shut it again and set it back on the nightstand, frustrated by the games my mind is playing with me. That’s when it hits me that I’ve left the folder I’m supposed to study in the kitchen. That’s what I can use to consume my mind while I await Kayden’s return.
I’m at the archway to the living room before I remember making the decision to even leave the bedroom, which is pretty darn scary, but I am here now, and I cross to the kitchen, not bothering to brighten the lights, actually welcoming the shadows that fit my mood. I head for the table where the folder should be and stop dead in my tracks at the outline of someone sitting at the opposite end.
“Ella,” Kayden says, and this time I swear my name on his lips is blood bleeding from those wounds I’d felt in him early tonight.
My fingers dig into the chair I’d held onto before dinner and it hits me that he might be here because I was in his room and he couldn’t go there. “I can go to my room.”
“Come here.”
It’s an order, not a question, his tone low and rough, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I don’t ask. I don’t care. I want to go to him and I do, rounding the table to join him. He pushes his chair back just enough to pull me in front of him, his hands branding my hips through the thin silk of my gown, my backside pressed to the table. He doesn’t look at me at first, but I feel him. Oh God, how I feel him. I am tingling all over, aware of this man in every part of me, in a way that reaches far beyond the physical. Finally, his head lifts and our gazes collide, cutting through the darkness and the connection we share, shaking me to the core, leaving me vulnerable and exposed, but not afraid as I am in my flashbacks.
I’m not sure who moves first, but our foreheads come together and we stay like that, just breathing together, every second driving the anticipation of what will come next. I cup his face and I know whatever was said to him downstairs affects him. “I don’t know what happened between you and Gallo, but you aren’t to blame for what’s happening to Giada.”
He leans back to look at me, and there are no shadows, no matter how deep or dark, that could hide the shame in his eyes. “This is my chapter of The Underground. I run it, as Kevin did before me. I am responsible for every person beneath me. I let her father take that job.”
“Did you believe he was in danger when you did, any more than you do with any other job?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Then you are not to blame.”
He sets me on top of the table, scooting his chair closer to me, and his head drops in front of me, blocking his emotions from my sight. “There are things you don’t know or understand.”
My fingers slide into his hair. “Make me understand.”
He looks at me. “I don’t want you to understand. Not now. Not ever.” He drags me onto his lap, my legs on either side of his hips, his hand cupping my head, his breath warm on my lips.
“Kayden—”
“No,” he says, his tone nonnegotiable, dragging my mouth to his, his tongue stroking against mine, ending the chance for words, but he lets me taste the answers he will not give me. The hate. His hate for himself in the here and now that I do not understand. I want to understand. But I am still new to him and he to me, and I can tell that questions are not what he needs from me now. I wrap my arms around his neck, and telling him I am his with my kiss, I hold on to him and refuse to let go, my actions echoing his earlier words to me.
He unzips my hoodie, his hands traveling up my waist, over the curve of my breasts, and my nipples tighten and ache with a soft brush of his fingers. He twirls them, his touch rough, arousing. Then his lips leave mine and he looks at me, letting me see what I have tasted, but he refuses to speak. In a blink, his expression has become guarded, the emotion banked deep in some part of him I know I will touch again tonight.
His hand slides to my back and he leans me toward the table, forcing me to catch myself on my elbows. He holds me there, his body cradling mine, his lips a breath from a touch. “I won’t let you fall.”
“I know,” I say, and I do now. Beyond time and reason, I trust this man.
His mouth brushes mine and then trails down my jaw, slowly teasing a path to my ear, where he whispers, “I’m not going to claim to own you the way he did.” He flattens his hands on my belly, possessiveness in the touch. “I’m just going to make you wish I did.”
My lips part with the erotic promise, and he is already kissing me, licking into my mouth, his tongue a sultry, seductive promise that he can make good on his vow. And while I do not wish anyone to own me again, I want what he offers in a way that defies reason.
He nips my lips and licks away the sweet ache, and somehow I feel that lick between my thighs where I am already wet and aching. His whiskers rasp on my cheek, down my neck to my shoulder, a wicked burn that is torment and pleasure at the same time. Like he is. His hands settle on my waist, lingering there, teasing me with all the places they could go, until finally he is caressing my body, up and down, a slow, sexy, torturous exploration.
He pinches my nipples again and he is not gentle, but I do not seem to want gentle. My sex clenches and my knees crush his hips. His lips curve to a small, satisfied smile that is wickedly sexy, and rawly male. He leans in and licks one of my throbbing nipples, sending a shiver down my spine, and I arch upward, the table biting into my elbows, but I do not care. He is sucking me, dragging deep on the knotted peak, and pleasure tingles through my nerve endings, my sex, forcing my legs to squeeze his hips again.
My arms tremble with my weight and he responds without me asking, moving closer and laying me on top of the table. My spine flattens on the hard surface and he lingers above me. “I want more.”
“More what?”
“Everything,” he says, his lips nuzzling my ear as he repeats, “Everything, Ella. Can I have it?”
The question affects me, but not as much as the way he waits, genuinely seeking my approval. He takes power but somehow gives it to me as well, and this is freedom to me, safety. Things I do not think I have often felt in my life. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”
He inhales as if my approval surprises and pleases him, as if it is a gift he relishes, not a property he owns. And it is then that I give myself the freedom to just let go, the muscles in my body easing in ways they hadn’t before. I do give him everything. His mouth caresses mine and he whispers, “That’s what I wanted,” as if he knows I’ve made that decision.
And already his lips are traveling down my neck, tongue flicking here and there, his hand caressing, squeezing my breast. He assaults my senses with pleasure, touching me, kissing me, driving away my memories and enemies. His whiskers rasp my belly, his lips pressing to the center, his tongue flickering into my navel, and I tremble with the silent promise it will soon be where I want it to be. His hand flattens over my sex, inches lower until he is flicking my clit, back and forth, back and forth.
He lifts my legs to his shoulders, spreading me wide, and I am vulnerably his, and aroused beyond belief. He lowers his head, his breath a warm tease on my sensitive places, and I grip the edge of the table, bracing myself for what is to come. He laps at my nub, the barely there touch, and I am breathing hard, wishing I could touch him, incapable of moving, and the muscles of my sex clench so tightly it hurts.
He licks my clit and I am both relieved and on edge in the same moment, ready for more, for that everything he has promised me. Another lick follows. Yes, please, more, I think, and as if he’s heard my silent plea, he gives it to me. His hands slide beneath my backside and he lifts me to his mouth, and it is nothing shy of sweet bliss when his mouth closes down around me. He sucks, drawing deeply on my sensitive flesh, lapping at me, licking me again in all the right ways and right places. I am panting and moaning, and I barely recognize the sounds as my own. Sensations ripple through me and when his fingers slide inside me, I am undone, tumbling into orgasm. The intensity jerks my body and I lose all time and space. It’s escape, sweet, blissful escape, and he keeps me there, slowly bringing me down, the licks of his tongue growing softer, slower. Until I am sated, limp, and he pulls me back onto his lap, my head resting on his shoulder, his hand flattening between my shoulder blades.
“Everything or nothing,” he whispers, and this time, I do not believe he is talking about orgasms and pleasure.
I lean back to look at him, and the idea of what we are becoming is a sweet seduction, threatened by the emptiness of my past. “What if everything is too much?”
He drags two fingers down my cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t have a ceiling. We’re going to find out if you do.”
He ends the conversation there, standing and lowering my legs to the ground, my feet settling there and my pill bottle tumbling from my pocket. Kayden reaches down and grabs it. “Maintenance, or are you hurting?”
“Just a little pain.”
He does not look pleased. “I pushed you too hard tonight.”
“No, I—”
He scoops me up and starts walking, the movement forcing my shirt and hoodie open, leaving me all but naked. I don’t fight it or him, though. There’s a message in the way he picks me up all the time, a part of him being the protector he has vowed to be so many times, to me. But I get it now. I’ve hit a nerve with Kayden. He doesn’t just want to protect me. He has to protect me. I’m not sure how to feel about that. What does that make me to him? What do I want to be to him?
We reach the hallway and I hold my breath to discover whether he goes left or right, and relief comes hard and fast as he turns toward his room. That is how much this man has slid under my skin. But knowing I could be some moral obligation terrifies me. He enters his room and goes straight to the bed, pulling back the blanket and setting me on the mattress. I climb underneath the covers, expecting him to undress and follow me. Instead, he stands above me and stares at me, and that wall he’s evoked between us in the past is here in the present. I can’t read him. I find myself holding my breath again, waiting, but for what I do not know. I’m blown away when he turns and walks away, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
I stare at the door. I seem to do a lot of that where Kayden’s concerned, and I’m more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.