Anteros devoured Frankie. Kissing. Sucking. Stealing. He swallowed the life force from her, claiming it as his. The Catacombs had been a trap; he’d lost soldiers, the upper hand—the recovery from this misstep would be fucking brutal. But there would be one goddamn victory: Frankie. Too fucking long he’d gone without the taste of her on his tongue.

“What are you doing?” she asked again through breaks in his kisses. He released his grip on her wrists, smoothed his hands over her breasts, waist—determined to completely envelope himself in her flavor, her scent.

“No talking,” he said gruffly. Even in the darkness, Frankie was stunning. Her blue eyes shone and her red lips were juicier than an apple.

“Because we were never much good at talking?” She mimicked the words that had put a chasm between them. If he’d known it would have meant so long without Frankie, he never would have said them. Fuck safety. Fuck Crazy A. Fuck everything. He needed his fix.

“Because I’ve missed you more than I can breathe and if I don’t get inside you soon I’m going to take you right now in this fucking hallway.” Before she could respond, Anteros picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and took her down to where they’d blown a hole in the wall. The walls were crumbling as if they were made of graham cracker.

He ducked through, watching Frankie’s head, and thrust her down in the old subway tunnel. Her chest slid down his and she still grasped his shirt when her feet hit the floor. That simple touch ignited a fire in his body.

“Wow,” she gasped, eyes wandering the tunnel. “What is this place?” The original City Hall subway station had been sealed up years before, but everything was more or less intact, the beautiful emerald green and ivory patterned tile work and art deco glass ceiling frozen in time.

“Subway,” Anteros grunted. He was more caveman than man at that point, and he didn’t feel like getting into a history lesson.

“Wait—” She pushed against him. “We can’t do this now, Anteros, not here.” As she protested, she reached for him. “There are too many people. We’ll get caught.”

“Say my name again,” he demanded, pushing the hair from her eyes. Frankie blinked, but acquiesced.

“Anteros.” Her voice was low, breathy—fucking musical—and he was unable to resist the muscles that lifted his cheek when his name fell from her lips. He pulled her in for a kiss before she could say another word. She was right—they didn’t have much time. All the fighting had moved upstairs, but that was only a strategic push so they could fall back.

From the moment they’d blown open the wall it had been clear it was a trap. The map Levi’s source had given them was shit. Nikolai had even double-checked the blueprints, but something had gone wrong somewhere down the line. The Catacombs were clearly not what they’d thought. This was Lucia’s fucking club, and Lucia had been waiting for them.

When they realized, the strategy shifted from offense to do as much damage as possible and get the fuck out, but Anteros didn’t want to think about that because even if he wasn’t going to gain an upper hand in the war that day, he’d at least gotten something.

Frankie.

For weeks she’d been punishing him, teasing him, torturing him. That was finally going to end.

* * *

Anteros kissed Frankie again, and this time she didn’t object. One hand wove into his hair, tugging on the strands; the other raked nails down his shoulder. When he pulled back to breathe she followed him, lips going to his jaw and neck, biting on the cords of muscle.

He pressed her against the tunnel wall, bracketing her, keeping her still, but she squirmed underneath him.

“Poor girl,” he rumbled. “You’ve been starving, haven’t you?” When she didn’t respond, he tangled his fist in her hair and tugged her head back. What little light broke through glittered across her skin in ripples. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he growled, and she nodded. “Say it.” He tightened his grip and her eyes widened before drooping to half-mast.

“I want you to fuck me.” She angled her chin up, trying to reach his lips. “Please, I need you.”

“So polite.” He plunged his tongue into her mouth. “Such a good girl.” He separated her thighs with his knee. “But you’ve been bad, haven’t you?” Anteros drew back, grip still tight in her hair, waiting for the reply.

Frankie ignored him, sliding her hands to his neck, trying to bring him back into a kiss. In response, Anteros slapped her, free hand colliding with her soft, honey cheek. She gasped but arched into the touch, fingers at his neck groping the flesh fervently. A sigh escaped her parted lips and a small smile tilted them. Her cheek was flushed red—marked by him—and it drove Anteros fucking wild, but she still hadn’t answered his question.

“Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she moaned, eyes hazy with lust like fog along the horizon just before sunrise. He ran a finger along her neck, across skin someone else had sucked, and it rose up to meet him.

“You wanted me to be jealous,” he said, and she tried to shake her head in his hold. Anteros quirked a brow. “Then what?” He placed a palm at her throat.

“I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered, blue eyes shining at him, bright even in the dark. “Like you hurt me.” He tightened the grip on her throat, bending down to whisper in her ear.

“Smart girl. I can’t be jealous when something belongs to me entirely.” He loosened his hold and she drank the air in big breaths. Keeping her hair tangled in his fist, he slid his other hand down the front of her. Brushing over her tits, spreading across her stomach until he reached the seam of her pants. He forced her to kiss him as he tugged her jeans past her ass and she hungrily accepted him. He plunged two fingers inside her seconds later and she arched for him, made small, whimpering noises from the back of her throat.

“I know that sound,” he said, biting her bottom lip.

“Please,” Frankie begged. “Let me come, please.”

“It’s too late for begging,” he said as her nails raked from his neck to his shoulders. “You’ve been bad, Frankie. Disobedient. Teasing me. Provoking me. What did you think would happen?” He lightly trailed the fingers in her hair down her spine and she bent to the touch. “What did you want to happen?”

“Fucking do it,” she groaned, riding him, trying to get the orgasm. Anteros slapped her again and she moaned, nails pricking his shoulders. His hand went back to her hair, knotted it, and pulled her viciously back so he could bite her throat.

“Don’t fucking talk to me that way,” he snarled. “I’m not yours to order around. Understand?” She moaned a loud, frustrated, completely addicting sound. His words were a lie. He was hers to control, to own. Whatever the fuck she wanted, he would do, so long as he could hear that moan.

“Tell me what you want,” he barked.

“You,” she said on a breath.

“Where.”

“Inside,” she groaned, and it echoed down the tunnel.

“Boss is probably cleaning up shop downstairs.” The unmistakable voice of Pretty Boy drifted down the stairs. They froze, and then Anteros pulled her under his chin. In that position she felt safer to him, protected under his arms.

It was a false security.

But it was better than nothing.

“We don’t have long until the second wave gets here.”

Frankie gripped his biceps and Anteros looked at the top of her head. He wanted to tell her she was safe, that he would protect her from anything, but he couldn’t. If they were caught, she would die.

“I’ll go find Crazy A,” Little O said.

“I’ll find Levi. Don’t know where that fucker went,” Pretty Boy said.

“Maybe he’s dead.”

Frankie struggled to get away, but Anteros solidified his grip, caging her with his body. He wasn’t through with her—the torment that had been ripping him apart for weeks was finally gone. She settled, but her nails pricked blood from his skin.

“Assnugget deserves it for serving us a steaming pile of shit for intel…” Pretty Boy’s voice faded away as he walked somewhere out of earshot. When silence settled for more than a few seconds, Frankie struggled against him again.

“You need to go.” She pushed him. “I need to go. They can’t see…see this!” She gestured to how they were. Her jeans were past her ass, pussy exposed. Her shirt had ridden up to show her stomach, and if he had it his way, he would take it all off.

“But you need to come, Frankie.” He dipped down to whisper against her ear, simultaneously pressing a finger against her slit. “You were begging me just moments ago. Are you finished?” With two fingers he spread her then thrust into her with three before she could say another word.

She sighed. “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Should I stop?” he asked, eyes locked onto hers as he pumped into her. She squirmed in his palm, trying to get him deeper.

“We’ll get caught,” she whimpered, but when he removed his fingers, she made a small noise of disappointment. Quickly he spun her around and pressed her against the tiled subway wall. She was a goddamn drug. He would never get enough of her, even when they were at fucking war. He placed a palm on the wall just above her head, steadying himself, and quickly undid his fly.

“You decide how long this lasts, Frankie.” Anteros raised her ass in the air, palmed her cunt, spread her. “I don’t give a shit who’s upstairs because I’m not stopping until you can’t stand.”

With one arm, Frankie reached up and gripped his bicep, holding on.

“Please stop teasing me,” she groaned, head down, hair a cascade of curls.

Anteros thrust into her without another word. The sensation was lightning. It tore through his body as fire and combusted when she cried out. The danger of his Wolves and soldiers approaching was an urgency beating inside him, but Frankie still hadn’t come yet.

Then when he was sure they were damned, small, whimpering cries fell from her mouth. Pulsing gripped his dick—that fucking magical, utterly Frankie feeling. Her nails dug deeper into his bicep, her head fell completely forward in a long moan, and she came.

* * *

As the final pulses of her orgasm ended, Frankie frantically attempted to peel herself off the wall, afraid they would get caught.

“I’m not through with you, Frankie,” Anteros said, turning her back around. He touched her cunt, still wet with him and sensitive from the orgasm.

“We can’t,” she said, but she curled her arms around his neck, begging for more. He slid a finger inside her and fucked her again, the sound of his sperm inside her slick and maddening.

“It’s been too goddamn long since I tasted you,” he groaned. “Since I felt you curl around my tongue.” She sighed and he felt her constrict around his finger. “Fuck, Frankie. You’re going to get us killed.” But he pulled out because they’d already pushed it.

“Don’t go,” Frankie said, tugging him back. A second later she added, “I mean…never mind. God, you have to go. I have to go.” She pulled away, trying to peel off his body, but he pushed her hard into the wall. Stone fell into her hair as he fucked her with his fingers.

“Come,” he said, thrusting deep inside.

“I can’t,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.” Her protests were weak, nails digging into his neck, eyes going cross-eyed and blurry like they did when she was on the brink.

“Give me one more before I go.” Anteros planted his lips on hers, sucking in her sighs as he curled his fingers deeper inside. When she opened her mouth to cry, he kissed her chin, trailing his teeth from her jaw to her collarbone.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Good girl.” He tore her shirt aside so he could get one brief taste of her tit. She arched into him as his tongue met her nipple. Her nails dug into his skin and he was glad for it; each tear in his flesh recorded her passion. And with the fighting, no one would question them. She shuddered wet and hot against him then stilled.

“You’re fucking perfect when you come, mio cuore,” he groaned against her chest before untangling himself. He bent down and pulled her jeans back up, buttoned them. When he stood back up, the air stilled. Frankie’s brow crinkled in unsaid words. She didn’t have to say anything; he knew them already by the brick in his chest.

Anteros pulled her to him, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to text you a time and a date and you’re going to meet me at our place. No fucking around. No telling me no.” She held his shirt, breathing unsteady. “Do you understand?”

She nodded then said, “You need to go. Really, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Anteros responded. “There are leaks all over my fucking camp.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Frankie pressed her head against his chest. “I’m…” She didn’t finish, just burrowed her forehead deeper into his chest.

He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Don’t apologize for something you have no fault in.” Pained wrinkles marred her forehead and she turned away. Gripping her face again, Anteros kissed her until noises near the stairs broke them apart. “Go,” he said forcefully as he pushed her away.

She held on to him. “I can’t. I can’t go back. I can’t leave you. I can’t keep doing this. Tell me you feel it. Tell me it hurts you too.” Anteros knew what she was talking about—the pull, the cruel, divine wire that bound them irrevocably.

“Saremo insieme, il mio cuore.” He kept his lips close to her ear, even after he’d finished talking, and she held his shirt, breathing unsteady.

Slowly Anteros peeled her off. She was frightened, unsure where to go as his men fell back, so he pointed to a curtained off area. “Don’t make a sound and no one is going to look for you.”

He kissed her fiercely one last time then pushed her in the direction of the curtains. The fabric had barely fluttered shut when the Wolves plus Levi and whatever soldiers had survived came down.

“Cutting it pretty fucking close,” Anteros said. “Second wave will be here any minute.”

* * *

Some time later, they neared the entrance to the subway. It was almost entirely dark, only an occasional burst of light stuttered along the tile. It was warm and muggy too, like after a fresh summer storm, and there was a constant drip of water. Anteros rubbed his lower lip, still raw from how Frankie had bitten and kissed him.

“That was a giant clusterfuck,” Pretty Boy said, rubbing his neck. His arm was bleeding, but not too badly, and irritation etched his cheeks. All five of them—Anteros, the Wolves, Levi—plodded along to their destination, feet splashing in an inch of water. Any soldiers left alive had crawled up various manholes, dispersing into the streets.

“It was a trap,” Crazy A said. “A well planted one.” Lucia’s reinforcements were a hollow echo down the tunnel, an angry beast moaning its rage and confirming too well what Crazy A said. The entire thing had been a trap. Someone—the fucking leak—had tipped Lucia off, but at least they’d made the best of it. They’d put a dent in Lucia’s soldiers.

“We’re nearing the end,” Levi said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the tunnel.

“You shut the fuck up,” Little O spat. “We’ve heard enough from you for a while.” Levi raised his hands in surrender.

The Wolves argued all the way back to the office, but Anteros was quiet. Frankie’s lips, the taste, her skin against his fingertips—it was all he could think about. He couldn’t go a week without her again. Even if planning this clusterfuck had been a distraction, it wasn’t distracting enough.

“This is bullshit. It’s probably Levi who’s the leak,” Little O grumbled when they got inside the office. He paced around the room, running a hand through his hair. “This fuck shows up out of the blue and we just trust his intel? He wasn’t badly injured. He could have come to this meeting.”

Taking a seat behind the desk, Anteros studied Little O. The man had been unraveling since his twin’s death. Levi hadn’t been working for them when Frankie had been his slave, so it was impossible for him to be the leak.

“We just met him,” Crazy A said, echoing Anteros’s thoughts. “He couldn’t have helped the slave escape.”

“Plus Levi saved the Boss from that goddamn car bomb,” Pretty Boy said. “And made sure his ass was covered when we discovered it was a trap today. He seems pretty fucking intent on keeping the Boss alive. Why the fuck would he do that if he wanted him dead? Also his leg was oozing when we left him. It was fucking disgusting. I don’t want that shit in here, on my nice, new leather couch.” Pretty Boy took a seat and rubbed the quilted leather for emphasis.

“Well his man bun sucks ass.” Little O flung a frustrated arm in the air, pacing the same line back and forth on the floor.

“Besides, we had Nikolai double check the maps,” Pretty Boy continued.

“Then maybe Nikolai is the fucking leak!” Little O exploded, face red. Anteros bent forward, putting together two fingers caked with blood. After double-checking the blueprints, Nikolai had been absent the past week, dealing with the Emilio problem.

Little O had said it in frustration, but…Anteros leaned back, resting the back of his skull in his palms. They weren’t getting any closer to figuring out who the leak was, and there weren’t many other options.

Suddenly the door opened and as if on cue, Nikolai entered. There was something in his hand that Anteros couldn’t see through Little O’s pacing, but it didn’t take long to find out what it was. Nikolai came right to him and threw it on his desk.

Emilio’s head.

This was good news. Anteros was closer to razing the Pavoni Family and all who stood in his way. After the close call at The Catacombs, however, the realities of what that meant for Frankie were like a knife in his side. As Anteros stared at the slack-jawed, glassy-eyed face of Emilio, he couldn’t help but see Frankie instead.

“You were saying?” Pretty Boy asked, indicating that Nikolai’s loyalty was without question. Anteros lifted his gaze from the severed head to see Little O huff and run a meaty hand through his hair.

“Well I still don’t like Levi,” he snapped. “And if this blond fucker didn’t do it, we still don’t have an answer to who is the fucking leak.” A fight broke out as Little O turned his ire to Nikolai and Pretty Boy tried to mediate. As Nikolai gestured with his hands, a glint on his wrist caught the light. He wore a shiny new watch, much too expensive for someone like Nikolai to afford.

Anteros studied the boy’s reddening face as he defended himself against Little O. After what happened on New Year’s, he was sure Nikolai wasn’t the leak. Stranger things had happened, though—like a Pavoni Princess.