Chapter 10 - The Fire and the Ashes
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was the desperate, starving collision of two people who had been circling each other in the dark for over a year.
Victor groaned into my mouth, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me flush against his hard frame, being careful of his wounded ribs even as his passion flared out of control. His lips were hot, demanding, tasting of smoke and fine whiskey, parting mine with an authority that left my head spinning.
My hands flew to his hair, my fingers tangling in the thick, dark locks, pulling him closer. Every sensible thought, every professional boundary, every defense mechanism I had built over twenty-nine years dissolved into ash.
He backed me against the heavy wooden mantle of the fireplace, his body pinning mine. His mouth moved from my lips to my jawline, down the sensitive column of my neck, making me gasp and arch into his touch.
“Harper,” he rasped against my skin, his voice thick with raw hunger. “Tell me to stop. Right now. Because if you don't, I won’t.”
“Don't stop,” I breathed, clutching his shoulders. “Don't you dare stop.”
Victor lifted his head, his gray eyes blazing with a feral, possessive fire. He reached down, his hands gathering the hem of my sweater, preparing to pull it over my head—
*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*
The high-pitched, piercing alarm of the perimeter defense system shattered the quiet house like a hammer through glass.
Victor froze.
The heat in the room vanished instantly, replaced by a blast of freezing reality. Victor stepped back, his eyes clearing in a fraction of a second, the lethal predator snapping back into place.
From the hallway, Marcus sprinted into the room, his tactical rifle raised.
“Boss! We have multiple vehicles approaching the east gate! Heavy armor, blackout lights. It’s Moretti’s primary hit squad!”
Victor didn't curse. He didn't panic. He pulled a sleek pistol from beneath the mantle, checked the magazine, and turned to look at me.
The intimacy of a moment ago was gone, replaced by the commander. But the look in his eyes wasn't cold—it was terrifyingly protective.
“Get Finn to the storm cellar beneath the kitchen,” Victor commanded, his voice steady as iron. “Lock the blast door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone. Not even me, unless you hear my code.”
“Victor, they found us!” I cried, panic clawing at my throat. “How did they find us?”
Victor’s jaw tightened into granite. “There’s a rat in my inner circle. And when I find them, I’ll feed them to the lake. Marcus! Cover the back entrance. We hold them at the tree line.”
“Victor, please!” I grabbed his arm, terrified that this would be the last time I ever saw him alive.
Victor looked down at my hand on his sleeve. Then, ignoring Marcus, ignoring the blaring alarms, he grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me in, and kissed me hard on the mouth—a brief, brutal brand of a kiss.
“Take care of our boy,” he whispered against my lips. “I’m coming back for you.”
May you like
He shoved me toward the stairs, raised his weapon, and strode out into the freezing night to meet the storm.
***