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Removing any evidence of this girl from the outside world is one part of this plan. We need to make sure she doesn’t have anything or anyone to turn to. Her life belongs to us, and seeing the faces of all the other House members when we parade her in front of them as ours is going to be the sweetest kind of revenge for what her father did.
Thorne Calliano.
Raven Flannaghty.
Kyron Harris.
Three names that the unconscious girl with pastel purple hair and tattoos is going to have nightmares about for the rest of her life.
Reaching up, I adjust the rearview mirror slightly to look at Thorne. His dark brows are drawn tightly together, and his jaw is working as he glares at his phone.
Something happened with this girl. I can’t pick what it was, but he’s on edge in a way I haven’t seen before. It’s like he’s one second away from flinging himself out the door while we’re moving.
Which is precisely what he does before we’ve even come to a complete stop on the tarmac at the private airstrip. Both he and Ven are on the move, and I quickly insert myself into the role of handling the girl. I unbuckle her and toss her limp form over my shoulder before boarding the jet. Behind us, the others move with the fluidity of having worked alongside one another in times of urgency—times just like this—for years. It takes us a matter of seconds, rather than minutes, to be securely onboard and ready to depart.
Over my shoulder, as I enter the darkly furnished cabin, I can hear Thorne confirming details with our pilot, and Ven is securing the door. We don’t have crew; we don’t need shit like that. In our world, the less people who know our movements and catch a glimpse of our secrets, the better.
The girl’s breathing is shallow, and she doesn’t stir, even as I buckle her into the large leather chair. Her lilac hair stands out vividly against the charcoal interior. Black on black to match our souls.
This creature has got me lingering—hovering as I catalog as many tiny details as possible—using the excuse of securing her lap belt as my reason to stay here, taking a deep lungful of the coconutty scent of her shampoo and the wisp of jasmine fragrance she’s applied to her collarbone. Things I only caught a brief glimpse at earlier peek out at me, like the fact she has a delicate silver ring in her left nostril.
I’d have to be dead not to notice how fucking stunning this girl is.
Wrapping one hand around her ankle, I use the other to flick her heels off. Less chance of her using them as a weapon in the unlikely event she wakes up early. Considering the dosage Ven cooked up for her, she’s going to be in dreamland for a long time.
But I can’t stay here like this. Not with her.
“Ky.” Thorne barks my name. As if that fucker always seems to have a sixth sense for when my dick is thinking for me.
The salacious grin I throw over my shoulder is my best effort at telling him to relax. Something that comes about as naturally to the Calliano brothers as shoving your hand in a viper’s nest.
“Just checking her…you know…in case she’s packing any concealed weapons or devices we should be concerned about.” I tease.
What I want to do while she’s unconscious and what I should do are two very different things. So, instead, I straighten up and toss her clutch at Ven while I move around to take my place in the seat beside him. Across the table from us, Thorne has already shed his suit jacket, piling it onto the empty chair beside him in a crumpled heap. His top collar buttons have been loosened a little further, and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows in record time.
Ven, of course, is as dark and brooding and hot as ever.
Whatever it is that we are to one another…we’ve been that way for years now.
He’s morphed from being a stray wolf, all snarls and razor-sharp teeth, to now being more of a feral creature. But I still lose him regularly to the night and his demons.
We fuck. We stick by one another. In Ven’s world, that’s about as intimate as he gets.
I’m not one for putting labels on things, and neither is he.
He’s a tightly bound tomb of mysteries, this man. I haven’t seen him look at the girl once, but that doesn’t mean shit. We’ve shared plenty of pussy between the two of us when the mood strikes at Noire House, and I know underneath his indifferent-asshole exterior, he loves a luscious pair of tits and a rounded ass like she’s got going on.
He’d rather stab me than admit that out loud, but I probably know him better than he’s willing to know himself.
Pain wears a thousand different masks, and Ven conceals his with deadly precision. The kind that he keeps hidden while in the ring, coated in blood and bruises.
I swirl my skull signet ring around my middle finger and allow my gaze to linger on Thorne. “I still think you didn’t need to go to the lengths of getting a fucking tattoo.” He’s been cagey as fuck about that part of his plan.
Safeguarding his secrets as always.
“It had to be done.”
“You could have drugged her right from the start.” I’m pushing, waiting for the inevitable moment he’ll give me a withering look and rise to my challenge. I’m eager, as always, for the moments he fights back.
