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His words landed with the subtlety of a grenade, the room going still; the air sucked out. Mother’s whimper cut deep, betrayal oozing from her like blood from a wound.
A laugh, dark and jagged, clawed its way out of me. “Oh yeah? Well, I know for a fact it’s the worst fuck of his life then.”
Blood pulsed as I descended the stairs back to the main area. The world fell away, leaving only the hammering of my heart and the image of Darius seared into my thoughts. The crowd hushed, clinging to every word from the speaker’s lips, but I couldn’t care less.
My eyes found Darius instantly. Perched against a wall, the very picture of nonchalance with a cocktail cradled in his grasp. Dark hair, those fucking hazel eyes that always saw right through me, tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeve like a promise of the sin hidden underneath. For a heartbeat, he stood unaware, a dark angel amidst the sea of pretentious assholes. Then his gaze slid my way, catching mine—a silent storm raging between us. I extended a hand, a lifeline.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said, pulling him towards the door, the exit, freedom.
“Wes?” he asked, urgency in his voice. “What the fuck happened?”
“Get in,” was all I managed, nodding towards the open door of the sleek black car, the beast that would carry us away from this mess.
Darius downed his drink—liquid courage or maybe just defiance—and with a careless flick, sent the glass spinning into the night. It landed on the driveway, a silent rebellion against the world we were leaving behind. As he slid into the car’s dark interior, I followed, slamming the door behind us with an echo of finality.
“Wes?” he asked again, a tremor in his voice this time.
I turned to him, his hazel eyes catching mine in the dim light, raw and searching. “I love you,” I said, the words tearing from some untamed part of me. “Do you love me?”
There was no going back now.
The words nearly knocked him cold. He searched my face, a desperate attempt to make sure the words I said were real.
“Darius, do you love me?”
His voice broke. “Fuck. Yeah. I fucking love you.”
Something else tittered on his lips, but I stole them before he had a chance to speak. I kissed him harder than I ever had before, a kiss to seal our fate, to brand him mine.
“Then that’s all that matters,” I said, breaking the kiss. “1500 North Lakeshore. Drive.” The address spilled from me like a prayer as I commanded the driver and the vehicle surged forward.
Silence stretched between us, taut and charged. Darius’s hand landed on my thigh, the heat seeping through the fabric. Possessive. Promising. “What now?”
“We live. You and me.” It was a vow, a verdict against the world. And then my mouth was on his again, a collision of need and urgency, tasting rebellion and freedom.
Epilogue| Darius
A Few Weeks Later
Ilounged on the couch, legs sprawled out, my gaze fixed on Weston. The bastard was on his knees, jeans molding to his body as if they were painted on, and the way that fitted tee hugged his frame had me swallowing hard. Fucking hell, who knew Mr. High-and-Mighty could handle tools with such ease?
“Never pegged you for the handy type,” I said. “Thought the only thing you ever gripped was a pen and paper.”
Weston’s head snapped up, his blue eyes slicing through me. He arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And here I thought you only knew how to use that smart mouth of yours to spit out ‘fuck you.’”
I chuckled, low and throaty. The sight of him working with his hands, assembling something as mundane as a table, did things to my insides no dirty talk ever could. It was raw and real, and it turned me on more than I cared to admit.
“Keep it up, and I might show you a few other uses for my mouth,” I shot back, the words dripping with innuendo.
Weston’s laughter filled the room, a deep sound that rumbled through my core. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Depends on how good you are with that drill.” My lips curled into a wolfish grin, imagining all the ways I could put him to the test.
I didn’t do tame— not in life, and definitely not in bed. But watching Weston, this man who’d spent his life playing by rules he didn’t even believe in, getting his hands dirty…it sparked a flame inside me.
“Got more skills than you think,” he said, tightening a screw before standing back to admire his handiwork.
“Is that so?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, anticipation coiling tight in my gut. “Guess I’ll have to find out.”
