Page 6 of Bound

“And have returned with a criminal within an inch of INTERPOL’s watch list.”

“His name is Maximillian Brickham.” Now she was done trying to be civil, as well. “And if you call him a criminal one more time, I shall remind you of the truth by carving it across your testicles.”

She could have declared she was piloting the plane back to Paris and get a less stunned stare from Samsyn. Though he had always been more demonstrative than Ev or ’Raz, the reaction was more than she expected and doubly satisfying to savor.

Good thing she did, since the moment was over as soon as Brooke interceded again. “As a high-stakes interest holder in the future of those gonads, I’m calling recess on you both.” She clamped a hand over the ball of Syn’s shoulder. “Big Cimarron, it’s time for some rest.” And then over Jayd’s. “Little Cimarron, same for you.” Her gaze swung to Jag, Oz, and Requiemme. “And you three, as well—but Emme, only after the infirmary rechecks your knee. What the hell happened, anyway?”

Requiemme Farre, the lady’s maid brave enough to accompany Jayd on her quest to Paris, gave Brooke a jittery smile. “A long tale, Your Highness.”

A very long tale.

Four quick words that stood for eons of events and a thousand different meanings. Not even a week had passed since her life had been upended, but Jayd felt years older. Like she had returned home as a new person.

In many ways, she was.

In one important way, she definitely was.

But for now, that was her secret alone. No matter how badly she wanted to sit down with Emme or Jag, or maybe both, and confess about every beautiful, passionate moment she had shared with Brickham, her life was still perched on shifting sands. The man who had taken her to the stars was now riddled with bullets. He had followed her into a trap, yet her own brother was ready to lock him in the palais dungeons. He had saved her life, only to have his hunted by half the world.

And the bonsun responsible for all of it was still roaming free.

She had to fix this.

She would fix it.

She had no idea how, but she was positive about one place to start. Certainly not arguing with her brother in the middle of the Sancti tarmac. Wrong place, wrong time.

And in so many ways, the wrong brother.

After faking acquiescence with Brooke’s demand for detente with Syn, she waited until Emme was loaded into a non-emergency medical vehicle and then climbed into a smaller van with Jag and Oz.

Only then, alone in the car’s back row, did she finally slip out her phone. The battery indicator was reading red, but she prayed the power held out long enough for her text to reach Evrest.

Can we please talk? As soon as possible?

Chapter Two

Max Brickham rarely remembered his dreams. That was probably by choice, since most of them wound up being nightmares. As a result, he’d trained his mind to ditch its subconscious adventures the second he woke up.

But this slumber sojourn wasn’t going to go gently into the good night. Not by a fucking longshot.

He was holding Jayd Cimarron. The woman who, in the space of one night, had etched herself deeper into his psyche than any female with whom he’d tiptoed into more extended arrangements. By extended, he meant longer than a month. And arrangements were in the form of paper contracts with club submissives who understood he’d focus on them inside Bastille’s walls only. Seattle was a major city, but the kink world was a smaller universe inside it. Bleeding boundaries weren’t his thing.

He’d bled a lot for Jayd already. Outside and in.

And holy fuck, how he craved another hemorrhage.

So in his dream world, he clutched her too damn tight and too damn close. He kept doing it, even knowing they were about to say goodbye for once and for all. The wind was warm but sharp across Bourget’s tarmac, making her huddle closer against him. He gripped back, inhaling the mist and myrrh of her hair, the honey and amber of her skin.

Fuck.

He had to fight the pull of her. Needed to keep his shit together. He’d already been through this a thousand times. This was no different than muting his growling stomach while hiding from the Seattle truancy teams or pretending he didn’t care about sleeping outside when Cashmere and Zelda had clients for the night. Like then, he forced himself to remember the same ancient adage.

It could be worse.

Except now, with his pixie’s whisper at his neck. With her little body in his arms. With her arms latched so desperately around him.

Worse didn’t feel so far away anymore. It was right the hell here, in the heaviness of his heart and the pain of each breath.