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Chapter forty-two
Lyric slept curled up against my chest all night long. Fucking heaven. I didn’t sleep at all. Instead I spent the whole night just watching her. So peaceful. Finally able to rest.
I managed to slide out of bed undetected and was now standing in the kitchen whipping up scrambled eggs while bacon sizzled in the pan.
I wasn’t a coffee guy but Lyric loved that shit, so I made that too.
Just as I was about to pour the eggs into the pan, my phone pinged with a new text message.
Chandler:Channel 15.
Fuck. It was happening. Finally.
Chandler had some connections with the dark web. That motherfucker was into everything. Between his connections, the tap I installed on Dad’s computer, and Caspian’s secret Batcave-style lair, they were able to find proof that Pops had a serious addiction to porn. Not just any porn—the kind that was illegal everywhere except some super fucked-up third-world countries. The kind where men got off on torturing and killing women then fucking their lifeless bodies while they bled out. My father was not only funding one of the sites that filmed that shit, but he also sent them girls to use. Not a good look for a guy running for president. Knowing that he’d ever been anywhere near Lyric—or my sister—made me want to vomit.
I grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. Sure as shit, there was my father being walked out of our house in handcuffs with an officer on both sides, holding his arms as they led him to a black SUV. The camera panned to the front door where my mother stood with her hand over her mouth like she couldn’t believe what was happening, like she didn’t know what kind of man she married.
The headline flashed across the bottom of the screen:
Presidential candidate Malcolm Huntington apprehended by FBI task force in international human trafficking sweep.
He would never leave the inside of that prison. I grabbed my phone off the counter and texted back.You know what to do now.Then I clicked the power button on the remote and scrambled my fucking eggs.
The sun crept in through a crack in the curtains, highlighting the delicate curves of Lyric’s body. She had one leg kicked out from the covers and her head snuggled into the pillow tucked underneath her arm.
I leaned against the door frame with a breakfast tray in my hand and watched her sleep. For the first time in almost five years, I could breathe again. My heart beat instead of raced. I hadn’t had a hit in over a week and nothing stronger than a beer in longer than that. It wasn’t the drugs I was addicted to anyway. It was the escape that I craved. I could go weeks—months when I was training—without them.
Now Lyric was in my veins. I didn’t need anything else.
She stirred when I walked over and set the tray on the bed. I ran my finger over her cheek, urging her awake. She stretched her body like a lazy cat, then opened her eyes and gave me a slow smile.
“What’s all this?” she asked when she spotted the tray full of food.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then popped a slice of bacon in her mouth. “What? I can’t bring you breakfast in bed?”
She narrowed her eyes as she chewed.
I laughed and grabbed a piece of bacon for myself. “This is me telling you that I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”
“Does that mean…”
“Yeah, baby. You’re safe now.” I moved the tray to the floor, then settled between her legs. “No more Malcolm. No more Scotland.” I ran my tongue over her lips. “No more Grey.” I tore the covers out of the way and pressed my hard dick against her. “You’re all mine and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”
