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RANSOM
It’s beena shitty as fuck day, mostly due to the message we got from X outlining his latest “job” for us, and even now, I can’t get it out of my head. It’s late, and I’m lying in bed with Willow in my arms. She’s sleeping soundly, curled up against me the way she’s started to do easily every night. The separation she tried to keep between us at first is gone, and her face is soft and unbothered in her sleep.
I watch her, taking in the way she breathes, the way her lips part, the little sounds she makes as she shifts closer to me unconsciously.
She’s becoming such a fixture in our lives.
I’ve been teaching her about cars, and the two of us spend hours in the garage together. I love the way her face lights up a little when I show her something new, and how she picks things up so quickly.
I love the way she melts against me as if she trusts me, all that distance and wariness seeming to disappear when we’re close. I love having her that close during the day, the two of us bent over a car together, and I love it even more at night, when she’s in my arms like this.
The rule my brothers and I agreed to is still in place, and I’ve been following it. I haven’t fucked her. But just making her come on my hand was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
She was dreaming about me and the others, shifting and moaning in her sleep. The way she sounded had my cock hard immediately. The sound was throaty and low, but somehow still sweet and soft, even though I have a feeling her dream was dirty as hell.
Part of me wishes I’d asked her to describe it, but a bigger part—the smarter part—knows that would have been dangerous. Hearing about it would have just made it that much harder to keep my hands to myself.
Well… to keep mydickto myself, I guess. My hands were pretty involved.
Either way, it was bending the rules a little, making Willow come in my bed, even though we didn’t take it any farther than that. She was so unrestrained, losing herself in it and breaking apart for me as she rode my hand. She still seemed shy, but she let herself go, and the memory of her face as she came, staring into my eyes, her soft blonde hair spread out across my pillows…
Fuck. Just thinking about it now makes my cock twitch.
It’s one of those images that’s going to have a permanent spot in my spank bank, I think. Maybe even the top spot, since I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything hotter—unless something even better replaces it.
I grin at that thought. There’s a lot we could do and still stay true to the rule of not fucking.
But then I think about X’s message, and it’s like a bucket of fucking ice water dumped over my head, cooling the heat in my veins instantly. My gut twists, and it’s the same way I felt when I walked into Vic’s room and saw Willow’s face on his computer screen.
X wants her. And if we’re right about what he wants her for, then that’s even worse. There’s so much shit we don’t know. So much we’re just guessing on, trying to come up with something like a plan for how to handle this.
It pisses me off just thinking about it.
I’m not like Malice, not as brutal and primed for violence at the slightest provocation, but I could fucking kill someone right now. And every time I think about Willow being sold like she’s a piece of cattle or something, it just makes it worse.
Eventually, I sigh, realizing lying here isn’t going to help me get to sleep. I ease Willow out of my arms and slip out of bed, heading downstairs to the living room.
Malice is already there, and I’m not really surprised to see him. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the table and a glass in his hand, already mostly empty. He’s shirtless, and I can see that the sprawling tattoo he’s been working on for a while has gotten a new addition, so he must be as worked up about this shit as I am. Probably more, knowing Malice. He always seems to feel things in extremes.
Judging from the way he’s brooding, glaring off into the distance, he’s thinking about the same shit I am.
“You’ve got the right idea for tonight,” I tell him, snagging the whiskey bottle before dropping to sit in one of the chairs across from the couch. I bring it to my lips, taking a long swallow.
“Vic hates when we drink from the bottle,” Malice reminds me, but I shrug.
“Yeah, but he’s not here.”
He holds out a hand for the bottle, and I rise and pass it back to him, watching as he sloshes more of the dark amber liquid into his glass.
“Did you sell those parts earlier?” I ask. It seems like forever ago that Malice went out to make that sale. All of the shit with the Donovan gang and our disrupted business seems like it’s very far away right now.
He nods, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Yeah. No issues.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
I take the bottle back and take another long drink, feeling the whiskey burn straight down to my stomach.
We fall into silence again, drinking together without speaking. When I catch sight of Victor out of the corner of my eye, I jump, because I didn’t hear him on the stairs.
