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“Then, I guess it’ll be one more time a knife penetrates my flesh.”
Swallowing back the urge to vomit, I clear my throat and step away from his wound. “That’s all you. I want nothing to do with that process.”
“Well, then, hopefully you cleaned it well, and we can move on.”
I place a square of gauze over his wound, testing to make sure the cotton doesn’t stick to it, and seal the edges with tape. “We should probably close that bookshelf, huh?”
With a nod, he exits the bathroom, running his hand over the gauze at his side, and I take a moment to admire the flex of his muscles that tighten and expand in his back with the movement. “So, what happens now? With the kid you pistol-whipped?”
“He recognized me, but I don’t think he’ll be speaking any time soon.”
“You hope.”
“Yes. I hope.” He sets the book back on the shelf, allowing the door to slide shut again. “Now, do you mind telling me why you decided to go against my direct order to stay away from here?”
“Yes. For one, you’re my Father, but you’re not my dad. And second, I missed you.”
“And I miss you, but—”
I press my finger to those lips I want to kiss right now. “We’ll leave it at that. It’s dangerous, I get it. But there isn’t a cartel in the world that can keep me from what I want most.”
His finger brushes across my forehead, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “And what is it you want most?”
“You need your cock stroked, is that it?”
“That’d be nice right about now.” He smiles, pressing his lips to mine in a breath-stealing kiss.
“And if there’s an audience behind this bookcase?”
“Let them bear witness to the glory of the feast.For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.”
With a smile, I wrap my arms around his neck and feel his palms grip tight to my ass. “Is that a Bible verse, or are you talking filthy jealous boyfriend right now?”
“Both. Parable of the Banquet.”
“I like it.” Pushing up on tiptoes, I kiss him, feeling the tension in his muscles ease as he holds me against the wall.
“I need you right now, Ivy. I’m glad you came.”
Toying with his hairline, I take in his words, imagining the level of stress he must be feeling to admit that. “Me too.”
36
Damon
The worst thing about pissing off dangerous criminals isn’t so much the likelihood of death, but the wait in between. I sit in the confessional booth, waiting for the penitent on the other side to settle, my mind everywhere else but here.
“Hello,Padre.” Gordon’s familiar voice comes as a bit of a relief, the kind of distraction that might just keep me from grinding my fingernails against the walls of this stuffy hardwood box.
“Good evening. What brings you to confession?”
“There’s, uh … some things I got on my mind.”
“Proceed.”
He gives the sign of the cross and clears his throat. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”
“Tell me what’s troubling you.”
