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I look down at Riley’s body, then can’t fucking help myself and crouch down and straighten out the awkward angle he left her at.
Even passed out and fucking filthy like this, she’s gorgeous. Every single thing about her just does it for me, and I’d be lying if I said the streaks of blood smearing her satin-smooth skin—and fuck, even the sight of Madd’s cum drying on her thighs—doesn’t add to the attraction in a twisted way that I give no shits at all about acknowledging.
Still, I don’t like seeing her so fucking limp and lifeless, and that partishard to acknowledge.
I’ve watched her sleep, but this is different. Drugged up like this, she’s just gone. She’s missing that spark, that fiery spirit that makes her so fucking alluring. She looks… smaller like this. More breakable. Vulnerable in a way that brings a whole host of protective bullshit up inside me that I’m not sure I want to feel about her. About anyone.
“Too fucking late,” I murmur, sighing as I lift her into my arms, then rise to my feet.
For someone with such a big fucking spirit, she’s a little slip of a thing. Her slim, athletic body is almost as strong as her heart, but it sure as shit doesn’t weigh much.
“What the fuck were you thinking, princess?” I ask her, pausing on the landing of the stairs to brush some of that vibrant, blue-and-purple-streaked hair back from her face. But those dark eyes of hers don’t open, don’t even fucking flicker, and I miss the angry glare I’d get if she could actually hear my question right now.
Not that it was anything but rhetorical.
“Protecting your baby sister,” I answer for her, resuming my trek to her room. “I know, I know. But shit, you’ve just made it that much more complicated. You know that, right? I respect how fucking loyal you are to Chloe, but…”
I sigh.
But nothing. I’m just talking to myself here, and it’s that damn no-holds-barred loyalty of hers that’s the whole problem right now.
I don’t just respect it, I understand it down to my DNA, because I’m the same way.
Hell, I’m that way even deeper than DNA, since Maddoc and Logan don’t share any with me but are my brothers all the same. And I may know fuck-all about how close siblings-by-blood actually are to each other, never having had any, but what I do know is that blood alone doesn’t guarantee a damn thing.
Not everyone is as dedicated to their family as Riley is to her baby sister, and even without blood to bind us, I’d kill or die for my chosen brothers in a heartbeat. I’m loyal to them above all else, and no one has ever tested that bond between us.
Except her.
Riley… puts a strain on it. I still know where my loyalty lies and I always will, but I can’t deny that it doesn’t feel right to be on opposing sides with her, either.
“Fucking stupid,” I mutter, this time talking to myself. Of course our plans for her little sister were always gonna put us at odds. I just didn’t want to look too closely at that, because I didn’t—I still don’t—like it.
I make it up to her room and lay her out on her bed, then go fetch a pair of handcuffs.
Some dirty-ass shit flashes through my brain when I get back with them.
“We could’ve had some fun with these, princess,” I whisper, swinging them around my fingers as I stare down at her still-too-silent form. And it’s true, but my cock isn’t interested when she’s so unresponsive, and instead of cuffing her to the headboard right away, I hesitate for a second, battling with all these insidiously soft feelings that have crept up on me, then toss them aside.
She’s definitely gotten under my skin.
“Be right back,” I promise her, making quick work of gathering a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom and then some comfortable sleep clothes from the chest of drawers.
I clean her up, going carefully around the fresh, angry-looking stitches in her side, then get her dressed. And it’s a damn good thing I have faith in Logan’s knowledge of pretty much everything, because the way she’s so fucking out of it from whatever he drugged her with is really starting to bother me.
He wouldn’t hurt her, though. Not right now, and not this way.
I run my finger over her neck, then gently grip it, mirroring the way he had his hand wrapped around her throat when I found them alone that night, right after she came to stay with us. He has such control that he barely even left a mark on her.
Part of me thinks it’s a shame. It’s not that I want her to be hurt—at least, not any more than it takes to get her off—but I have liked seeing our marks on her body.
Maybe some new ones will show up from her scuffle with Maddoc.
I release her throat and shove those thoughts aside, because now isn’t the fucking time. I don’t know how to fix shit between us now that she’s taken it this far. And the fact that I’m even worrying about it just goes to prove what a mistake it is to go soft for her.
I fix the cuffs on her wrists, then attach them to the headboard.
And then, despite having just told myself I know better, I lean down and bury my nose in her hair, breathing in that unique spice-and-smoke scent of hers, overlaid now with the musky tang of sex.
