Page 133 of Manacled Hearts

There’s no denying that I would like to keep her, make her stay. Such a contrast to just a few weeks back. I’m still not convinced that I shouldn’t just force her hand, but I know what the best decision is—give her all the resources to make her own decision.

I’m about to push that limit though, and I can’t anticipate if she’s going to take it as an amazing gesture, or manipulation. It’s pushing the limit for sure, but I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

“Come, they’re going to sing happy birthday to your nephew.” Katya appears out of nowhere.

I didn’t even realize she was here, and she’s gesturing for me to join them where they’re all gathered inside. I follow her, and they make room for me around the dining table so I can see Aaro. He’s giddily staring at a whole tray of cupcakes with impeccable frosting layered on top, and I have to concentrate not to drift to what we did with the leftovers of that cream earlier today.

Instead of putting only enough candles to cover his age, all the cupcakes have one. There’s probably over forty of them and the boy looks just about ready to burst with joy.

If only our lives would just be this… how different we would be.

CHAPTER 32

EVELYN

This day has held a strange normalcy to it. Everything so far has felt surreal. A big happy family celebrating a kid’s birthday. Only, this family is the criminal kind, not that you would be able to tell from the way they behave.

The guys have disappeared into Vincent’s office a couple of times, likely discussing their businesses, but they returned like nothing happened. Calm and wholly unaffected, carrying on enjoying their family time.

I caught some glimpses of conversations I probably shouldn’t have listened in on, like how Bartiste apparently has been taunting The Sanctum, either by trying to send them on fools errands or get them killed. He failed. The Sanctum didn’t take the bait, and they were also not weak enough to be touched by his men. Finn and the others apparently are quite pleased with this, because Bartiste is getting bolder and bolder, probably annoyed that all his attempts are being shot down, which means he’ll make a mistake soon. From what I heard, he’s already made a couple that luckily lead to the discovery of two more locations where children were found. They’re free now—safe. And Bartiste is angry.

I couldn’t take the smile off my face when I overheard this. That bastard needs to rot, and though I want him dead as soon as possible, I can’t be mad at this delay when I know that more innocents are being rescued.

Despite all this, today has still felt peculiar. There’s a heaviness lingering in the air, and it doesn’t seem to go down with the setting sun. On the contrary, it thickens. It turns me restless, threads of anxiety rustling my nerves, and I’m struggling to settle.

From across the garden, flames from the fire pit dance over Finn’s features as he talks to his cousin, only, his gaze settles on me with a quiet intensity. My lungs fill with the lightest of air, the relentless buzzing in my ears easing.

I’ve been thinking about this, his ability to calm my nerves, cool my blood. When I didn’t know how to handle myself, what I’ve been through, and the strange withdrawal from whatever drugs I was injected with, it was him who fed that need. Our rows didn’t distract me, they… helped me. It makes no sense when I think about it, and I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.

Evelyn, that’s such a stupidly ridiculous thought.

Of course he doesn’t know. He’s not damn psychic. Though, I have heard that certain people have a sort of empathy or they read others so well, they can tell when there’s a change in blood pressure, or other physical signs. I’m seriously hoping he’s one of them, because I don’t feel like feeding his ego by actually telling him he’s helped me in these ways. I guess I’m holding onto my own ego.

His gaze is still fixed on me, even as his lips move with words clearly directed at Sloan. The intensity of his stare has shifted with the slight narrowing of his eyes, and sparks bloom in my chest, spreading through my body like lightning bolts. This man does things to me. Wild, wicked things.

I’ve watched him quietly all day. His interactions with the others, the way he carries himself with the kids, noticing the tension in his shoulders easing more and more with each conversation with his brother. But the most noticeable thing is the way he watches me. We’ve had little physical interaction, but his gaze has constantly made me feel touched. On every single inch of my body. He’s not being very inconspicuous about his attention either, and I would rather everyone not know what’s going on between us. Though, I’m not entirely sure what that is, and that’s my fault, not his. I also think the others might have an inkling about us, after Finnigan came when we were attacked in the parking lot.

I rise from the outdoor sofa, feeling the need to flee before someone asks me what’s the deal with his stare, and head back inside the house. It’s quiet here since everyone’s outside, and I head down the corridor toward the bathroom, loving how the moonlight casts its soft light through the high windows.

My next breath is stolen as a hand circles around me and presses over my mouth. I’m snapped back into a strong, taut body, then rushed to the side, into a dark space. I protest against his palm, grabbing at his arms as I struggle to pull away from his hold after he circles my waist with his other arm. With a loud thud, the door closes behind us and pitch-black darkness swallows us as I fight against him, pointlessly screaming against his palm. He manhandles me around, and I can’t tell which way is up or down, or where that damn door is, but I forget all those details when my front is slammed against a wall, my cheek pressed against it. An obvious, hard erection pushes against my ass when he lines up his body against mine, and I shudder at the thought, squirming harder to break away.

“No, no, no!” I protest against his hand.

Can he tell what I’m saying?

Hot breath touches my ear, and I think he’s going to say something, but instead slickness runs over the edge of it, from the lobe to the top—he’s licking me. Involuntary heat pools between my legs, shame too.

Goddamn it, this is wrong!

But it has to be Finnigan, right? There’s no one else, none of the other guys would do this. I don’t know Sloan, but I don’t imagine he is that kind of man. I inhale as hard as I can through the restriction, trying to catch Finnigan’s scent, but all I’m getting is burnt wood and smoke. The arm wrapped around my waist releases me, and I’m preparing to push as hard as I can against him to get away, when I hear a snapping sound. Then one more.

Oh, he’s snapping his fingers—our silent safe word.

It is Finnigan.

The sound of a zipper pulls at my anticipation, before he reaches back down around my waist. This time he doesn’t wrap around it, but runs it down my body. He pushes underneath my skirt, and presses against my pussy at the same time he releases my mouth and grips my throat in his large palm.

“No! No, please!” I beg as I squirm against him, diving deeper into the feelings of unrest that haven’t yet left me.

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