Page 80 of Draven

Oh, my God.

I stare at it, an uncontrollable giggle rippling through me. I read it again and again.

Oh, this is priceless.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Draven marches across the room, with his long hair, dripping from the shower, hanging in threads down his back as he rips the wallet from my hands.

“Stay the hell out of my stuff.” He glowers, looming over me, his cheeks blooming a shade of dark red.

“I wasn’t in your stuff,” I reply, trying, and failing, to keep the broad grin from inching across my face. “I lifted your bag off the chair and your wallet fell out.”

“I swear to God, Lola, if you tell a single soul, I’ll?—”

“You’ll what?” I counter, daring him to voice a threat, pushing because I like it when he gets mad. Mad Draven equals hot-as-hell Draven, equals punishment sex Draven. My cheeks ache from the breadth of my smile. “You may be able to break my neck with your bare hands, but you don’t scare me, Mar?—”

He slams his hand over my mouth. “Don’t fucking say it. If you want to live to see tomorrow, you’ll never utter that word.”

I shove his hand away, laughing—one of those laughs that starts in the abdomen and bursts out in a fit of delight. “I literally don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

He stuffs a hand through his hair. “It’s not funny, Lola.”

“Oh, darling Draven. I beg to differ. This beautiful nugget has made my day. Does Ciaran know?”

“No one fucking knows… other than my mother and my sister. And now you.”

An idea steals into my mind, an opportunity to rile him, and one I can’t pass up. “You know, we never agreed on your fee for helping me with the trafficking case.” I clamp down on a grin that threatens. “I think my silence is more than payment enough, don’t you? In fact, I’d say the pendulum has swung in my favor, and now you owe me.” I tap my forefinger against my lips. “Hmm, now, what shall your payment be for me to take this information to the grave and not, oh I don’t know, spill it over dinner when I’ve had too much wine?”

His menacing glower would have anyone else shaking in their boots, but not me. Not any longer. He narrows his eyes, then stomps over to the window with his hands low on his hips. Droplets of water roll down his spine, disappearing beneath the towel around his waist. There isn’t a spare inch of his back not tattooed. Same with his arms and his chest, although his abs are clear. But it’s his back that fascinates me the most, dominated as it is by the broad expanse of angel wings. I run my gaze over him, my fingers itching to trace the outline of every inch of ink.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Name your price.”

I grin. He hates to lose, even when his loss is my victory. I join him, giving him a playful nudge. “Stand down, worry wart. I won’t tell anyone. So, this name of yours. Was it passed down from an ancestor or something?”

“Or something,” he grits out.

“Draven…”

He shoots me a fierce glare. “No.”

“It wasn’t like a family tradition, then?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” I wrinkle my nose, swallowing a giggle. “It’s not exactly common. Your parents must have had a good reason to give you such an unusual name.”

He straightens his posture, his spine stiffening. “No, they didn’t.” He grunts. “It’s a stupid, dumbass reason. Even my mother admits that now.” He turns away, giving me his profile.

My stomach flips at the strength of his jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, and that long hair I love to bury my hands in when we fuck. And I realize, in this moment, that it bothers him. It truly bothers him, which means now I feel like an asshole.

“Hey.” I cup his cheek, urging him to look at me. “What your parents wrote on your birth certificate doesn’t matter, Draven. It’s just a name.” I trace a fingertip over the tattoo on his bicep bulging from his crossed arms.

He keeps his attention out the window, but there’s a definite softening to his anger.

“Did you get bullied at school?”

He barks a laugh. “Early on, yeah, but then I had a growth spurt and overtook every guy in my class. Weirdly, the bullying stopped then, especially after I busted one kid’s nose.” He shrugs. “Making an example of someone is usually a great way to draw a line in the sand.”

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