Page 30 of The Fox

I run a hand over her hair, before placing it on a cheek and giving a series of feather-light kisses to her features.

“What are we though, Rhodes? What are we doing?”

I could tell her that she is my end and my beginning. I could say that I am a goner for her and that I am hers until the heavens fall. That I have watched her, hidden in my own shadows, move through the city as if she owns it. That she is wholly mine.

I won’t though. Not yet.

“You and I are us, Amelia. I will be however you want to label it, but let me be clear.” Amelia sits up, palms resting on my chest as she locks eyes with me. “You are it for me. If we decide to explore this, you will be the only one that gets my kiss, only you are on my lap. In my bed. I fuck hard, but baby, I will not break you.” My hands are now cupping her face, holding her in my sight. I will not let her hide from me.

"You will never doubt where you stand and will always know that you are safe with me. I want you to let your armor down, and lay it at my feet.” I take a breath, knowing that I am potentially overwhelming her. She has so many walls built up to protect herself. This is the only way I know to break them down while making her feel as though she is still in control–because she is.

There will be times I push her to go beyond what she knows, but Amelia holds complete power in this situation. There is an expression on her gorgeous face that I don’t recognize.

“What if I can’t give you what you need?” Her voice shakes as her eyes stare into the depths of mine.

“Just give me you.”

CHAPTER 20

Amelia---Late Night

I scratch my head, the tension in my neck at a new level of intensity, as I stare at the file in front of me. Duncan had dropped it off earlier, warning me that I likely wouldn’t be happy with its contents. Nothing is easy right now. I have spent every second of the last five years establishing myself as the leader of this Family, ensuring every single piece of vermin knew what would happen if they crossed me, if they challenged my rule.

I sold my soul when I took my father’s seat and have paid the devil since.

Now, my own men are fueling rumors, emboldened to start whispers of dissent. I have tempered them, but I do not know how long I can keep a lid on things while the face staring up at me is alive.

Alonzo Medina.

He’s been bold lately, leaving messages, and taunting me with threats of a takeover. The man is delusional. I can almost guarantee that if a man were in my position, Medina wouldn’t be so brazen. He is new, freshly appointed as Don, and very much making a power move. My fingers drum the desk, the black polish chipped on my left index finger. I lift it, rotating to examine the nail.Fuck. Another manicure down the drain. Why I try to keep up with having freshly painted nails is beyond me. It isn’t like I keep my hands clean anyway. While the other Families have their hands in drugs and in trafficking, I am simply trying my best to keep ours legalish. We are the suppliers of weapons to the Outfits, and I have been investing in small businesses with above-board cash so that one day, we’d be clean.

My mind turns to Rhodes and the way his shoulders flexed in that green shirt this morning at breakfast. He’d knocked at my door, coffee in hand, and I hadn’t minded the way he now fits in my space. I need to tell him who I am–whatI am. I need him safe, and no matter how I move my men, there isn’t a way of doing that without letting him in completely.

My hand goes to my mouth, rubbing until resting with my chin in the palm, and my eyes stare at the photo in front of me. I don’t have much on my desk that gives insight to my personal life, but this photo? This photo belongs. It is Rhodes and me, smiles wide, and you can feel the connection between us. We’re both in our comfiest sweatshirts, hair messy and our eyes are bright. He’d snapped it the other day with my Polaroid camera, placing it in my hand as I walked out the door.

This is the last thing I need.Heis the last thing I need, and yet, is everything I cannot replace. I pick up my phone, dialing his number, hoping he doesn’t pick up. I just need to hear his voice, and I’m betting he’s asleep, since it is past midnight. I feel heat pricking behind my eyes as the phone rings.

“Hello?” Gods, the gravel in his voice.

“Hi Rhodes. You okay?” I whisper, despite my office being soundproof. I hadn’t planned what I’d say if he picked up, but there is a small piece of me that is glad I get to hear his voice.

He clears his throat, and I picture the way his large fingers wipe the sleep from his face. “Yeah. You okay?”

“Yep. Just missing you.” My voice breaks at the very end. I find myself wishing I was home instead of here, wishing I was wrapped around the solid muscle of Rhodes instead of shifting in my seat.

“Hang on.”

I wait, unsure of what is happening when a video call comes across my screen. I rub my palm hard into the sockets of my eyes, hoping the tears welling there cease by the time my finger swipes to answer. His face is slightly covered by shadows but my body relaxes at the sight of him.

“Why do you look like you’re crying? What’s bothering you,kochanie?”

“I’m not crying. I’m just tired and out of coffee. What are you still doing up, Rhodes?”

I watch as his blue eyes search my face, his gaze darkening as he takes me in. I’m sure I look fantastic, just the picture of beauty. I’m also not entirely convinced that he believes what I’ve said. His stare lands on my lips, and then a heartbeat later, I hear him shuffle, the rustling of sheets coming through the speakers. Rhodes always makes sure we video-chat each night before bed, no matter the time. We’ve spent countless hours together, doing mundane things like flicking through channels on the television or dancing in my moonlit kitchen. Not once has Rhodes complained about the lack of excitement in our relationship.

The man sleeps bare-chested, a pair of sweatshorts slung low on his hips, and I thoroughly support this, but right now? Now, I hate being able to feel the planes of his chest, the way his biceps flex and his waist tapers under the sheets. He still thinks that I work odd hours, and I am hoping to carry that lie as long as I can. I’d told him that I’m in the trade business—that my clients worked globally. It normally works; I can typically be home by eleven and then work before the sun is up, coordinating my men and making sure everything is secure as it should be.

It is as if his days start, and end, with me.

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