Page 7 of Stone

“I’ll have Vector send you the details.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can leave.” He waves toward the door, so I push to my feet and head to it. “And Stone?”

I turn to face him.

“Don’t let me down.” As he glowers at me, my throat turns dry at the insinuation behind it.

“Yes, sir,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. Something tells me I should have recognized that man on the paper and I’m being led into a trap I’ve no way of escaping, but I walk away uncaring to his ploy because none of it matters.

I don’t matter.

I never have.

Chapter Five

Sienna

I have no business being down here, but I know he will need me. He always does. What he doesn’t realize is I need him too. So, I creep down the stairs at 1:30 a.m. My father is at an auction that has him gone overnight, and Azrael left earlier today to go back to his house. When my feet reach the bottom of the stairs, I take a deep breath at no security around, which means they will be outside playing cards and smoking cheap cigars. Who can blame them? As long as my father’s fortress is secure in his absence, there’s really no need to man their positions.

I head toward the staff quarters and take an immediate left, and the hair on my arms stand on end as I approach Stone’s bedroom. It’s bullshit how he’s forced to live in the basement, demeaning him even further. My father doesn’t think it’s appropriate to have bastard children sleep on the same level as us. They’re beneath him, therefore beneath us. A smile crosses my lips when I consider what he would think of his only daughter preferring to sleep down here rather than upstairs in her lavish bedroom.

My heart seizes when his moans come through the solid wood door, then another small part of me dies inside at knowing my father put his pain and anguish there. My hand trembles as I press down on the door handle and slip inside.

The room is bathed in darkness, apart from the sliver of moonlight filtering through the thin drapes, allowing me to see the silhouette of Stone writhing in agony in his deep sleep, being taunted by the nightmares that plague him.

My feet move as quickly as my racing heart, and I lift the sheet to slip into his bed beside him. The heat from his body and the scent of his cologne wrap around me, causing warmth to spread through me, but when he mumbles, my blood turns to ice. Stilling my breath, I wait to hear more of the torture he endured, taking with it a part of my heart. My beautiful, muscular giant of a man is hurting, and it pains me to witness.

“I swear I don’t remember. Please stop.” The quiver in his voice slices through my soul, stealing my breath so harshly that my lungs seize up with excruciating pain. My eyes mist at knowing what he must have endured growing up, which leads me to believe no god could exist, not in a world so evil.

“I don’t remember. I wish I did…” He doesn’t remember what they want him to. I often wonder if he’s been conditioned not to remember, but then I internally battle with that outcome too.

Is it best he doesn’t remember? Would his memories take him away from me?

It’s incredibly selfish, I know, but from the moment I saw him, he stole my heart, and the truth is, I never want it returned, not when he keeps it so safe on his own.

He rolls onto his side away from me and into a ball, and I move quickly to spoon him. “Stone?” I gently graze his thick bicep, and my pulse quickens at the heat of his bare skin. “Stone? It’s okay. It’s me, Sienna.”

He freezes, and I use the opportunity to glide my hand down his arm, essentially wrapping my arm around him.

Eventually, he exhales. “What the fuck are you doing, Sienna?” he hisses, as I inhale his scent from his neck, and my lips twitch to kiss him there.

An unbelievable need to do just that overcomes me. What would it be like to touch him? Really touch him and him touch me too.

Would he look me in the eye as pleasure takes over him, or would they be forced closed because of the intensity?

Wetness gathers between my legs, and I want to rub myself on him, over him. I want to feel the roughness of his skin and the heat of his touch.

I want him.

Trepidation builds in my veins; can I do this? Can I push him like I’ve never pushed him before? I want to. “I came to see if you were okay,” I whisper.

“You know I’m not fucking okay,” he snarls.

“That’s why I’m here,” I snap, then slam my mouth shut.

He shakes his head against his pillow. “You shouldn’t be.”

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