Page 71 of Nocturne

“W…What?”

Iblis doesn't bother telling him that those aren't the real reasons they’re here. Partly because he knows Burke will scurry back to his father with his own twisted explanation, veering far from the truth—a truth that still remains unclear. But mostly, he enjoys toying with the bastard, feeding into his psychosis.

Iblis keeps it up, messing with Burke's useless brain, watching the colour drain from his face as the stress sets in. It makes me wonder how the little siren would react in situations like this. She does know how to worm her way out of trouble, and she's far sharper than anyone realises.

My teeth grind, the urge to punch something rising. Preferably Burke’s punchable face, which is turning red under Iblis’s humiliation.

This has been happening more often. Me thinking about her at random moments. Her kissable face slipping into my thoughts when it shouldn’t. My grip tightens on the armrest as I recall how her face looked the day I almost kissed her. She didn’t make it easy to walk away from the fucking temptation.

The image of her trusting eyes lingers—those pink-tinged cheeks, her slightly parted lips, and the damn scent of hibiscus and vanilla. I had to leave before I could crash her to her door and bite those bee-stung lips. With great fucking difficulty, I stepped back, only to end up jerking off with my hand, imagining driving into her mouth, her cunt, her ass, spilling myself everywhere.

I feel my cock swelling my pants, and an involuntary growl rips from my chest. I see both Iblis and Burke turn towards me—Iblis curious, Burke terrified, struggling to hide it.

Someone knocks on the door. I hope it’s Nico with the file.

I need a distraction. Something to deflate my rock-hard dick in my fucking pants.

“Get in.”

Two of my men enter, hauling in a slumped figure between them.

“We’d have thrown him out, but he came in with Mr. Berrett.” Wes, the head of security, explains.

A scruffy, piss-drunk idiot who’s caused trouble downstairs, from what they report.

Burke’s face flushes red, but he doesn’t dare say a word. When my men release the drunk fucker, he stumbles into a chair, looking smug despite his dishevelled state.

“Troubling women, Cody? Not a good look for the son of a Supreme Court judge.” Iblis jabs.

I want to kick them out, but the only obstacle—no matter how fucking useless and miserable—these fucks are the reasonthoughts of Ara stay at bay. Cody, the fucking Judge’s son, is lucky that Ara wasn’t one of the women he troubled.

Then, I am suddenly thankful that the woman doesn’t step into any pubs, even if she was as drunk as a sailor on the pier on that day. I have no idea what I would do if she were to step out in skimpy little clothing, baring those curves for every man to see, showing that drunk, side of her while she danced. The lone thought has me seeing red.

Don’t leave me.

Her desperate plea, coupled with those ravishing lips, blown out in a pout. That side of her—the unguarded, trusting, vulnerable version—no one deserves to witness it. No one, except me.

“Screw off, Vesper.” Cody sneers at Iblis.

“My my. Did Daddy dearest not teach you eloquence? Or was he too busy fucking his secretaries?” Iblis fires back smoothly.

“Big words coming from the man who let his friend steal my fiancé”

The door to his office opens without a knock, and I have to tamper down my rage when I see Eero strut in carrying a bag. Nico, as usual, gives him a disapproving glare as both of them walk in.

“Bossman. How are you this fine evening?”

My eyes narrow at him.

He was supposed to foresee the weapon shipments that were being sent to Troit. He shouldn’t be back this soon unless he outsourced the job. He isn’t the one to slack off, so he must have paid a visit to the siren and her friend, who he calls friends.

Before I can say anything, Cody sneers at Eero, who looks at him with a smug smile.

“Immature cunts,” Iblis shakes his head.

I agree but my attention is on the black file in Nico’s hands.

“Slum smelling mongrel,” Cody sneers at Eero.

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