Page 206 of The Rules
He craved it. Deserved it. Because she’d unraveled under his hands, yes— Butshe’d taken him with her.
Ben paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.
She was still sprawled across the couch, lips parted, eyes glassy. Her shirt bunched up, panties on the ground, nipples peaked under the thin cotton. Completely fucked-out. Completely his.
And yet somehow, even ruined like that, she managed to meet his gaze with that same look—
That spark. Thatchallenge.
"You’re welcome," he said, voice low and jagged with the desire he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
Her laugh—soft, disbelieving, wrecked—followed him as he disappeared into the hallway.
He didn’t walk fast. He didn’t need to. But the second the bathroom door clicked shut behind him?
He was going to destroy himself.
Chapter 45
Benjamin
Ben trailed behind Julian through a narrow hallway, where the walls felt closer than they should. The light was low, golden, hazed with cigar smoke and secrets.
Everything here was too soft, too slow, too willing to blur the edges.
And he had spent his whole life clinging to sharp lines.
Julian stopped in front of an unmarked door—brass handle, matte black finish, no sign, no sound. He glanced back, that same maddening smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Last chance to back out, big brother," Julian said, his tone mocking yet measured.
Ben didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just exhaled through his nose.
"Open the door," he replied, his voice flat and cold.
Inside, the lounge pulsed with something low and dangerous.
The air smelled like money and smoke—aged whiskey, expensive leather, and something beneath it all that reeked of power.
He caught the creak of chairs, the shift of tailored suits,
the brief pause of conversations.
No one looked surprised.
They looked…interested. Like predators sizing up new meat.
Every gaze slid over him—unhurried, unapologetic, dissecting.
He felt it settle on his skin like heat.
Ben watched Julian move through the room with a predator's grace, each handshake and shoulder clasp carrying the easy familiarity of someone who had walked these shadows for years. This was Julian's element—the unspokendeals, the powerful whispers, the transactions that happened beneath society's notice.
Every introduction made his skin crawl. Names he recognized from courtroom transcripts and sealed documents. Faces he'd seen in newspaper photos, standing on courthouse steps after charges were mysteriously dropped.
Julian guided him toward a corner booth where a silver-haired man sat alone, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. The man's eyes—cold, calculating—tracked their approach with practiced disinterest.
"Victor," Julian said, his voice dropping to that particular register he used when speaking to people who could end careers with a phone call. "My brother, Benjamin."
