Page 15 of Sire
In minutes.
Aiming toward my kitchen, I’m too disciplined and damned, I don’t let myself get tempted into?—
Fuck, what is this feeling?
Lust. Yes.
No.
No. It’s lechery becauseshe’s so young.
Maybe her age is why this tight feeling in my pounding chest feels like more. It’s why I agreed to let her stay here. I want to protect Wren. I want to keep her safe, and I’ll give anything to do it. My pinky. My life.
That’s natural. Right? It’s noble.
I want to save everyone, and Wren’s no different.
I’ve been this way since I was a kid. One of my first memories is of my brother, Axel. I’m the oldest, and he was born next. I must’ve been three or so, and I could hear our father hitting our mother, and for the first time, I didn’t run to her, begging our father to stop. Unfortunately, those nights are my first memories, too.
But that night, I ran to my brother. He was the most vulnerable, and I stood by his crib, watching him sleep, ready to soothe him if he awoke, scared like me.
It’s the first time I remember praying, too. I asked God to protect us from our father, the Devil.
Eventually, he did. We escaped him and the Bratva.
Eventually, the Devil came back for us anyway.
Pressing the button on the machine, I brew a pot ofcoffee. My soul is so malformed compared to others; caffeine calms me.
While it brews, I wipe the kids’ scribbles off my face with a wet paper towel. Once enough drips into the carafe, I pour a mug full. Black, like my soul, that’s how I like my coffee. I sip, praying for an answer.
What can Wren do while she’s here? While I find out who’s after her, so I can kill them, and let her go home safely, because with the urges I’m fighting, she’s not safe with me.
But she says she has no home.
No family either.
I can’t imagine. My familyismy home. My brothers. My mother. They’re where I belong. Even though they’ll hate me one day. They’ll cast me out when they find out what I did, though I did it to protect them.
How was I to know that?—
“Ahem.”
The gentle noise lifts my gaze from the floor.
Wren’s standing on the other side of the white marble island separating the kitchen from the living room.
I love my open-concept loft. It’s a modernized, converted space atop a historic, brick mercantile building. An old graveyard separates the back of this building from my church. My penthouse is in the perfect location, and it’s been all the space I’ve needed.
Until now.
Now, there’s not enough space between me and Wren. A continent separating us wouldn’t be enough for the forbidden thoughts I have about her.
“Do you have a garbage can?” she asks.
“Is something wrong? Are the dust bunnies that bad?” I take a sip.
“Dust doesn’t bother me, but…” She shrugs, smiling. “I’m on my period and I’d prefer not to walk across your pretty place with my used Always Ultra Thin pad wrapped in a bloody wad of toilet paper.”
