Page 30 of Knuckles & Knives
“And what do you want me to do?”
Marcus is quiet for a long moment, studying me with those dark, intelligent eyes. “I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy, and selfishly, I want you to choose a path that includes me in it.” He pauses then adds, “But mostly, I want you to choose based on what you want, not what everyone else expects from you.”
I almost smile. For the first time since this all started, someone is giving me permission to want things for myself rather than demanding I fit into their vision of who I should be.
Not that I need anyone’s permission, but still, it is so nice to hear.
“I need time to think.”
“Of course.” He moves back around the desk, resuming his professional posture, but the heat in his eyes remains. “The accounts will remain secure regardless of what you decide. And, Raven?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you choose, whoever you choose, you won’t face it alone. That’s a promise I intend to keep regardless of the personal cost.”
I stand to leave, my legs unsteady. At the door, I pause and look back at him—this man who’s been my silent guardian for five years, who helped my father plan for a future he’d never see, who just confessed to loving me from the shadows.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For watching over me. For keeping me safe. For giving me choices.”
His smile is genuine. “Thank you for being worth protecting.”
As I leave his office and step back into the elevator, my reflection in the polished steel doors shows a woman I’m still learning to recognize. No longer just Vincent Blackwood’s daughter or a weapon forged by grief and rage.
For the first time in five years, I’m starting to understand who Raven Blackwood really is.
And what she wants might just be everything.
CHAPTER 11
Almost a week later, the Obsidian’s VIP lounge feels smaller tonight with all four of them in it. I hadn’t planned this. I hadn’t expected Dom to call a meeting the same night Marcus asked me to come discuss security arrangements. I hadn’t anticipated Kieran showing up unannounced with a bottle of expensive scotch and that dangerous smile, and I certainly hadn’t foreseen Axel materializing from whatever shadows he haunts with perfect timing and that knowing look in his amber-brown eyes.
Yet here we are, five people in a room built for intimate conversations, the air thick with testosterone and unspoken challenges.
It certainly doesn’t help any that I’ve kissed them all. Most against my better judgment.
Dom stands near the window overlooking the fight cages below, his massive frame tense with barely controlled aggression. He’s changed from his usual all-black ensemble into dark jeans and a navy henley that stretches across his shoulders in ways that should come with a warning label. His knuckles are already showing the telltale signs of recent contact withsomeone’s face, fresh scrapes that suggest whatever “incident” called him away from my apartment last night required very personal attention.
Marcus occupies the leather chair closest to the door, every line of his expensive suit perfectly pressed despite the late hour. His designer glasses catch the low lighting as his dark eyes track between the other three men with calculating precision. He looks exactly like what he is, an apex predator in a boardroom analyzing threats and planning five moves ahead.
Kieran has claimed the spot at the bar, leaning against it with deceptive casualness while he nurses two fingers of scotch. His platinum hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s something sharp and dangerous in his ice-blue eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. The expensive watch on his wrist catches the light as he raises his glass, a subtle display of wealth and power.
And Axel perches on the arm of the couch like he might bolt at any second, all coiled energy and predatory grace. His black hair falls across one eye, partially obscuring the silver streak that makes him look otherworldly. Tonight, he’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that shows off the intricate tattoos covering his arms. There’s something almost feral about his stillness, like a wild animal pretending to be domesticated.
I’m the only one sitting normally, curled into the corner of the leather sectional with my legs tucked under me, but even I can feel the tension crackling through the room like electricity before a storm.
“So,” Kieran says, breaking the silence that’s stretched just past comfortable, “this is cozy.”
Dom’s jaw ticks once. “You weren’t invited.”
“Neither was he.” Kieran nods toward Axel, who grins in response—all teeth and sharp edges.
“Nobody invites Ghost anywhere,” Axel says, his voice carrying that slight rasp that makes everything sound like a secret. “I just show up where I’m needed.”
“Talking in the third person. How original. And where exactly did you decide you were needed tonight?” Marcus asks, his tone perfectly polite yet absolutely lethal.
