Page 111 of Stalked
This time, she walks toward me.
So I force myself to stay exactly where I am, even as every muscle in my body coils tight with the need to claim what's mine.
Lia moves through the club's main floor with deliberate steps, weaving between scenes playing out on raised platforms and private alcoves. A flogger cracks against bare skin to her left—she doesn't even glance over. To her right, a submissive writhes in intricate rope suspension—her eyes track past without pausing.
She's searching.
Then her gaze locks with mine across the crowded space.
Neither of us moves. The chaos of Purgatory falls away—the moans, the music, the steady rhythm of impact play—until there's only her eyes holding mine. Hazel with flecks of gold, steady and certain.
She removes her mask.
Then she walks toward the VIP section.
Knox's hand tightens on Bianca's thigh. Xavier goes still beside me. Neither speaks.
Lia reaches the velvet rope. The security guard—Marcus, loyal to the family for years—looks past her to me. His expression asks the question without words.
I nod once.
Marcus unhooks the rope, allowing her into my sanctum. She climbs the three steps to the elevated section, her heels clicking against marble. Stops directly in front of my chair.
“You're here,” I manage.
“I wanted to see if I could still choose this.” Her voice doesn't waver. “Choose you, knowing everything.”
I stand, the movement fluid despite the tension coiling through every muscle. “Let's take this somewhere private.”
“That's what she said.” Knox can't resist, the grin spreading across his face like he's twelve instead of twenty-four.
I level a glare that's made grown men reconsider their life choices. “Shut the fuck up.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk remains. Xavier doesn't bother hiding his amusement.
Lia's lips twitch—barely, but I catch it.
I lead her through the VIP section toward the private suites reserved for members who value discretion over exhibition. The hallway muffles the sounds from the main floor, thick carpeting and soundproofed walls creating a cocoon of silence.
Suite Seven is unoccupied. I key in my code, holding the door for her.
She enters without hesitation. Scans the space—the leather furniture, the discreet cabinet that holds toys and implements for those who choose to use them, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Returns her attention to me.
“I'm not going to apologize for who I am.” The words come out rougher than intended. “The violence—what you saw—that's part of me. It always has been.”
“I know.”
“But I should've been honest with you from the start.” I close the distance between us, stopping when I'm close enough to touch. I don't. “About what I do. What my brothers and I are capable of. The empire we've built and what it takes to maintain it.”
Lia watches me with those eyes that see too much. “Why weren't you?“
“Because I wanted to keep you separate.” The admission scrapes out of me. “From the blood and the darkness. I spent fifteen years building this life—power, control, everything I thought I needed. And then I got you back, and suddenly there was something in my world that wasn't stained by it.”
Her breath catches.
“I wanted to protect that. Keep you pure from the parts of me that are...” I search for the word. Can't find one that fits. “You were the one clean thing in my otherwise filthy existence, wildflower.”
“I'll never understand it.” Her hand lifts to my chest, palm flat over my heart. “The way violence lives in you like breathing. How you can carve someone apart and then touch me with those same hands.”
