Page 23 of Wilt

I smirk. “Only one, and she’s the daughter of the enemy.” I take a swallow of my whiskey, savoring the heat building in my throat. The edge, unfortunately, is still there. Something tells me, short of getting blind drunk, that edge isn’t shifting or softening any time soon. “Our enemy.” I toy with my glass a moment, shifting it between my hands, the cool slickness a balm against the fever in my blood.

Rush looks at me with almost an understanding in his eyes. “I know. I hate him too.”

I smirk again, truly confused about what’s happening here. “Thought you didn’t give a fuck about the daughter? What happened to enjoying this kind of thing?”

He breathes out, sips, and shrugs. “I’m… I had time to think. Saw how you are with her, too.” Rush doesn’t elaborate. Smart guy. “I want him dead, to suffer, but not at risk to us. I’m not you.”

I internally groan; I can read between the lines. He doesn’t care about her. He cares aboutme. I’m not into retreats, though, and I won’t be stopping this plan. I know who and what the fuck I am. “You want to know exactly what I plan to do? If my plans have changed?”

Rush doesn’t let this opportunity slip by, answering me immediately. “Yes.”

I nod and meet his eye. “I’m going to break her, Rush. Make her mine, then send the evidence to her father.”

Rush puts his glass down and rises, pacing in front of the fireplace. “Nikolai. It’s one thing to have her, toy with her, show she’s here, but to break her and hand over evidence to her father is a good plan in your head. You said you want to show she’s yours, not bring extra wrath. That’s madness.”

I snort, setting down my drink and standing to face my cousin. “I’m not fucking scared of that scumbag Finnegan. It’s not your job to think about this. You don’t get to weigh in. Your job is to follow orders.”

For a moment, he seems about to argue, but Rush’s gaze moves over me, and he just nods in response. “You’re right. Not my business.” He takes his drink and walks to the door, then pauses. “Nikolai?”

I turn, giving him my full attention, wordlessly urging him to continue.

“You know I’ll follow you, that I’ll support you.”

I meet his gaze. “I’ve never questioned your loyalty.”

He puts his hand on the knob. “Don’t get dead. Finnegan’s dangerous. You have scruples, fucked up ones, but… scruples.Hedoes not.”

I nod, acknowledging what Rush is saying, even if I think it’s fucking stupid. “I’m well aware of who and what he is. When there’s war, he’ll start it, officially. Then I can take him out.”

“No scruples, remember?”

“Rush,” I say quietly. “Don’t mistake my love for you as weakness. Don’t mistake my own code as something that will topple me. I’m far deadlier than Finnegan, and now I have his daughter. Iwilldestroy him.”

“And her?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow up softly.

“Not our concern once her job is done. Goodnight,” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. He nods and opens the door, closing it behind him as he retreats to the hall.

Fuck. I sit once more, closing my eyes and leaning back in my chair. The fizz of erotic energy in my blood thrums louder. She shouldn’t get to me. I’ve had pretty women before, I’ve felt the rush of lust. I don’t know a thing about her that should draw me to her like this, apart from how she’s smart and strong and wily. Innocent and untouched. Both hates me and wants me. Those are things I don’t need hours of conversation for. I’m not fucking interested in hours of conversation. Fucking, yes. Conversing, no.

Finishing my drink, I stand. Maybe I need… I don’t finish the thought. Instead, I let my legs carry me out the door and up the stairs. It’s like something is driving me, some unseen force pushing me towards her, and I pull the key from my pocket. I pause as soft sounds leak through the door.

A stillness comes over me. She’s crying.

With a deep breath, I push the key into the lock and turn it, opening the door. My shadow falls long on the shaft of light from the hall. On the bed, her shoulders stiffen, and she slowly sits up, but doesn’t look at me. It’s like she was expecting me. Her voice is horse as she speaks. “Can we speak honestly?”

I smile. “Always do.”

“Without… retribution?”

“Like an amnesty?” I don’t step inside. If I do, I’m going to end up doing what I said I wouldn’t: taking her before its time. Or worse. Holding her.

Why I’d want to hold her isn’t clear.

Why I’m up here isn’t clear.

Weeping fucking women don’t tend to grab my empathy. Plus, she’s stronger than she seems. Still…

Maybe it’s lust. The need for her still zings inside me, that pent up frustration from being inside her tight, wet heat, from touching that sweet cunt, and not getting my own rocks off in the most elemental way. But while that did drive me here, there’s something else, knocking at the edges and muddying the waters.

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