Chapter Eight
Sylan
Jesus fucking Christ.
She is more beautiful than I remember. Smells just as divine.
I’ve stared at surveillance pictures and videos of her for so long her image chases me into my dreams. I fantasize about how sweet her lips will taste again. But seeing her. Jesus help me. It’s hard to not scoop her up, take her off to some distant place and just be. Leave the life of crime and grit behind. But too many people depend on me.
Holding back and letting someone else watch over her for the last six months took vast amounts of self-control. And whiskey. Lots of fucking whiskey.
Until tonight. God, I can finally breathe again. Having her under our roof is a weight off my shoulders the size of a planet. The second her father’s body hit a stainless-steel slab at the morgue, I made my move.
Experience tells me Marcus isn’t far behind us and it won’t be long before we’re facing off.
Katriona glances around my penthouse nervously as she’s guided off the elevator. I’m the head of the underground mafia and conduct most of my business with a level of class most nine-to-fivers and one-percenters envy. And I live like a king and want to give it all to her as our queen.
She takes slow steps, and Drake entertains her pace as she takes in the stained-glass dome and large floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the Chicago night skyline. Another hour and the sunrise will color the horizon. I wonder if she’ll love the sight as much as I do.
She wraps her arms around herself as her eyes dance over the black leather sofa and the large wall of books directly behind it. Drake slips his jacket off and drapes her in the warmth, not leaving her side. In this one second I see the bliss—no the longing— smooth out the fear etched in her brow and it gives me hope.
She misses us. I hold that knowledge close.
I continue to watch from the darkened corner unmoving as she parts her lips and takes a deep breath. The slight movement pulls my gaze to her delicate mouth. Her face is sweet and matches her young age, but the sorrow in her eyes makes her appear broken beyond her years, and something inside me wants to fix the pieces to make her whole again. Erase the ugly life has dumped on her. I hope she lets us.
“Are we going to play the ‘who’s behind the curtain game again?’”
I smile. Smartass.
She glances over her shoulder and assesses Drake. He’s changed a lot in the six months she’s been gone. That nasty scar down his cheek for one. He comes off brutish and towers over most like a fucking animal, but not toward the people in this room.
Neither of us would dream of it.
I pull my hands from my pockets as I step from the shadows, and she immediately pinpoints my location. The second she sees me her eyes lock on mine.
“Sylan,” she whispers softly. She slips Drake's jacket off and tosses it over the back of a nearby chair, her steel resolve replacing it.
Through the shock of feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut, I step close enough to touch her soft hair, but I keep my hands at my sides. I’ve never been more mesmerized by such beauty in my entire life. Her eyes are such a light brown they appear otherworldly when the low light from my desk lamp catches on the gold flecks in her irises as she drinks in her surroundings.
I take in her slighter frame and the barely-there tremble in her chin. She’s lost weight in our time apart. We’ll have to make sure she takes better care of herself.
She tries to hide her tears behind pinned back shoulders and solid steel spine, but I see the fear and it tears me up. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and that’s when I notice the black stilettos, I know have to be killing her petite feet.
Even in those things she barely comes to just beneath my chin. From what Drake texted when collecting her, she was on her way home. In those of all the fucking shoes she could be wearing and a yellow uniform that stands out like a neon sign. She might as well be flashing like one too. The thought of her all alone while her father’s thugs look for her brings me back to the evening’s planned events.
She inhales under my sharp gaze but shifts her attention to a point over my shoulder.
“Katriona, look at me,” I command gently, pressing a finger beneath her chin until I have her attention back on me. She lifts those thick lashes softly, and the power knocks me back once again when her intense gaze connects with mine. I nearly groan aloud because that one flick of her lashes has my cock swelling behind the zipper of my slacks.
“Do you know why you’re here? Do you know about your father?” I ask.
“I do. It hit the evening news. I was at work. But you already know that.”
Her expression darkens and misplaced defiance clamps her mouth shut. Instead of continuing to rub her hands down the length of her uniform, she crosses them over her chest. The slight movement pushes her breasts up, and Drake and I are gifted the sweet sight of creamy flesh peeking out from the front of her uniform. She notches her chin a fraction higher, and I admire her strength.
In a word, she’s stunning and has no place working at some truck stop on some mile marker exit.
Business first. Then pleasure.