DAHLIA ALDRIDGE
They came. They came for me.
Of course they had. Instant relief filled my system the moment I saw them.
I should have still been scared. Rationally, I knew that, especially since they were blood-splattered and strapped with more weapons than I even knew existed. But the dark outlines of my men on the rainy, windy, moonlit cliffside had me only feeling relief.
Though that emotion was quickly replaced by the anger that surged through me, focused on Ian and the hold he had on my hair. I didn’t want his touch, I wanted them. Now.
Patrick’s grin only grew upon seeing them walk towards us. There was something wrong here. Suddenly, the need to protect them overwhelmed me. I wanted to scream for them to run, to get out of here before they could get hurt.
Why had he told me they’d been injured in the explosion?
Why had he told me some of them may have even been killed?
I should have never even let those words permeate my thoughts, because I had a feeling that the only people who had been killed were the ones standing in their way. I almost smiled, feeling a high run through me at their mere presence. I was almost positive that I’d lost my sanity along with my ability to stand upright on my own a bit ago…but I would keep going. I would stay strong until we were safe.
The ocean wind was making my face raw, and my eyes stung from the saltwater. I shivered, lacking body heat and not wanting to take any from Ian. I didn’t want my men to see any of that though. I wanted them to see that I had never doubted them. That I would never doubt them.
My stomach rolled as I nearly gasped in pain, my breathing uneven and coming in pants. Dizziness spiraled through me as Ian’s grip on my hair hardened. I was in shock. At least I thought I was… I’d never been in a position like this before.
My state didn’t stop me from looking over them greedily, though. I first looked towards Lincoln, my eyes running over the t-shirt that was plastered to his chest by the winds ripping off the ocean along the cliffside. His azure eyes were black and solely focused on Ian’s grip on my hair.
I could nearly see the restraint it was taking him to not walk towards us, and there was a blaze underneath his skin that was almost explosive. I didn’t want to defuse Lincoln, though—I wanted to experience it fully. Experiencehimfully.
When his gaze didn’t meet my own, my eyes darted towards Sterling to find him already looking at me, the expression on his face causing my eyes to sting with tears. Blood ran down the left side of his face, making me wonder how badly he was injured. It looked like someone had tried to attack him. His shirt was torn in places along the sleeve, a vest strapped across his chest like the others. Unlike Lincoln, though, Sterling had a gun out, and seeing him with a weapon did something to me. It was so different from how I was used to seeing him, and instead of being uncomfortable with it, I fought the urge to tug out of Ian’s hard hold to go to him, even if it hurt.
It would be worth it.
Stratton shifted next to him, and when my gaze snapped to him, a frustrated almost-whine built in my throat. His face was bruised and covered in blood, his eyes darting between Patrick and where Ian held me on the edge of the cliff. I could see the anger simmering underneath his skin like a dangerous storm, and there was something noticeably different with him. I would accept it, no matter what it was, because the relief I felt at seeing him alive was like nothing I had ever felt before.
Yates.Yates was alive too. Thank god. My perfect stalker was fully focused on Patrick, his gun trained on the man, looking completely cool and calm. His white hair was painted in what appeared to be dust, possibly from the warehouse explosion, and his face was spotted with dried blood. None of that took away from the deadly control he seemed to have, standing there with a lethality that reminded me of a bullet. I wanted him to look at me so I could get another rush of euphoric relief at knowing he was okay.
I also knew that he wouldn’t be focused if he did. Yates was always focused on me…but this would be different. I knew he would lose it if he really concentrated on the state I was in right now.
I swallowed and looked towards King, my entire body freezing up. I had witnessed so many versions of King throughout the years, and I could say without a doubt that this version of him terrified me. It wasn’t because he was covered in blood. It wasn’t because of the gun he carried. No, it was because his face was absolutely void of emotion.
Nothing. Literally nothing. His eyes were cold and dark despite being wholly fixed on me, his chilling expression causing my skin to break out into shivers. My pulse hitched, and I was hit with the sudden urge to run from him. Never in my life had I felt that way about King, but every base instinct was warning me that this was a predator we were not equipped to handle.
But that was the thing—I didn’t want to handle or fight King, I wanted to love him. That concept blocked out any other instinct, and my love for him rose above it all. My love for all of them had my eyes watering as I refused to break his stare, practically begging him to come back to me. After a long second, I saw a small crack in the void, and it was all I needed to know that my King was still there. That he still needed me.
But he needed to be the scary version of himself in this moment, and the minute I offered him a small look of understanding, everything was sealed back up.
I tried to tug out of Ian’s hold, wanting to be back with them, to be back home, and when Ian yanked me back, King released a sound that didn’t seem possible for a human to make.
“So good of you to join us, boys. I figured this would be something you would want to see.” Patrick’s voice pulled me from the moment as I slowly moved my gaze from Kingston to Dermot, who was solely focused on his father.
I hadn’t known Dermot for very long, despite the intensity of my emotions for him, but everything about this posture told me that he was in his element. His face was stoic, but his gaze was dancing with a determined inferno that spoke to violence and bloodshed.
No one asked what Dermot’s father meant.
I should have expected what happened next. The man raised a gun and pointed it right towards me, the barrel of the weapon causing my knees to feel weak.
I was going to die.
I was going to die.
And the only thing I could think about was how I hadn’t been able to tell each of them, each of my men, that I loved them. I had wanted them for so long and would always want them, even past this life.