Page 80 of Cold Bastard
I was still buzzing with it as I descended the stairs. The intoxicating high that came from total domination, from owning someone so thoroughly they couldn’t imagine existing without you.
She is mine.
The thought was a drumbeat in my skull, primal and possessive. I marked her, claimed her, broke her down and rebuilt her into something that existed solely for me. And fuck, it feltgood. Better than anything I had felt in years.
The gathering room was relatively quiet for mid-afternoon. A few brothers lounged around the pool table. Xzibit was behind the bar restocking bottles, and Morpheus was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his expression dark and thunderous.
Fuck.
I barely had time to register the warning before he moved. His hand shot out, grabbed the front of my shirt, and slammed me back against the wall with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. The impact rattled my teeth, and suddenly his face was inches from mine, his eyes blazing with barely controlled fury as he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. “That cunt you’ve been fucking emailed her brother. He knows she’s here.”
His words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
What?“When?” I demanded, my hands coming up to grip his wrists. Not to fight him off—I knew better than that—but to ground myself, to process what he was saying.
“Three days ago,” Morpheus said, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. “While you’ve been playing with your dick, you forgot to check your own goddamn security protocols. She used your computer, Nano.Yourcomputer.”
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
The realization crashed over me like a wave. Three days ago. Right after I left her alone in my room. Right after I started the psychological warfare that had led to her complete breakdown. She reached out to Poseidon. To her brother. The brother in the Gods of Mayhem, and I had been too fucking distracted by the taste of her submission to notice.
“How do you know?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Because I have protocols in place for exactly this kind of shit,” Morpheus snapped. “Every outgoing email from this clubhouse gets flagged and copied to a secure server. I saw it the second it went out. I’ve been waiting to see if you would figure it out on your own, but clearly you’ve been too busy thinking with your dick.”
Shame and fury warred in my chest. He was right. I fucked up. I let my obsession with Alex cloud my judgment, let my need to break her override every security measure I put in place.
“What did the email say?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Morpheus said flatly. “You fucked up. For your sake”—his voice dropped to a deadly whisper—“you better have that fucking thief locked down. Because when her brother shows up, and hewillshow up, you two better put on a damn good show for him. You better make it crystal fucking clear that she is here by choice, that she is yours, and that she is not going anywhere. Do you fucking get me?”
I met his eyes and saw the warning there. This wasn’t just about Alex anymore. This was about the club. About the fragile truce between the Brotherhood and the Gods of Mayhem. About preventing a war that could destroy everything we’d built.
“I get you,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.
“Good,” Morpheus said. “Because if this goes sideways, if Poseidon decides his sister needs rescuing and brings the full weight of the Gods of Mayhem down on us, I will put a bullet in her head myself and deal with you later. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He held my gaze for another long moment, then released me with a shove that sent me stumbling back a step. “Fix this, Nano. Or I’ll fix it for you.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him that Alex was completely broken, that she submitted so thoroughly there was no way she would try to leave now, that I had this under control, but before I could get a word out, the clubhouse doors burst open.
The sound was loud enough to make everyone in the room turn. Conversations died mid-sentence as all eyes focused on the entrance. Helen Michael walked in first, and even in the midst of crisis, I couldn’t help but notice why Firestride’s mother had a reputation. She was stunningly beautiful. She was in her late forties with sharp cheekbones and eyes that missed nothing. But it wasn’t Helen who held my attention. It was the man she wassupporting, along with a blonde woman on his other side and a teenage girl hovering anxiously behind them.
Firestride.
Fuck.
He looked like death warmed over. His face was pale, almost gray, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of pain and blood loss. His left arm was in a sling, and the way he was leaning heavily on both women made it clear he could barely stand on his own. He should have been in the hospital. Should have been in a bed with IVs and monitors and doctors making sure he didn’t fucking die from the injuries the Death Dogs had inflicted.
Instead, he was here.
“Carver!” Morpheus’ voice boomed through the gathering room, sharp and commanding, echoing off the high ceilings and wood-paneled walls.
Brothers materialized from every corner of the clubhouse like shadows coming to life. Cerberus emerged from the hallway, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor. Garrote burst through the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dishrag he quickly tossed aside. Scythe came bounding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. They converged on Firestride with the kind of coordinated precision that came from years of brotherhood, hands reaching out to support him, to take his weight from the women who had been desperately holding him up.
“Easy, brother,” Cerberus said, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man of his size as he and Garrote carefully guided Firestride toward one of the worn leather couches that lined the far wall. “We got you. Just breathe.”
