Chapter 6

Sylan leans in—so close that I can feel his breath ghost over the bare skin of my neck, his body heat merging with mine in a way that makes it impossible to breathe. One more inch and I’d be in his arms.

“I know you’re afraid,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate. “You can whisper the answer to me. No one will ever hear it. No one will ever hurt you. I swear that to you, on my life.”

His nearness brings with it a masculine scent—dark and addictive—that only deepens the warmth spreading across my cheeks.

When I stay silent, his fingers drift away from the delicate strand of silk to toy with the lace ruffle bordering the top of my bodice.

My teeth drag across my lower lip, betraying me.

“Answer me, mo chroi. Where is it? And don’t lie,” he warns, voice quiet but firm. “We already know who you are. And we don’t have the time to play games.”

I try to ignore how my nipples harden under his featherlight touches, how my already-tensed body goes so stiff I feel like I might crack right down the center.

The expression on my face must scream shocked out of my mind, because Grey lets out a sharp sigh and shakes his head.

I whip my head toward him. “How? How did you know?”

“You think you ended up under our roof by accident?”

I press a hand to my churning stomach. “I don’t anymore, I guess.” Confusion draws tight lines across my forehead, but I don’t have the luxury of sorting through the chaos in my mind—Sylan speaks again, pulling all my attention back to him.

“When a man like your father does business with us,” he begins, his voice smooth as glass, “knowing all of his assets becomes… smart business.”

“Assets?” I echo, heart hammering. “You mean family. For blackmail. You dig into people’s lives, uncover their dirty secrets… their families… so you can use them as leverage? So you can kidnap them to get what you want? Is that it?” I don’t hold back anymore. The veil is off, the truth bleeding between us.

Sylan’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “You’re not exactly careful about hiding your trail. Neither is he. Or maybe we’re just better at our jobs than you ever imagined.”

His fingers skim downward, tracing over my skirt until they reach the hem. There, he teases along the edge, a touch so light it robs the air from my lungs. The tension coils—what will he do next? Strip me? Tug the leather high and expose me to his partners?

Before I can unravel any further, Drake pulls out his phone. He flips the screen toward me, revealing a photo—of me.

A few years ago. The day I walked into my father’s house.

Back then, I carried pure titanium in my spine and enough hope to drown out the world’s darkness. Despite the gnawing fear that my mother was right, I clung to the illusion that things could be different. That hope lasted right up until the moment my father slammed the door in my face and shoved me out of his life.

That was the day I discovered who he truly was: a snake in a tailored suit. An opportunist who crushed anything in his path. And what did that make me?

Sylan’s palm cups my cheek, thumb resting just below my jaw. And without thinking, without meaning to, I lean into the warmth of his touch. Because I’m only human.

“We’ve been watching you since that day, mo chroi,” he says gently. “How do you think you found a new roommate so fast when the last one disappeared? Landed a job like this without experience? No one has laid a finger on you this whole time. You think your father doesn’t have enemies who would love to get to you?”

The twisted peace I’ve lived in suddenly makes sense. “Keep your friends close, enemies closer,” I murmur. “Or maybe… daughter of the enemy closer.”

Sylan smirks, smug and unbothered.

I suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady myself against the sting of his words. “Nikki?”

“A paid member of our establishment,” he replies without hesitation. “And a bodyguard, undercover.”

Betrayal spreads through me like thick black ink, sinking deep. All the nights we stayed up talking, me pouring my guts out about my mobster father—every horror, every scar—while she just listened. Pretending her life was sunshine and roses. Pretending to care. My ride-or-die, she said. A fucking lie.

How could she? That bitch.

Sylan snaps me back to the present, both of his hands framing my face, holding me steady.

“Answer the question, and we move forward. No more games. We get to the real reason you’re here.” His voice lowers again, edgier now. On the verge of something darker. My lips tremble beneath the weight of his gaze—and then, suddenly, everything shifts.

What he does next stuns us both.

Or maybe he groans—I can’t be sure. I can’t think. Can’t focus. Not when the mobster’s mouth claims mine and sets everything on fire.

He drags me flush against him, my body crashing into his like it belongs there. I feel him—solid, burning hot. Then there’s another chest at my back, strong arms circling my waist. Too many hands on me. Too many sensations, too fast for my brain to process.

Rough palms grip my hips, anchoring me as I find myself leaning back into a broad chest. My legs instinctively wrap around Sylan’s waist. My skirt hikes up high, leaving very little to the imagination.

Between my thighs, I feel him—hard, thick, and straining against me.

“Sylan,” I breathe, but he swallows my voice with another kiss.

Katriona

Through it all, Sylan doesn’t lift his mouth from mine—not once. His kiss is a fierce claim, a raw brand seared into me. His tongue thrusts deep, groaning into the heat of my mouth. I meet him stroke for stroke, breath for breath, my body melting into his. But then, just as suddenly, I’m wrenched away—only to be caught by another mouth. Another demanding, possessive kiss that steals the air from my lungs.

Rough hands, unyielding arms. My heart threatens to beat right out of my chest. Hungry touches trail along my body, each caress stoking something primal inside me. I’m swimming—drowning—in sensation. The kisses, the touches, the tension. I don’t know whose arms I’m in, whose lips are devouring mine, not until I force my eyes open.

Drake.

He’s staring down at me, his gaze ablaze with soul-searing intensity. That look strips me bare, leaves me trembling with the desperate need to taste him again. To taste them again.

He gently lowers me to the floor, but I don’t feel grounded. I’m surrounded now—by heat, by desire, by them. And somehow, it’s both comforting and utterly disorienting.

With a shaky gasp, I tear myself from their arms, though I can’t fully convince myself that I want to. My skin is flushed, tingling. Every nerve is standing at attention, my body thrumming with anticipation.

Waiting.

Waiting for one of us to cross that line—take this to the place we all know we’re on the edge of.