Page 110 of Double Down

“Fuck you, Mav,” I shout.

My handprint blooms on his cheek, and anger blazes in his eyes.

“Hit me again, Firebird. See what fucking happens.”

His eyes are so wide I can see the whites all the way around his pupils. I dare to glance down and see his fists clench at his sides.

He steps forward. I step back until my spine hits the wall. He cages me in, palms planted on the drywall beside my head. Storm’s knife is warm in my hand, grounding me.

There is no escape, even if I don’t want one.

“Your pretty words and pretty mouth won’t stop me from fucking women who want to fuck me for me—not because they think they have to. Not because I’m a package deal with the others.”

“If that’s what you wanted, you wouldn’t have brought that trash up here. She didn’t care about you, Maverick. She doesn’t want you. She wants to fuck a Titan.”

“How is that any different from you?” He leans to my ear. “I guess the difference is you’re getting paid to fuck all of us. Guess we do endorse solicitation after all.”

My hand flies again as I slap him hard. The crack echoes through the quiet room.

He rears back and buries his fist in the drywall next to me. I don’t flinch. He would never hurt me—not unless I begged him to.

Even then, that’s not Maverick. That’s who he thinks he should be.

“I don’t fuck you because I’m paid. Being with you has never been obligation or proximity to the others. It has nothing to do with you being a Titan.”

He scoffs and starts to pull away, but I snag his collar and hold him. “I fuck you because I want you. I spend time with you because you make me feel good, and you have never been second at anything in your fucking life.”

“Please. You fuck Atticus because you like his kink and his brain. You fuck Storm because being that close to danger is a thrill. Andyou fuck Con because he’s the one you’ve always wanted. I’m just the spare you ride when the others are busy.”

I raise my hand again, but he catches my wrist and pins it over my head.

“Do not hit me again, little Firebird.” And then I see him—the ten-year-old boy on the verge of a panic attack because he thinks he isn’t loved. The child who believes he’ll always be compared to others and come up short.

“This isn’t about fucking me,” I say, softer. “It can’t be. What is it really about?” I grab hold of him with the hand he’s not pinning to the wall

“Let it go,” he says, trying to pull away.

“No.” I tighten my grip on his shirt. His fist doesn’t loosen around my wrist. “Listen to me, Maverick. You told me you were mine. I’m not going anywhere. You are not second-rate, and the next time you bring another woman into this penthouse, I will kill her while you watch, and then I will kill you. I swear to fucking god.”

He scoffs, and I grab his neck and yank him down until we’re eye to eye. At the same time I wind my legs around his waist and climb him like a monkey, holding on to him with everything I have. Everything I am.

“Look at my face, into my eyes, search for my tells, and try to claim that I’m bluffing. Don’t worry about what I see in them—worry about what they see in me. I will kill to keep what’s mine, and we don’t have time to get rid of another fucking body.”

I slam my mouth to his in a kiss that claims. He doesn’t move at first. I think for a second he’s going to keep fighting me. Then he gives in. He opens to me, and for a breath he’s at my mercy.

It lasts a moment and then he takes control.

The kiss turns punishing. He pours everything into it—his pain, his anger, all of it.

His hand tightens around my forearms, locked around his neck, and he presses me into the wall. He rocks into my core, hard as steel.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he confesses against my mouth. “I didn’t touch her. I didn’t kiss her, Firebird. I don’t know why I?—”

“I know,” I pant, dragging him back down to me. “’Cause you’d be a dead man if you had.”

28

Maverick