Page 20

EVEREST

The morning light slices through the curtain, sharp and unforgiving. The air in the apartment still hums with the tension from the night before, while the scent of vanilla and sin lingers on my skin. And even though my dick is ready for round two, he'll have to wait because I want answers.

London is curled up at the edge of my bed, her back to me, her hair spilling over her bare shoulder like ink on white sheets. I've been watching her for some time, even though she's no longer sleeping.

I see the tension her body is holding.

I know her.

This woman’s holding back.

Holding in what happened between us last night, and then some.

So am I.

Because while she might think last night started here in my bed, it didn't.

It started well before.

Even before I walked into that goddamn strip club and saw her dancing.

The truth is, I've been watching her for days, sitting in the shadows, making sure no one got too close to what's mine . To make sure she was safe. And telling myself I have no damn right to feel the way I do.

Then, a drunk asshole with more booze than brains stumbled to his feet and reached for her.

He touched her like he had the right to do so.

I was already moving before I realized it, shoving past tables and bodies, ready to break the stupid fuck in two.

The bouncer got to London first, yanking her off the stage.

She didn't see the rest.

She didn't see me dragging the son of a bitch out the back door.

She didn’t see the way my fist connected with his face repeatedly until my knuckles were slick with his blood.

I don't even remember if I said anything to him.

The rage took over, and I only wanted to send a message.

I was mid-swing when my phone buzzed in my pocket and I almost didn't answer.

I wish I hadn't.

It was Riggs. He needed me at Kings Tactical.

The alarm tripped, and he was en route. So were the others.

I cursed, left the bastard I was dealing with bleeding behind the dumpster, and reluctantly headed back to town, thinking I'd be back before the club closed its doors, and I could follow London home.

When I arrived at the store, it looked like a crime scene.

A fire truck was parked out front, lights flashing, and the crew was still milling about.

The fire marshal was also present. Smoke was curling from the open door.

The sprinklers inside had done their job and extinguished the flames.

Chief Richards was there speaking with Riggs.

He wanted to know if the fire was just some random electrical issue or if the club had gone and pissed off the wrong person.

I fucking stood there, jaw tight and frustrated, trying to calm the storm in my chest the entire time because I couldn't shake an uneasy feeling.

Then Riggs got a call.

London was in trouble.

We didn't wait for details.

We just followed Riggs.

But I already knew where he was leading us.

I should have been there. If I were, London wouldn't have been stunned by a goddamn taser and tossed in a car like she was nothing. She wouldn't have been taken.

The only thing that saved her was the strip club's owner, Tony, who pulled some hero shit and got to her before the fucker had gone too far. London was saved. The fucker who attempted to take her was long gone by the time we got there.

And all of it is on me .

Every damn bit of it.

I'm the one who should have been there.

But I wasn't.

I sit up, the mattress dipping under my weight. My head is a mess of relief, anger, and questions. Last night was a climactic disaster of fire and fury. A collision of raw need and frustration. But it didn't solve shit. It only added fuel to the fire, trying to consume us.

It's time we stop fucking around.

No more hiding.

It's time for truths.

I stand, not bothering with clothes, and stride into the kitchen to make coffee.

After it's done brewing, I grab a couple of mugs from the cabinet, fill them, add some sugar and cream to London's, and stalk back to the bedroom.

I sit her cup on the nightstand and stand there, watching her. She doesn't budge.

"Time to talk, babe." My voice is low and rough.

London shifts, eyes still closed, refusing to look at me, her jaw tight. "There's nothing to talk about."

I chuckle, but it's humorless. "Bullshit." I take a sip of coffee. "You gonna tell me why you've been sneaking around? Why you're dancin' half-naked for other men?"

Her eyes snap open, fire flashing in them. "I don't owe you answers." She pauses, then asks, "Why does Tony think I belong to you?"

I give her some truth, hoping she'll do the same. "Because I've been at the club, keeping my eyes on you since the night I found out you were stripping," I admit, and watch the storm swirling in her eyes.

"How long?"

"Since the cookout at Pop's."

"Let me make it perfectly clear. I don't belong to you, Kallum," London fumes.

I sit my mug on the nightstand and hover over her. London's eyes go straight to my dick, but I ignore it. "You. Are. Mine . Babe. From the moment I claimed you in front of my brothers to the second you let me inside you last night, you are mine ."

London sits up, the sheet falling to her waist, exposing her breasts. She doesn't cover herself. I don't expect her to. Her eyes bore into mine. "Don't twist this." She waves her hand between us. "Last night was nothing. It meant nothing."

"Was it nothing?" I stare her down.

Her lips press into a thin line, but her eyes, defiant as ever, flash with something deeper. Something she's terrified to admit.

"It meant something, babe. You know it." I confront her with the truth. "Now, why are you stripping?" My voice is softer, but no less commanding, as I return to my previous question.

London snatches her coffee from the nightstand, wrapping both hands around the mug like a shield. Her eyes drop, and for a second, I think she won't answer, that she'll completely shut down and push me away.

But then she whispers, "I had to."

Silence settles between us.

It's thick and heavy.

"Why?" I press her.

London doesn't look at me. She stares into her coffee like it holds all the answers she is scared to give.

"Talk to me, babe."

"I can't while that's…" she points at my dick, "… staring at me."

London looks up at me, and my lip twitches as she glares.

Yielding to the moment and hoping she will open up to me, I sit beside her on the edge of the bed and drape the sheet over my lap.

After several seconds, London sighs. "I'm doing it for my mom," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with emotion.

"She has Alzheimer's, and it's an aggressive form that has taken away so much of her in a short time. I had to make the difficult decision to put her in an assisted living facility because it became too challenging to care for her on my own. The costs are staggering…” She sighs.

“Much more than I can comfortably manage with my current income at the firm.

" She takes a moment, her shoulders trembling slightly under the weight of her words, but she forces herself to straighten up. "I needed a simple solution."

I drag a hand down my face. "You should've told me."

London lets out a bitter and shaky laugh. "Told you? I don't belong to you, Kallum. You don't belong to me. So why would I tell you anything?"

Her words sting more than I care to admit, but I ignore the burning sensation deep in my chest they leave behind. "You've been mine longer than you care to admit, and you are part of the Kings' family. You have a whole damn support system behind you, but you're too damn stubborn to see it."

"My problems aren't my friends’ problems. And I sure as hell don't expect them, or you, to come in and fix my life," London fires back, her voice cracking with indignation.

"What would you have done if you'd known?

Would you really hand over thousands a month for my mom to get the care she so desperately deserves? "

"I'd pay that and then some without a second thought!"

London's eyes blaze with intensity. "Why? My mom is nothing to you!" I feel the heat of her anger radiating from her body.

"But she means everything to you, babe, and that's all that matters," I retort, frustration consuming me, unable to control the growl that escapes my throat.

I stand. "You're not goin' back and takin' your clothes off for another man," I say, calm but firm, knowing I'm throwing kerosene on the fire.

London shoots to her feet. "You don't get a say in what I do."

I tower over her, my body humming with the need to fuck that attitude right out of her. "The fuck I don't."

London glares at me. "Fuck you, Kallum. I. Do. Not . Belong. To. You." She pushes against my chest, but I don't budge. I won't let her push me away. She wants to fight, wants to rage, but beneath it all, she is breaking, and I'll be damned if she does it alone.

Without a word, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight against me. At first, her body is stiff, locked down, and defiant. She pushes harder, fists pressing against my chest, but I don't let go.

I hold her.

Silent.

Steady.

Solid.

I feel it—the moment she gives in.

Her shoulders slump, and a shudder rips through her body. London presses her head against my chest, and her hands cling to my skin like she hates herself for needing me. The first sob is small and muffled.

The sound cracks me wide open.

I say nothing. I don't ask questions. I don't offer words she doesn't want to hear. I simply let her break apart in my arms. Her tears soak onto my flesh, hot and fast. Her body shakes, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the weight she's been carrying alone finally crushes her.

I fucking hate it.

I hold her tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in.

She cries for a long time until her body has nothing left to give, and I absorb what I can until the storm inside her burns out.