Page 21 of Fractured Loyalties

Twenty-One

ROMAN

I should be with Ivy. I shouldn’t be here.

But my father has me running deals constantly now with Kade held over my head, and Edward gets to take my little lamb to school. I have to fix this problem, but not at this particular moment.

Tonight, I have to deal with a man my father refers to as “our most promising investor.”

Really, he’s a fucking idiot. He looks like a meth addict who lucked into an Armani suit at the Salvation Army.

I sit in the Range Rover as the guy paces in a patch of broken moonlight near the loading bay, clutching a battered briefcase that looks as if it might fall apart at any second.

I check my phone. I’m ten minutes late, just as I planned to be.

It’s better to keep the people who owe you nervous, and the ones you owe happy.

He finally spots me after he takes a moment to look around. I flash the headlights at him once, then twice, and he comes jogging up to the driver’s side window. I roll it down.

“Roman,” he breathes out, voice three octaves higher than the last time I heard it. “I wasn’t sure?—”

“Cut the shit,” I tell him, leaning over close enough that his aftershave burns my eyes. “Do you have it?”

He fumbles with the case and clicks it open with trembling fingers. The cash inside is stacked in bundles, rubber-banded tight, the way only the truly paranoid do it. I can see the veins in his hands as he holds it out.

“It’s all there. I swear. Tell your father that you know, I don’t owe him the full amount?—”

I grab the case and snap it shut, cutting him off. “He’ll know,” I say, because honestly, I don’t give a shit. I know my father shortchanges everyone. For everything. Every time

The squirrelly guy licks his lips and then glances over his shoulder. “There’s… been talk,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “About you. About your family. People say?—”

“They say a lot of things,” I interrupt. “None of it matters.”

He tries to smile, but it slides off his face in a weird, twitchy way. “Right. Right. But it involves… Bad, bad things…”

I watch him for a moment—wondering, just for fun, if he’ll shit himself when I don’t leave right away. But he stands his ground. Which means, maybe, he’s got more to lose than his life.

I lean closer, leaning into his ear. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

He nods, and for a second, I can smell the ammonia of his sweat. I pull away and roll the window up. When I look back, he’s already disappeared into the shadows.

I drive home with the windows cracked, letting the cold wind numb my face—the city blurs by, neon and sodium vapor, every block darker than the last. My mind spins, trying to go back to Ivy, but all I can think about is how the guy said it’s not the full amount…

And I have to deal with that, with my father, before I can have Ivy.

I fucking hate my life.

The guards at the gate of the estate nod as I pull in, but I don’t bother to acknowledge them. I park in the driveway, grab the case, and head inside.

I don’t look around as I am focused solely on business. I get to my father’s office and enter without knocking. He is sitting behind his desk as usual, already waiting, a glass in his hand, and his face lit from below like some demon in a bedtime story.

I drop the briefcase on the desk. The thud echoes like a gunshot.

“Sit,” he says, not looking up from his drink.

I do, sinking into a chair upholstered in ox-blood leather.

He waits a full minute before opening the case.

Then, he flips through the stacks, his fingers quick and sure.

When he gets to the end, he closes the case and sets it aside.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at me over the rim of his glass.

“This is short,” he finally says.

“Investor claims he was owed for last month’s shortages,” I say, keeping my tone even.

He stares at me harder, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Do you believe him?”

“I’m just the pickup man,” I say. “It’s what he said.”

He leans back, swirling the amber in his glass. “You know, Roman, I always thought you were smarter than this. I can’t let you in on the good stuff, without you learning how to ensure a deal is done correctly.”

My jaw tics, but I hold his gaze. “Maybe I just don’t care anymore. I know nothing about what you do, and therefore, why should I give a shit?”

My father sets his glass down with a clink. “Careful,” he says. “You’re starting to sound like a liability.”

“I’m the only son you have left,” I say, and hate how desperate it sounds. “Who else is going to do this fuckery for you?”

He laughs, low and cold. “Anyone. That’s the problem. Loyalty is cheap, just takes a little cash. But competence?” He shakes his head. “That’s rare. And you’re squandering it.”

I want to reach across the desk and break his fucking nose. But I just sit there, glaring at him. Suddenly, he stands and comes around the desk so we’re face-to-face. He leans in, his eyes full of nothing but contempt.

“If you keep fucking up,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll give everything to your stepsister. She’s smarter than you, and at least she’s not a total disappointment. She knows that this life is a luxury, not a guarantee.”

It’s meant to hurt, and it does. But I can’t let him see it. I smile, slow and venomous. “Funny, I thought you preferred your bastards to have a dick like you.”

For a second, there’s a flicker of something. His hand moves faster than I can track, and his knuckles crack against my jaw. I hear the pop of flesh splitting, and taste the blood before I feel the pain.

My father stands over me, not even out of breath. “Don’t fuck with me, Roman. Let’s not forget that kid you put in the bay. He was worth much more to me than you.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing red across my knuckles. I look up at him, my eyes burning with a hate that’s older than both of us. “Wouldn’t dream of forgetting him.”

“Get out.” He turns his back and steps over to the window.

I stand, slowly and deliberately, and leave the office. The taste of blood lingers in my mouth, sharp and electric. My jaw throbs, but it’s a good pain. A clarifying pain.

I don’t fucking care. If my father wants to hand everything to Ivy? Let him. I’ll take more than this house, and more than his money. I’ll take every fucking thing that means anything to him. And if all Ivy means to me is leverage, so what?

But that’s a lie, and I know it.

I can’t stop thinking about her, about the way her mouth tasted when I bit her in the fitting room, and the way she looked at the photos in my room as if she was seeing her own funeral. Obsessing over her may have started as a weird, desperate attempt at control over my broken family, but now…

She actually wants me.

I move through the house like a shadow, still in my all-black suit, and still with blood running down my chin. I need her. I need her right fucking now.

Ivy’s door is unlocked, and even if it’s not, I pretend as if it is, because she wants me to be here. I turn the knob and swing it inward, stepping inside and then closing us in.

I flip the lock.

My little lamb is curled under the blankets, one pale arm thrown across her face, her hair a mess on the pillow. For a second, I just watch her, watch her chest rising and falling, her lips slightly parted.

She looks so fucking innocent, it makes me want to shred her to pieces.

Quietly, I sit on the edge of her bed, just like the first time.

There’s a sick, sad part of me that wants to just crawl into the sheets beside her and cling to her, begging her just to let me hold her.

Then, she stirs, eyelashes fluttering, a soft sound leaking from her lips that goes right to my cock.

I cover her mouth with my hand before she can make a real noise. She jolts awake instantly, panic in her eyes, and her hands clawing at my wrist. I keep the pressure gentle, just enough to keep her quiet, and then I lean in close.

“Shh,” I whisper, voice a ragged mess. “It’s just me. Don’t scream. I’ve got you.”

Her eyes remain huge, but she stops struggling. I feel her heartbeat pounding through her lips, steady and frantic. I move my hand away slowly, then use it to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She’s so warm, so alive, and for a second, I can’t believe how much I need her.

“You’re bleeding,” she says, her voice thin and scared. She stares at my mouth, at the dark smear of blood on my hand.

“Yeah,” I say. “Robert did it. Bad business deal.”

Her eyes flick to the door, then back to me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The words squeeze my chest, but saying anything in return would be weakness.

So, I take her wrist and pin it to the mattress above her head.

She tries to squirm at first, but I’m stronger, and the blanket tangles around her legs.

I use my free hand to slide under her shirt, dragging nails across her ribs until she shivers.

“Roman, stop it,” she whispers, but her voice is a plea, not a command. “You need to clean that up.”

“Make me,” I whisper, and clamp my mouth over hers, kissing her hard. The cut splits open again, and I taste blood. She tries to twist away, but I hold her down, my tongue forcing its way between her teeth. She moans into my mouth, and the sound is desperate and filthy.

I pull away and bite her jaw, then her throat, leaving red marks in the soft skin. She bucks under me, her hands fisting the sheets, but I know she’s not really trying to get away.

Not anymore.

I shove her shirt up, exposing her breasts to the cold air, and bite down on a nipple, just enough to make her gasp. My cock is already hard and pressing against the thin fabric of my pants. I want to make her scream and feel every ounce of the anger and hate that’s boiling in my chest.

Even if it’s not at her.

“Please,” she whimpers, and I can’t tell if she wants me to stop or wants more.

I decide for her.

I yank her shorts off and toss them somewhere to the floor. Her panties go next, and her tight pussy glistens under the moonlight. She’s so wet. Wetter than I expected.

I laugh, a dark sound in the back of my throat. “You’re always ready f for me.”

Her eyes lock onto mine. “Yes,” she pants, grinding her hips at me as I tease her with my hand. “Yes, I want you so bad.”

I slide two fingers inside her, twisting until she’s panting. She whimpers as I thumb her clit, and then I take all my hand away. I let her watch as I pop them into my mouth, savoring the taste of her.

“You’re so good, Ivy,” I groan, the unique flavor so goddamn intoxicating. I lean back and then dip my face between her legs.

She shivers as I run my tongue between her slit, lapping up the moisture as she grinds against my face. “Please let me come,” the words slip from her throat, and my cock grows rigid.

I knew I’d break her.

“Say it again,” I growl, burying my face deep in her sweet cunt. I tug at her clit, and then circle it with my tongue.

“ Please, ” she cries. “Please let me come, Roman.”

I dig my fingers into her thighs and then pick up my pace, giving her exactly what she wants. I need her to know I can be everything she wants, just as much as I’ll take everything I need from her.

My mouth slips from her lips in a breathy gasp the moment her body gives into pleasure, her legs clenching my head. I drink her in and draw her through the orgasm, until it subsides.

Only then do I drop my pants to the floor and force her legs further apart. She’s trembling, sweat beading up on her forehead as she looks up at me.

“This is so wrong,” she says, the words like poison, her voice a pant.

“The best things always are,” I growl back, then line up and thrust into her, no warning, no gentleness.

She arches up, mouth open in a silent scream, fingers scrabbling at my shoulders. I fuck her slowly, then faster, every thrust pushing her higher up the bed. The headboard knocks against the wall, a steady rhythm that drowns out the sound of her gasps.

I hope the whole goddamn house hears that she’s mine.

And I know there may be consequences.

But I’ll protect you, Ivy.

I watch her face as I fuck her, watch the way her eyes glaze and the way her body gives in even as her mind tries to deny it.

I lean down and bite her throat, tasting sweat and fear and the rush of blood under her skin.

My own blood drips from my lip onto her chest, streaking her pale skin with red.

She starts to come a second time, her whole body tightening, legs shaking around my hips. I clamp a hand over her throat, squeezing off the sound as she convulses under me.

“Good girl,” I whisper in her ear, and she shudders, squeezing me so tightly I nearly lose it. I empty myself inside of her, grinding my cock deep as I come.

There’s nothing better than Ivy. Nothing.

She lies there limp beneath me, tears leaking from her eyes. I wipe them away with my thumb and then lick the salt from my skin.

“I’ll take care of you, Ivy,” the words slip from my lips before I realize what I’m saying.

Her lashes flutter a few times, and confusion flickers across her expression. She doesn’t believe me. I know she doesn’t.

But that’s the thing about real family. We always come through.

And Ivy? She’s my only fucking family. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.