Page 43 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

The room buzzes with faint electrical hums. Somewhere near the ceiling, a vent clinks every few minutes.

Water pipes echo with the soft whine of pressure.

Lydia and Kinley are in the hallway, speaking in low, clipped voices.

They could be discussing reinforcements or nuclear war and still sound like they were reviewing inventory. It’s unnerving.

I lean back against the wall. The cot creaks slightly beneath Elias’s shifting weight.

Lydia steps back into the room, brushing dust from her sleeves. She glances at Elias, then at me. Her brow furrows slightly.

“I just checked the signal perimeter,” she says. “Someone pinged our extraction route from inside the city grid. Not passive. It was a hard redirect.”

My stomach tightens. “What does that mean?”

Lydia walks to the table, leans her weight against it. “It means someone inside Volker’s net knows we’re still breathing. And they’re not scrambling. They’re just…waiting.”

I glance at Elias. He hasn’t stirred. But his fingers curl slightly against the blanket, as if even in sleep, his body recognizes a threat.

“You said this place was off-grid,” I murmur.

“It is,” she says. “But they’re not looking for where we are. They’re predicting where we’ll go. The clinic. The house. And me, anywhere that smells like safety.”

A chill moves through me. Not just cold. Recognition.

“You think they’ll move tonight?” I ask.

Lydia shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think they need to. Because Volker knows Elias won’t run.”

She pushes off the table. “That’s the gamble. He’s betting on pride over survival. And if he’s right, we’re not safe here—or anywhere.”

I watch her leave the room.

I sit there, staring at Elias, feeling the weight of choices that haven’t yet been made—but already feel irreversible.

He breathes shallow and slow beside me.

Outside, something shifts. A rustle. A clatter. Not near. But not far.

Kinley moves past the doorway, gun in hand, silent and alert.

My heart doesn’t stop racing. Not when the night stills again. Not even when I lie beside Elias, curling against his side. His body is warm and taut with pain, but alive. I tuck my fingers into his shirt and close my eyes.

There’s no such thing as safety.

Only closeness. Only skin. Only the slow surrender of pretending we still have a choice.

I don't know when I fell asleep.

I wake to the smell of metal and sweat.

The air inside the safehouse has thickened, humid from too many bodies and too little airflow. Elias hasn’t moved, but I can feel the change in his breathing. Shallow, yes—but more aware. Lucid.

He’s watching me.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I murmur.

Elias’s voice is low, hoarse. “You needed it.”

His pupils are slightly dilated in the dim light, but alert. I sit up slowly, brushing the edge of the blanket off his abdomen. The wound on his shoulder is ugly and raw, soaked through the fresh gauze I’d previously changed before drifting off.

“You shouldn’t be awake,” I say.

“I heard Lydia.”

Of course he did.

“She’s right,” I whisper. “Volker’s not hunting us. He’s herding us.”

Elias shifts slightly, wincing. “And we let him.”

“No,” I say firmly. “We survived him. That’s not the same thing.”

His eyes flick up to mine. “You’re defending me now?”

“I’m stating facts.”

He breathes deeply, slower now, but every inhale is like it costs him something.

“Do you regret coming with me?” he asks.

I pause. My throat tightens. “No.”

Elias watches me like he doesn’t believe me—but he wants to.

“You should,” he mutters. “It’s not going to get easier.”

“I didn’t ask for easy,” I reply.

He exhales a breathless chuckle, but it dies quickly in his chest. His fingers reach up, catching the hem of my shirt near my waist.

“Lie with me,” he murmurs.

“I already am.”

“No. Not to sleep.”

There’s nothing overt in his tone. No seduction, no edge. Just need. Honest, stripped-down want. He could be asking for warmth. Or penance.

I stretch out beside him slowly. His fingers slide over my ribs, then stop—hovering at the place just beneath my breast. Not claiming. Just anchoring.

“I hate that you see me like this,” he says.

“Injured?”

“Vulnerable.”

I don’t respond right away. I don’t know how.

“Do you think less of me for it?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper. “I think more.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. “Because you want to fix me?”

“Because I finally believe you’re human.”

That stings him. I see it.

“Do you miss being the monster?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Not with words. His hand moves lower, slow, cautious. My breath stills. Not from fear. Not from shame.

From anticipation.

Elias’s fingers press gently against my stomach, then drift up again, tracing the outline of my ribs, my collarbone. He’s not looking at my body. He’s looking at my reaction. At control. Still testing the limits of what I’ll allow.

“I need you to understand something,” he says.

“Okay, what is that?”

“If I kill again, it won’t be for justice. It will be for you.”

I freeze.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he continues. “Not about who I am. Or what this is. If you want to run, do it now. While I still have enough blood left to let you.”

I stare at him.

“I’m not running.”

The line between us doesn’t vanish. It bends. Warps.

And I cross it.

The kiss isn’t a kiss; it’s like a blade, sharp and deliberate, slicing through the haze of my restraint.

I meet Elias’s mouth with my own, answering his threat with defiance, my lips bruising against his.

His breath is ragged, tasting of iron and desperation, a man teetering on the edge of control.

The fresh wound on his shoulder seeps red through the bandage, a stark reminder of his fragility, but his hands, God, his hands are anything but weak.

They claim me, splayed possessively across my lower back, fingers digging into the curve just above my hips, as if he could anchor me to this moment forever.

“I shouldn’t,” he growls, voice rough with pain and something darker, something that makes my pulse throb. His lips hover against mine, slick with shared breath, his forehead damp with sweat.

“Then don’t,” I challenge, my voice low, daring him to cross the line. “But you will.”

His tongue traces the edge of my lips, a slow, deliberate invasion, and I part for him, letting him taste the hunger I’ve buried.

He’s all steel and blood, a predator caged by his own broken body, but no less dangerous.

His kiss deepens, a clash of teeth and need, and I feel the tremor in his frame as he fights the pain radiating from his shoulder.

“I can’t take you like I want,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His gaze is molten, pupils blown wide, but his brow creases with the effort of holding himself together. “Not with this fucking wound.”

“Then don’t take me,” I whisper, leaning closer, my lips brushing the stubble along his jaw. “Consume me.”

A sound rips from him, raw, animalistic, torn between agony and want.

He shifts beneath me, his good arm tightening around my waist, pulling me down until I’m straddling him, my thighs bracketing his hips.

The movement draws a sharp hiss from his lips, his face twisting as the motion tugs at his injury, but his eyes never leave mine.

They burn, dark and unyielding, promising ruin.

“You’re not fragile,” I say, my hands sliding up his chest, careful to avoid the bandaged shoulder. “But you’re mine to break.”

His laugh is low, jagged, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to keep whole,” he murmurs, but his grip on my hips is anything but gentle, fingers bruising as he grips my waist and pulls me down flush over him.

The movement jolts a sound from him, half-pain, half-lust. I freeze, breath catching.

I pause, searching his face. “Too much?” My voice is softer now, laced with concern.

“Not enough,” he snarls, and his good hand slides up my thigh, calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin just below the hem of my skirt.

His touch is deliberate, unhurried, each stroke stoking the fire building low in my belly.

Even wounded, he’s a force, unrelenting, devastating, a storm I want to drown in.

I rise slightly, peeling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside, baring myself to him. His eyes darken, ravenous, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice reverent and wrecked. “You’re a goddamn vision.”

“Then destroy me,” I say, my voice a sultry command as I lean forward, letting my breasts brush against his chest. His good hand cups one, thumb circling my nipple until it pebbles under his touch, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

I arch into him, a moan slipping free as his mouth follows, lips closing over the sensitive peak, teasing with slow, deliberate licks.

Each flick of his tongue is a spark, igniting the ache between my thighs.

“Don't hold back,” I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan against my skin.

“I’m trying not to bleed out,” he grits out, but there’s a wicked edge to his voice, a challenge that makes me bolder.

I reach down, slipping my hand past his waistband, finding him thick and pulsing, velvet steel under my fingers.

His breath catches, a shudder running through him as I stroke him once, twice, feeling him throb in my grip.

“I’m going to ride you,” I say, my lips brushing his ear, voice dripping with intent. “And you’re going to stay still, or I’ll make you regret it.”

His fingers dig into my hips, hard enough to leave marks. “Do it,” he growls. “I’ll rip the fucking bandage out if it means having you.”

I position myself above him, guiding him to my entrance, already slick with want.

I sink down slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he’s buried deep inside me.

The stretch is exquisite, a delicious burn that has us both gasping, our breaths mingling in sharp, ragged bursts.

His good hand grips my thigh, urging me to move, but I hold still for a moment, savoring the way he fills me, the way his eyes flutter shut, jaw tight with restraint.

“You feel like damnation,” he groans, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “And I’d burn for you.”

I start to move, rocking my hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each roll drawing a curse from his lips.

His face is a study in contrasts—pain etched in the lines around his eyes, pleasure in the way his mouth falls open, breath hitching.

Sweat beads on his brow, his shoulder trembling under the strain, but he doesn’t stop me.

He watches, eyes locked on where we’re joined, a low growl building in his throat as I pick up the pace, grinding harder, chasing the friction that sets my nerves alight.

Outside, the world intrudes faintly—Lydia’s muffled voice, Kinley’s sharp retort. They know what’s happening behind this door, but they don’t dare interrupt. The thought sends a thrill through me, the danger of being caught only sharpening the edge of my desire.

I brace my hands on Elias’s chest, careful of his injury, and ride him faster, the slick heat between us building to a crescendo.

His fingers dig into my thighs, leaving crescent-shaped marks I’ll trace later, proof of this moment.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, voice raw, possessive. “Every fucking piece of you.”

“Always,” I breathe, and the word is a vow, a surrender.

He bucks up into me once, a sharp thrust that sends a bolt of pleasure spiraling through me, and I cry out, the sound swallowed by the heat of his mouth as he drags me down for a kiss.

It’s messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue, a claiming as brutal as it is tender.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice a low snarl against my lips, and it’s all I need.

The tension snaps, pleasure crashing over me in waves, my body clenching around him as I shatter, a scream tearing from my throat, muffled against his neck.

He follows me over the edge, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he pulses inside me, warmth flooding through me, marking me as his.

I collapse against him, both of us panting, slick with sweat and satisfaction. His good hand traces lazy circles down my spine, a gentle counterpoint to the intensity of moments before. “We’re a fucking disaster,” he murmurs, lips brushing my temple.

“The best kind,” I reply, my voice soft but certain, still catching my breath.

Outside, the night hums with unspoken tension, the world waiting to intrude. But here, in this stolen moment, it’s just us—broken, fierce, and irrevocably bound.

Nothing is settled. Not yet. Not ever.