Page 27 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

T he engine was still running. I hadn’t turned it off since pulling up in front of the building where he shared an apartment with Thalia and Claire.

The hum beneath me was constant, like a second pulse, steadying and maddening all at once.

My fingers beat a manic rhythm on the steering wheel, nerves and anticipation gnawing at each other in my chest like rabid dogs.

Everything was ready. The jet was fueled. The suite on the island prepped. The staff briefed to give us space and paid off to never speak a word.

Almost everything.

I just needed him.

I stared at his contact on the screen for a full minute before pressing the call button. My thumb hovered like it could feel the weight of every wrong choice I’d made. When the line connected, and I heard his voice, it felt like being sliced open.

“Theo?” Wary. Guarded. Like he didn’t know if it was really me or if this was just another trick.

“Come outside,” I said, my voice raw. Silence. “Please, Sin… just come outside.”

The seconds dragged on. Then the front door creaked open. When he stepped into the night, my breath tore from my lungs.

He looked like fury sculpted into flesh. Jaw clenched, arms folded tight across his chest, rage painted in the harsh line of his brow. Heartbreak hiding in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re seriously just showing up here? After a week of silence?” His voice sliced through the night, sharp and trembling. “No texts. No fucking calls. No explanation. Just poof. You disappeared like I didn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“I couldn’t—” I stepped out of the car. “I couldn’t call. I know that…” I shook my head, running a frustrated hand through my hair. “I should have. But I’m here now.”

He scoffed. “What do you want, Theo?”

“I need you to come with me.”

A laugh, hollow and furious. “You need me ? Now? After you vanished into thin air? You don’t get to just show up with a command and a wounded little smile and expect me to?—”

“Get in the car,” I begged. “Please.”

He stared, nostrils flaring. “Where?”

“The airport.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. Disbelief twisted his face. “You think you can disappear and then whisk me away like this is some billionaire fairy tale?”

“I made a mistake.” The words scraped up my throat like broken glass. “I thought cutting you out would protect you from what I am. But I can’t do it anymore, Sin. I can’t fucking breathe without you.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out. Just a sound—like a breath stolen halfway between rage and grief. Then he turned on his heel, pushing the door open.

“I’m grabbing a bag,” he snapped over his shoulder. “And don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

When he came back out five minutes later with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the night air around him seemed to crackle with fury. He climbed into the car like he was stepping onto the battlefield.

We didn’t speak on the drive. The silence between us was electric, every second saturated with the weight of things we hadn’t said.

When we reached the hangar, the jet gleamed under overhead lights like temptation wrapped in steel and money. The ramp was down, red carpet lined the steps. Staff waited at a polite distance.

“Why now?” Sin asked, just before we reached the stairs. “Why drag me into this now, Theo?”

I turned to him, my voice rough. “Because I had to go away on business and I couldn’t do it without you. I couldn’t leave knowing you were here, and I might never see you again. I need you with me, Sin. I fucking need you. Even if you hate me for it.”

Sin stepped in close, too close. Voice low, vicious. “You left me with nothing but silence. I was unraveling while you played ghost, and now you want to pick up where we left off like that doesn’t mean anything?”

I said nothing. I couldn’t. My throat closed under the weight of his pain. I’d built that silence with my own hands.

He grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me close. “You cut me out. You made me feel disposable. ”

“I know.” My breath caught. “But you’re not. You’re the only thing in this fucking world that’s ever felt real.”

His mouth crushed against mine, bruising, punishing, raw. It wasn’t forgiveness—it was war. A violent need to hurt and to hold, to break and to beg. He bit my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and I moaned against it like I wanted the pain.

We stumbled up the stairs, his bag falling somewhere behind us. The jet door shut with a quiet hiss as he shoved me into a leather seat, straddling me.

“You think this fixes anything?” he breathed against my lips, teeth dragging across the cut he’d just made.

“No,” I rasped, hands gripping his hips like lifelines. “But it’s the only way I know how to show you I’m still yours.”

The flight attendant’s voice cut through the intercom.

“Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We’ll be departing shortly.”

Sin didn’t move.

He rocked forward, grinding down on me with slow, maddening friction. “You left me in the dark, Theo. I needed you, and you disappeared. ” His voice cracked, fury splintering into something broken.

“I know.” I pulled him closer. “And I’ll spend every second proving that I regret it.”

As the jet surged forward, lifting us into the sky, he finally buckled himself in, but his hand never left mine. Our fingers stayed locked, bruising tight. His thigh pressed against mine, warm, solid and unforgiving.

Above the clouds, wrapped in stolen heat and the ache of everything I’d ruined, I looked at him and whispered, “You were never disposable. You’re the only thing I can’t replace.”

He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t let go either. And that was enough—for now.

Sin poured us a drink without asking the attendant, who huffed when he grabbed a bottle of Bourbon.

He knew I needed it—knew I’d be lost without the confidence it gave me.

His fingers trembled slightly as he handed me the glass, the amber liquid catching the warm, low lighting of the jet’s interior like molten gold in a chalice.

The cabin was decadence incarnate—soft leather seats the color of bone, polished wood gleaming like wet blood, gold-plated fixtures catching every flicker of overhead light. Luxury meant to soothe. To distract. But it couldn’t touch the chaos that lived between us.

I didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect me to. Gratitude had no place between us while we teetered on a precious edge of our own making.

We drank in silence. A long, smothering stretch of it. The kind of silence that pressed into your ears until your own heartbeat sounded like a gunshot. It sat between us like a third body, thick with pain and the hunger that tethered us together.

Outside, the endless night sky roared beyond the windows—velvet black with scattered stars, the private jet cutting through it like a blade. But inside, it was just us even though there were at least five other people onboard.

Just pain and obsession and this beautiful, terrifying ruin we called connection.

Sin leaned back into the buttery leather seat across from me, his jaw tight, his eyes rimmed red but sharpened now. Like that kiss—that war of teeth, breath and desperation—had hollowed him out and left something feral gleaming behind.

I finished my drink and set the glass down with a sharp click that echoed through the quiet cabin. “Shower?” I asked, the air laced with something so volatile it made it hum.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The jet’s en suite bathroom was larger than most penthouse apartments—marble tiles, gold fixtures and glass, steam already beginning to curl along the ceiling as I slowly stripped, never breaking eye contact with him.

I peeled my shirt off like a wound unraveling, fabric clung to my sweat-slicked skin. The click of my belt buckle undoing was like a starting gun and Sin swiftly removed his clothes.

Sin watched with that same haunted reverence—like I was a cathedral burning, and he wanted to kneel inside the fire. But he didn’t kneel. He closed the space between us, eyes gone dark, a storm building behind them and shoved me into the cubicle.

Under the pounding water, he kissed me—no restraint, no hesitation, no lines left un-crossed.

He slammed me back against the slick tiled wall, one hand twisted in my hair, the other gripping my chin. His mouth was fire and fury, teeth sinking into my lip until a fresh burst of copper coated across our tongues. He moaned—a sound torn from the wreckage of control.

“I hate you,” he whispered against my mouth. “I hate what you’ve made me feel. What I vowed never to let myself feel.”

My arms wrapped around him, fingers sinking into his wet curls holding him there. “You feel it because it’s real.”

We devoured each other.

The water poured down around us like a storm, scorching and relentless.

Steam coiled around our bodies, the pressure bruising, the heat searing our skin.

Sin’s hands moved like a man starving—dragging down my sides, mapping out ribs like piano keys, sliding around my back to grip my ass hard enough to leave fingerprints.

He pulled me into him with a desperation that made something inside me crack.

His touch wasn’t gentle. It was claiming . Like he was trying to crawl inside me, or tear me open and see what lived beneath all the polished detachment I wore like armor.

Our lips collided—not a kiss but a collision, a car crash of desperation. I kissed him like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this fucked-up world. Like if I opened wide enough, our atoms would fuse, and I could be remade from the inside out.

His mouth tasted like heat and hunger, like every craving I’d denied myself and every sin I’d ever wanted to commit.

Our cocks slid together, slick and throbbing, every brush a brutal tease, every grind a spark that threatened to ignite us both.

We moaned into each other’s mouths—not soft, or pretty, but guttural, and raw.