Page 191 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Declan

"Fucking hell, she’s only seventeen!" I drop down into another push-up, then another. Sweat drips down my chest onto the already sticky floor of the gym. It’s a tiny underground space Knight and I discovered not long after arriving in Naples.

A film role brought me here. The shooting wrapped up, but I decided to stay on, and Knight joined me.

He decided to come out and visit me here in Naples before shipping out on his next mission. Then there’s Cade.

Our friendship was sealed a few years ago, over the course of one memorable bender that lasted forty-eight hours. Knight, Cade and I had bar hopped every nightclub in London’s East End and exchanged stories about the challenges we were facing in our chosen careers.

A month later, Knight left to join the army, I landed my first proper role in a movie, and Cade made reserve for the cricket team.

The three of us have kept in touch since and hang out whenever we’re in the same city.

With Cade busy establishing himself on the cricket circuit, more often than not, the three of us catch up on the phone nowadays.

"Nothing happened though." Knight pauses midway through his push up, "Amiright?"

"You’re right." I flow into the next push-up, and the next, then sink into plank position. "Nothing happened." Yet. And that’s what bothers me. The fact that I even let things progress to the extent they had. The fact that I hadn’t realized she was still a kid. Jesus Christ. She seemed so grown up with those fully formed boobs, and that dip of her waist, and those luscious lips. Her eyes though... The big green eyes with which she’d surveyed me, those fringed eyelashes, the way her pupils had dilated at my nearness—fuck, I should have realized she was an innocent. That she was younger than I thought.

"So, what’s the problem?" Knight lowers himself into the plank position, as well, his biceps bulging, chest muscles already sculpted from the years he’s already spent in the army.

Asshole was huge to begin with, but after this last tour, he seems positively gargantuan.

There’s not a hint of fat on his body, either.

Which is why I’m going to push myself until I can compete with him in the gym.

"No problem," I grunt. My triceps hurt, my shoulders shudder, but I stay planked. Knight—the fucker—on the other hand, has barely broken a sweat.

"The furrow between your eyebrows says otherwise. Or wait... Is that because the workout is too much for you?" He raises his leg, balancing himself on his elbows and on one foot.

Asshole. When he shoots me a challenging glance. I mirror his move. My arms scream in protest, sweat runs in rivulets down my throat. I grit my teeth, fix my gaze on his, and balance myself.

Sweat drips down my temples, into my eyes. I blink it away. I’m not going to give in.

"Stop trying to compete with me, arsewipe," he grunts. "Your fitness levels are not bad for a pretty boy"—he huffs out a breath—"but your endurance levels leave much to be desired."

"Go fuck yourself," I growl out and set my jaw.

Our standoff continues. My calves protest. My forearms feel like they’re being shredded to pieces.

"You going to give up?" he growls.

"You first," I snap.

We continue to hold each other’s gaze. My stomach muscles tighten. Bile threatens to boil up my throat, but fuck if I’m going to be the first to give up.

His breathing comes in choppy heaves, sweat drips from his chin onto the floor, the tendons of his arms pop, then he jerks his chin. "On the count of three, you wanker."

Finally, fuck. I nod in response. "One."

"Two," he joins in.

"Three."

Both of us collapse on the floor. My muscles scream in relief, blood rushing to the parts that I abused trying to hold myself up.

"Bloody fuck," Knight pants.

"Indeed."

For a few seconds, there’s only the sound of both of us panting and drawing in huge gasps of breath. Then, I push myself up to sitting. He follows.

"Fuck, that felt good." He shakes his hair and the sweat from his forehead hits me in the chin.

"Don’t want your fucking bodily fluids on me," I grunt.

He laughs. "You’re a fucking pussy."

"Just being hygienic, man."

"You stay locked up with five other men in a bunker for days while you wait for your orders to move, and you’ll know the true meaning of hygienic."

I wince. "You’re a fucking saint."

"Or a hedonistic sinner.” He tosses me another bottle of water. I uncap it, and chug it down, before wiping the back of my palm across my mouth.

"I dropped her off at her place and watched until she climbed up the tree to her room." I toss back the rest of the water, then arc the bottle into the waste bin.

She’d told me she was only seventeen, but the reality only sank in when I watched her sneak back into the house.

She then stood at her window and angrily waved me off before turning and disappearing inside.

I stood there, looking at her window for a few more minutes before I finally turned and left.

"So, what was she doing wandering around on the beach in the middle of the night? If you hadn’t been there..." His voice tapers off.

"No shit.” Truth is, I can’t bear to think of what would have happened if I hadn’t been there. "I didn’t have a chance to find out why she was wandering outside at that time." I snatch up my towel and mop my face. "But I intend to find out."

I rise to my feet and walk toward the doorway, when Knight calls out, "She’s part of the Camorra.”

I pause, “Camorra?” I frown at him over my shoulder.

“As in, the Mafia.”

“And you know that how?”

He lowers his arms between his knees, "We visited her family a few years ago. Her father’s dead now, but her brother is one vicious, deranged motherfucker who can’t be reasoned with."

It’s no secret Knight’s father is part of an organized crime syndicate. It’s one reason he signed up for the army—so he could make up for the sins of his father. It’s also why I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of his information.

I nod in his direction, "All the more reason for me to visit her and make sure she’s okay."

“The Mafia don’t take kindly to strange men visiting one of their women,” he warns.

I scoff, “They’re not going to find out.”

“And if they do?” He scowls.

I thrust out my chest, “I’m going, and that’s that.”

“Obstinate arsewipe.” He glowers back. “If I can’t stop you—” He shakes his head. “If you’re not back in an hour—”

“Two—”

He throws up his hands. “What-fucking-ever. Two hours. If you’re not back within two hours, I’m coming after you.”

"What are you doing here?" She gapes up at me from her bed.

I waited until past midnight, then climbed up the tree to her room.

It's a warm summer night, and the glass pane as well as the shutters on the window have been left open—thank fuck—so I swung inside the room, then padded over to stand over her sleeping form. I admit, I stared at her sleeping, like the creep I’m turning out to be.

What else would you call a grown man who snuck into a teenager’s bedroom?

Then, pissed off with myself, I shook her awake.

Now, she springs up, and the thin sheet she covered herself with falls about her waist. I take in the camisole she’s wearing and notice the outline of her tits is visible.

She follows my line of sight and pulls the sheet up under her chin again.

"You shouldn’t be here," she whispers and tips up her chin.

"No kidding," I whisper back. I cross my arms across my chest. "I need answers."

"And if I don’t want to give them?"

I scowl. "You owe me."

"Doesn’t explain why you’re breaking into my room at this time of the night."

"You still haven’t explained what you were doing out at 2 a.m. last night," I snap.

She sets her jaw. "You’re really not going to leave until I tell you.

" It’s a statement not a question, so I don’t answer.

She continues to look at me for a few more seconds, then heaves a sigh.

She pushes off her cover and swings her legs over the side of the bed, before she straightens.

She’s wearing the camisole with a pair of sleep shorts and when she lifts her hand to run her fingers through her blonde locks, a strip of skin is bared at her midriff.

My cock instantly thickens—fuck. This girl is going to kill me with how my body reacts to her.

"Well, what is it? Why were you out?" I demand.

She lowers her arm and shoots me a dirty look. "I had a fight with my mother, if you must know. She shut me in my room, without food for twenty-four hours. I got pissed off, and first chance I got, decided I was going to run away."

I scoff, "You were running away from home in your pajamas?"

"I didn’t think it through, okay?"

"Clearly you’re not accustomed to using your brain."

"No reason to be impolite," She flattens her lips.

"If I hadn’t turned up—"

"I know," she groans and throws up her hand. "Spare me the routine. It’s not like you care or anything. You couldn’t wait to throw me out of your place yesterday."

"You’re a child."

"I’m not."

"You’re nothing but a spoiled teenager who’s trying to get back at her parents for trying to discipline her."

She sets her jaw. "You have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Oh?"

She tilts her head. Her eyes gleam. Then she grips the edges of her camisole and pulls it up and off.