Chapter Eight

Sutton

I had to figure out a way to get rid of Tynan. His physical presence, at least. The thoughts would be a separate battle, but at least those I didn’t have to worry about finding out my secrets or the lengths I was willing to go to save Mara.

But the man himself…the man who stood in the small kitchen of the townhome, cooking up something that smelled so fucking delicious, if it tasted half as good as it smelled, I might orgasm on the first bite.

Or maybe that was my body’s way of revolting against me—wanting a man who had no business in my life, let alone in my pants.

But damn, did he look good in the kitchen. A towel tossed over his shoulder. His white tee stretched over those muscles that had pinned me down like I was nothing more than a rag doll.

With all my self-defense and martial arts training, I shouldn’t be thrilled about being bested by a man, but part of me had to admit I was distracted earlier. The heat of him. The strength. A fight where I knew I wasn’t in danger. Not really. Maybe… maybe…I’d wanted to force him to subdue me. Maybe I’d wanted to know what it was like to be completely dominated, but also entirely safe.

It was something I’d never experienced before, but suddenly, because of his touch, I desperately wanted it.

But not as much as I wanted to find my best friend, I reminded myself harshly and scooted the stool closer to the counter.

Tynan paused and looked over his shoulder like he expected me to make a mad dash for the front door.

“Still here,” I quipped and took a swig of the root beer.

He grunted and turned back to the stove.

“So, what’s on the menu?”

“Fettuccine Bolognese,” he said and moved to the cutting board, sliding out a fresh loaf of bread from its crinkly brown bag.

I tipped my head. “Sounds fancy.”

“It was your dad’s favorite.”

I stiffened. “You know it doesn’t matter, right? I think I’ve seen more of you in the last three days than I saw my dad in my first sixteen years.”

He paused, the bread knife in his hand, his hold tightening on the handle. “That’s why I’m making it.” The blade fractured the crust. “So, you get to know him a little.”

I folded my arms, trying to suppress the shiver that went through me. “Why? He’s gone.”

The sound that came from him was dangerous, but I wouldn’t take it back. There was no point in getting sentimental about a man who was gone. Dad had the chance for me to know him. He’d chosen his country instead, and the worst part was, I didn’t hate him at all. No matter what I said. I hated myself for not being enough.

“Speak about your father like that again, and I’ll add a new tattoo to your backside,” he charged low and dropped a thick slice of bread on the napkin in front of me.

I glared at him. “You can’t spank me. You’re not my parent.”

He leaned a little farther across the counter. “It’s precisely because I’m not your parent that I’ll fucking whip your ass.”

Something hot and forbidden started to hiss and bubble between us. Something that seemed thermodynamically impossible to stop. Like pressing a match to gunpowder and willing it not to explode. The two of us together, it started something neither of us could will to stop. And that was why I needed him to leave me alone.

It took a second for both of us to realize it was the pot on the stove making noise. Tynan spun with a low curse to handle it. Good . I grabbed the bread and took a massive bite, pressing the backs of my knuckles to my cheeks to see if they were as hot as they felt.

“So, where’d you learn to cook?” Seemed like a safe topic.

“Your dad.” Or not. “Both my parents died when I was young. My grandmother tried to keep me in line, but she finally had to enlist the military to help. I was still a piece of shit—almost got kicked out. They stuck me with Jon as one final chance. I was prepared for a sound beating. Instead, he brought me to his house on base for dinner.” He stirred the pasta. “Or I guess I should say he brought me to his house and made me cook him dinner.”

Because Mom and Dad never married, we never lived on base with him. Always separate. Mom hated it. Knowing her and seeing those brief snapshots of the two of them together, I realized how bad it would’ve gotten had they married and lived together.

“Dad made you cook?”

“Trial by fire.” Tynan took scoopfuls of the pasta water and added it to the pot of meat sauce. “He taught me that you get respect by giving it, and I hadn’t been giving it; I’d been trying to fight for it.”

“The wise warrior avoids battle,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to how he’d handled himself yesterday in the gym. He hadn’t laid a single strike on me no matter what I did and still managed to come out on top.

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

I stilled and forced myself to soften. “I guess I wasn’t the only one he forced his love of Sun Tzu on.”

Tynan grunted. “Definitely not.”

“Well, if you try and make me cook for you, all you’re getting is ramen,” I warned.

The smallest smile flickered on his face, and even just the tiniest break and the hardness of his expression were enough to make me catch my breath.

How he fought me yesterday was impressive. Tynan wasn’t old old, but he was what, seventeen? Eighteen years older than me? I didn’t expect him to move so fluidly, so gracefully, for such a large, rugged man.

It was the same way he moved around the kitchen. Stirring the sauce. One spice after another sprinkled onto the simmering pot. Adding salt to the pasta water. More stirring. It was a different kind of dance, but one that was equally as rhythmic and methodical as hand-to-hand combat.

And one that allowed me to admire from a distance the smooth coordination of his massive body in such a small space.

“I enjoy ramen.” His voice was lower as he spoke, almost as though he didn’t want me to hear him.

He flipped the burner off and then carried the pot to the sink, meeting my gaze for a second before he strained the pasta and plated the bowls in silence, serving me the dish that almost brought me to tears with how good it smelled.

Just to get him to leave.

“You don’t have to keep cooking for me,” I said as he put the plate in front of me, his gaze meeting mine and narrowing suspiciously. I shrugged nonchalantly. “I just mean it’s not necessary.”

“Sutton, you’re Jon’s daughter. The man saved my life more times than I’m smart enough to count. The least I could do is cook for his daughter while she’s staying with me.”

“I’m not staying with you,” I blurted out, unsure why I felt the need to correct him.

Something flashed in his eyes, and I felt a stroke of heat deep in my stomach.

“You know what I mean.” He rounded the counter and pulled out his stool, taking a seat beside me as we ate.

One bite was all it took to make my insides melt. The dish was so good—or maybe I’d just survived off of such bad food for so long—I dug in as though I hadn’t had food in weeks.

“Oww,” I whimpered, my fork clattering into the bowl as I started to wave my hand in front of my mouth.

“What—”

“Hot,” I garbled with a mouth full of burning pasta and broth, and without thinking about anything except cooling my mouth, I grabbed Tynan’s water bottle straight from his hand and chugged. I whimpered with relief, my mouth instantly calming down.

Only when the bottle popped from my lips did I find Tynan staring at me—at my mouth around his water bottle right where he’d just had his lips.

Forbidden heat ignited deep in my stomach.

“Sorry,” I murmured and set the bottle on the counter, pushing it in his direction. “It’s really good. Too good.”

He grunted and swiped his water bottle and set it on the other side of his bowl.

I was stubborn. Sarcastic. Maybe a little bit of a bitch. But damn, I knew how to give credit where credit was due. I could easily understand why this meal could be Dad’s favorite.

“My dad really saved your life?” I told myself it was part of the deception. Part of the distraction. Definitely not an intimate desire to know more about him.

“Yeah.” Tynan’s fork stabbed into his bowl a little more forcefully, and then added with a deeper voice, “One too many times.”

I ate another couple bites, and the warm melody of meat and vegetables and broth settled into my stomach. To eat without worry. Without anxiety or anger…the whole idea of rest and digest was an unfamiliar state for my physiology. The whole idea of being protected by someone…

“Why didn’t you turn me into the police?” I asked low, swirling my fork in the little broth that was left in my bowl, the tines skating along the bottom of the dish.

“Why would I do that, Sutton?”

I swallowed thickly. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

My chest cracked open under the knife of my breath when his big hand grabbed my wrist, stopping it from dragging the fork.

I could’ve done a lot of things—should’ve done a lot of things—but letting him peel my fingers away from the utensil wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t think that,” he rumbled, and the fork clattered lifelessly into the bowl.

But our hands remained linked.

I stared, frozen, at how slight my fingers looked compared to his. How the whole of my hand could easily be swallowed up in his if I let it.

“No, I don’t,” I confessed. “But you should.”

“The kind of woman who stabs a man to help a friend is someone who needs to be helped, not hindered.” The pad of his thumb pressed across my palm, a small massage on the muscle that far too often was formed into a fist.

“And the kind of woman who carves up a man’s chest?” I countered, feeling the waves of goose bumps roll out from each brush of his thumb.

“Who carves ‘PIG’ into his pecs for assaulting her?” One of his brows lifted. “That’s the kind of woman who clearly has never been respected by a man.”

My heart stumbled like a newborn foal trying to gain its bearings.

His fingers encircled my wrist and gently pulled my arm from the counter, spinning the stool so I was facing him.

“You can trust me, Sutton.”

I winced, realizing just how far I’d let him in, and then scrambled for whatever shields I had left.

“Thanks, but I’m good on heroes.” I pulled my hand from his and grabbed our empty bowls. I couldn’t cook for shit, but I could wash dishes.

Rounding to the sink, I started to wash, keeping him in my periphery as he gathered the pots and spoons he’d used to cook and gently setting them by the sink for me. When he was done, he picked up that towel that had the distinct pleasure of being draped over him earlier and began to dry.

“Your dad was so proud of you.”

The sentiment felt like a hand around my throat.

I didn’t know what dug deeper: talking about me or talking about my dad.

“Glad he told someone.” My sarcasm didn’t stop him.

“He was always showing pictures of you from your matches. Bragging about how good you were doing. How much ass you were kicking. He couldn’t wait to see what you would do next.”

“Well, if he just came home once in a while, he wouldn’t have had to wait.”

The air shifted as Tynan tensed beside me. It was probably because of my attitude. Disrespecting a dead man. Well, fuck that. Fuck him.

“He regretted not being there for you, Sutton. Especially at the end.”

I shut off the water and forced myself to swallow. “It doesn’t matter now.” Not after everything I’d been through.

“Matters to me.”

No. This was all wrong. This conversation. Him . I was supposed to be looking for Mara, who could be kidnapped or left for dead or…worse right now.

“Have you heard anything from Creed?” I wiped my hands on my shorts and went to get a fresh water from the fridge.

It was a dumb question. Tynan had been stuck to me like glue since the slicing incident at the White Pearl, so I would’ve seen him take a call.

“Not yet, but it’s hardly been a day. Once he gets out here, things will move fast.”

Mara might not have that kind of time.

I bit into my cheek until blood coated my tongue in metallic armor.

“Okay, I’m going to bed.”

For some reason, he didn’t sleep in the other bedroom, preferring to stretch his long limbs over the couch instead.

“Alright,” he sighed behind me. “See you in the morning.”

Anger surged at him. For getting close to me. For making me feel close to him. For turning around and reminding me that he didn’t trust me as far as he could see me.

I whipped around. “You don’t have to stay here another night.”

He met my eyes, unfazed. “I know.”

My teeth ground together. “I’d prefer you didn’t stay here another night.”

His jaw twitched. “And I’d prefer not to have to worry about you all night.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m not going anywhere, I swear.” I held up my hand like I was in court and swearing on the Bible again.

He stood frozen for a second and then shook his head. “I’m staying, Sutton.”

Dammit .

As my hands landed on my waist, I caught the quick flick of his eyes to me—to my chest. My nipples hardened like little excited traitors, wanting that raw ferocity of him just as much as I resisted it.

But maybe I could use both our weaknesses to my advantage.

“Fine.” I shrugged, letting one strap of my tank tumble down my shoulder.

The prickly heat of his stare followed me all the way to the bedroom until I shut the door.

He was helping me. Objectively, I knew that, but it wasn’t enough. I hadn’t told Tynan about the card Jack gave me because it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he’d react. He’d look into it. He’d have someone look into it. They’d try to hack in or create a fake profile, and while it was possible those ideas could work—could get information—it was a risk. In my mind, this was a ransom situation. Did you call the police when doing so risked the life of the person you loved? No. You paid the price to make sure they were safe.

And in this case, the price I’d pay was signing up on this damn app as myself with the hope that I could find something on Mara.

I’d gone to the link a dozen times in the last two days, but I was afraid to start the log-on process when Tynan was here. What if he knocked? What if he came in? What if it did something to give away my plan?

But I would be lying if that was the only reason for what I was doing now.

I stripped out of my clothes, adding them to the small pile of laundry I’d do in the morning, and then grabbed the green robe.

Leaving it untied, I laid back on the bed, and a small sigh escaped my chest like steam releasing from a pot.

I stared down at my chest. Over the constellation tattoos that framed my breasts, my pierced nipples that peaked like north stars in the night sky.

My hand rested on my stomach, and I waited. Listened.

Tynan moved around in the kitchen a bit before I heard the coffee machine hum to life. He was going to need something a little stronger tonight.

When I was around him, my entire body felt like a spring coiled tight. My heart ready to beat out of my chest. My lungs tense and unable to fully expand or contract. And lower…an ache that went unsatisfied no matter what other emotions I fed to try and destroy it.

But tonight, I didn’t want to destroy it. I didn’t want to hide from it or hide it from him. Tonight, I was going to give in. Yes, because I wanted to force his hand—force him to leave so I could see behind the curtain of the Wild Side app. But also because the ache was destroying me.

Especially when he talked about spanking me.

I bit my lip, my fingers dancing lower on my stomach as I felt my core clench. The way he teased the idea of caring for me and punishing me was the kind of dichotomy my defiant personality craved. The way I wanted to fight him, rage against him, and then ultimately be forced to give in to him…I shuddered, my fingertips sliding into the slickness between my thighs.

God, it was so infuriating how wet he made me.

I began to stroke my clit, recalling his massive hands and granite strength yesterday when he held me captive. When he clasped my throat. I shuddered as my mind ran away with the fantasy, imagining one hand palming the column of my neck while the other worked my pussy.

Distantly, I realized the purring sound was no longer the coffee machine but the want spilling from my chest, and it was growing louder.

“Sutton?”

I gasped, my eyes going wide when I heard his voice outside the door. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop.

My knees had dropped wide, my muscles straining toward the rub and flick of my finger over my clit. After the alleyway, I was a ball of all kinds of riotous energy, but none so strong and damaging as the way I desired my father’s best friend.

“Sutton.” He knocked and said my name again, and like he was calling my orgasm to him, I only moaned louder.

He growled, and I swore the doorframe cracked where his grip must be holding it. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t try to keep quiet.

You wanted to stay, I told him in my mind, my fingers working a frenzy over my clit.

Long, needy moans pulled like sweet taffy from my lips.

I pretended like his growls weren’t ones of warning but encouragement. Like their stiffness, their raggedness, were desperate orders for me to keep going.

So, I did.

I rubbed and flicked my swollen clit until I was covered in a sheen of sweat. I listened for his heavy pants and imagined he was sitting in front of the bed, watching me. Coaxing me. Waiting for me to finish so he could pounce.

Pleasure carried me higher like a kite with no string, and at the very peak, when my heart stumbled and my lungs caught?—

“Sutton,” he snarled from the other side of the door like an unhinged predator.

God, what I wouldn’t give to be Tynan’s prey.

I screamed, my back bowing off the bed as my climax snapped through me like a fierce whip.

I heard a loud crash—his mug onto the floor—and an equally loud curse from the hallway, and my body quaked again, knowing he’d stood out there the whole time. It was only after the fact, when my brain cells started to piece themselves back together, that I realized I hadn’t simply screamed but screamed his name.

Damn.

Gathering my breath and my senses from where they’d spread out like spilled marbles, I pushed myself up and slid to the edge of the bed, watching the flickering shadow of him moving in the hallway from underneath the doorframe.

It wasn’t enough to make him leave which meant I had to face him again. Tying the robe sloppily at my waist, I harnessed the buzzing in my blood and went to the door.

Tynan kneeled in the hallway, mopping up the spilled coffee with a kitchen towel, his broad shoulders working like he could scrub the memory from his brain along with the stain.

I pinned my arms to the door and doorframe and asked, “Did you need something?”

He stiffened so fast, so hard, I swore he was going to break. His head snapped up, and I swore he was going to lunge up from the floor, tackle me to the ground, and rut over me like a wild beast.

And I couldn’t say the thought didn’t have my core tingling with a fresh, forbidden kind of want that my fingers would never be able to satisfy.

“No,” he practically snarled. “Go back to bed.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, the edge of the robe only staying in place because it caught on my nipple piercing. “You missed a spot.” I extended my leg and pointed to the tiniest drop on the floor with my big toe.

He took a deep breath, and I swore he was smelling me—my arousal—and the way his massive body shuddered sent a thrill of power through me.

“Go back in your room, Sutton,” he said with a little more desperation.

“Are you?—”

“Now,” he snapped, his teeth clacking together at the end.

I lifted my chin and then put the final nail in the coffin. “Yes, daddy.”

I shut the door on his ragged growl, feeling far more triumphant than I should.

“I’m going out for a ride,” he called not even a second later. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Translation: Don’t fucking try anything.

“Have fun,” I called back.

An hour was plenty for me to do what I had to do.

I waited until I heard the door to the garage slam and the dangerous rumble of his motorcycle waking up, and then I grabbed my phone off the nightstand.

I flipped on the shower, letting the water start to heat and steam as I navigated to the Wild Side site.

Flipping over the business card, I entered the invitation code that I was immediately prompted for. Swallowing hard, I tapped in the combination of letters and numbers, praying that Kang hadn’t told anyone he’d been forced to give me a card.

My breath whooshed out when the code was accepted and the site proceeded to the next screen requesting all of my information. I shoved aside the nagging reminder that I should be telling Tynan about this and not going behind his back. The reminder that he hadn’t turned me into the police but instead offered his unmitigated help.

I shivered and steeled my spine. Tynan didn’t have skin in this game like I did. It wasn’t his only loved one in danger. And it was all my fault.

I put in my name and birthdate in the required fields, but just before I submitted it, I stopped, a dark suspicion stapling itself to my mind.

I circled back to my birthdate and adjusted the years back by four until it showed I was under eighteen, and then hit the button to proceed. The dial turned, and a box popped up warning me that the app was for people eighteen years of age or older. I didn’t even get the chance to consider my assumption was wrong before the app proved my suspicion right by proceeding to the next step anyway, regardless of my underage status.

Fuckers.

Now it wanted me to upload photos of myself. I glanced down at the askew robe. This was as good as anything.

Using the bathroom mirrors and the steam created by the shower, I took a dozen provocative photos. Full nude from the back, and revealing enough from the front to showcase my tattoos and piercings.

I had no problem using my body to my advantage. Men certainly hadn’t.

The final step requested that I make a username.

Legalprey.

I submitted it and went back to the bedroom, stopping mid-step when my phone buzzed, the site rejecting my input.

Username already exists.

My heart stopped. Mara . I couldn’t believe it, but it had to be. No one else would come up with that name. No one else would know its meaning.

I tapped back and entered a new name.

SexyScorpio. Made sense with all my tattoos.

This time, the form instantly processed and opened up to my new account.

A few minutes of toying around and I got the general gist of the setup. Videos could be streamed publicly or privately. For the private ones, I could set up a fee to access them. I could also open up a request box for people to submit something they’d like me to record for them and the fee they’d be willing to pay.

But that wasn’t what I was after right now.

Tapping through the community screens, I found the directory of all the users.

I thought it would take time for me to track down Mara’s handle and figure out who she was interacting with, but she’d made it easy. Too easy.

It was like she was leaving me a breadcrumb to track her down.

Oh Mara, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?