AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He scoffs, averting his eyes as he shovels a tiny glazed pecan into his mouth. “That’s not right.”
“Is it not? So you’re saying you don’t deserve respect unless you meet the unspoken standards of every person you come across and earn it?” My head tilts, and I wait a moment before rolling my eyes. “Grow up. You can spend lifetimes battling some people for what you deserve, or you can accept that those kinds of people don’t belong in your life. You can spend lifetimes trying to prove yourself, or you can take hold of what you want with both hands.” I stab my spoon into my cup and place my palm to his heart. “You are good, Rowan. You are deserving of respect, and you are allowed to trust your own motivations. Change isn’t going to destroy you, and it’s definitely not going to make things worse. Stop hesitating, relying on your number crunches, and over-explaining yourself to your subordinates, waiting for everyone to agree with you before you implement something. You do not need that validation.”
“It’s not about validation,” he growls. “I cleared out what I couldn’t compromise. Now, I don’t want to be the tyrant my parents were. People deserve to know the truth behind what is asked of them.”
“Rowan, for the love of—” I swear. “—you are the leader of a mafia. No one joins and expects the boss to listen to their feelings. You can care about your men and assert the kind of authority that fits your title. You are not your parents.”
An ache stretches down my neck, and I realize that I’m clenching my jaw too tight, so I relax, take a breath, and pull my hand off him. “You aren’t. You can’t be. Not as long as you still have your beautiful soul.” Turning to Chip, I say, “Get us a list of options for expansion. Rowan and I will review and implement whatever makes the most sense. What else is do we need to discuss?”
“I think our shower is leaking.” Lace yawns.
“Simple enough. I’ll text our guy.”
From there, things devolve—per usual—into the casual conversation that tends to mark all my meetings with my underboss duo. Throughout it all, Rowan remains eerily quiet until we’re back at The Casa.
Stretching as I enter our bedroom with him on my heels, I get my phone from my purse to text Randolph about the leaky pipe. Before I get the chance to find the right Randolph in my contacts, Rowan’s large hand closes around my phone and chucks it across the room. It hits his bed—the one I’ve been sleeping in, not the cot quarantined in the corner beyond the couch where he’s been sleeping—and falls onto a pillow. His fingers shackle my wrist, and my heart leaps as I turn to face him.
The solid pound of him kicking the door closed echos in my chest.
He backs me into the dresser, cages me against the wood.
“Pet?” I whisper.
“Not your pet, princess,” he murmurs. His eyes search mine—ebony night, ink-dark pools. His palms plant firmly against my waist, and my blood heats to a boil.
In the corner beside us, Bugsy trills, singing. Feathery wingbeats dart about the cage. Bells chime when he knocks into his toys.
The noise turns to static in the background, a distant symphony beneath the hammer of my heart.
I swallow, wet my lips. “What—”
His hands squeeze, indenting my flesh with the awareness of them. “Both hands,” he mutters. “That’s what you said. I should stop trying to prove myself and take what I want with both hands.”
Eyes wide, I watch his gaze peruse—my face, my neck, down to my waist.
I am wholly unprepared when his eyes find mine again. “What if I want you?”
My knees go weak, so I brace myself on the dresser, speechless.
I don’t flirt and tempt guys just because it’s fun. It’s for work, manipulation, horrible, bad things that make Lace and Chip call me a monster before laughing because we’re all the same kind of terrible. I never sacrifice myself to my victims. Before Rowan, I’d never so much as kissed any of the guys I’ve played for information. My mama taught me how to work my charms. My papa taught me how to keep men just one step away.
I’ve learned to be the timid beauty, the aloof vixen, the woman always just out of reach.
Because the men I’m usually working with? They’re the real monsters, and real monsters don’t deserve to touch me.
I don’t deal with good guys. Broken ones, sure, but no one good, not when I manipulate them like this. Normally, it’s a game. How many buttons do I have to push in order to get what I want without anyone being the wiser? How many narcissists can I blindside with a couple batting lashes? How many tears does it take to out-gaslight the gaslighter?
My reasons this time are…different.
Maybe I’ve crossed the line.
Maybe I don’t care.
Rowan’s lips graze my cheek, ever cautious. He curses into my skin. His hands…tremble. “Nothing to say?”
I can’t let this happen. I know he’s attracted to me. I know he’s unused to being attracted to anyone. I reassured myself that even if he finds me physically appealing, his hatred of my character would keep things in check.
I guess…I was wrong.
