“Not bad,” he says, jutting his chin at the stab wound in his shoulder, “but not good enough.”

My wrist tingles under his punishing grip, but it’s nothing compared to the hold he has on my senses. I peer up at him, struggling to make out his features still concealed by the black hood covering his head.

Whoever he is, he’s not a squatter or junkie like I first assumed. This man’s speech pattern is articulate, full of decorum and education. I’d bet my left tit this guy comes from money. So, what in the hell brings him to this side of town?

“Who are you?” I ask.

His response is to shove me back, sending me crashing into the wall behind me. The impact steals my breath, and I stare at him, our gazes level. He remains on the stairs, and I stay on the landing. He has to be over six feet tall; very intimidating to my five-foot-five self.

I straighten my upper body, keeping my knees bent in preparation to fight. “Who the hell are you?”

“You first, little raptor.”

“I’m not a fucking dinosaur.”

“No, but you are a clever girl. You put that toy on the stair so I’d step around it and the wood would creak, letting you know someone was coming. Right?”

I nod while wondering at the asinine turn the conversation has taken. “Listen, if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to scream.”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue in admonishment. “Benjamin is still recovering from getting his ass beaten, so he can’t help you. Besides, you wouldn’t want to wake up the girls, would you?”

I don’t know how this guy knows all of this information, but he can go fuck himself. Hard.

“What do you want?” I snap.

Although I can’t see his eyes, I can feel the heat of his gaze as it sweeps over me from head to foot, returning to my face. I scrutinize him in return, wishing I could kill him with a single glance.

“What I want and what I intend to do are two separate things,” he says. The unknown meaning behind his words both piques my curiosity and terrifies me. “All you need to know is that you’re safe.”

A harsh laugh bursts from me. “Really?” I give him a pointed look. “I don’t believe that shit for a second.”

He nods. The moonlight streaming through the window glides over the lower half of his face, revealing sculpted lips twisted in a smirk, a nearly straight nose, and a square chin. The youthfulness of his features contrasts heavily with the aura of danger surrounding him. He can’t be much older than Ben, yet he commands the room as if bearing the experience of a man a decade older.

I glance at the knife on the floor, silently calculating the seconds it would take for me to grab it and stab this guy. Again. Only this time, I wouldn’t have the element of surprise.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says.

“I thought I was safe?”

“You’re safe from the world, but not from me.”

Fear streaks through my veins, making my heart beat dangerously fast. I fist my hands at my sides to curb my impulse to reach for the fallen weapon. “What does that even mean?”

“Listen carefully, little raptor.” I bristle at the stupid nickname but remain silent when he continues speaking. “Frank won’t ever threaten you or anyone else ever again. I promise you, Delilah.”

I don’t know what shocks me more: the idea of my foster parent no longer being a danger to me, or the fact that this stranger said my name like he knows me. My legs threaten to buckle at the renewed adrenaline rush flooding my system. I glare at the man while reining in my body’s need for action.

“What do you mean? Is Frank gone? You’re not making any sense.”

“Aren’t I?” He tilts his head. “Let me be clear: I killed him… but not before torturing an apology on your behalf from him. Once your name crossed his lips, I removed his tongue for saying it in the first place. Now do you understand?”

The air thickens with malevolence. It seeps into my body, clogging my lungs and making it difficult to breathe. My breaths come out in tiny pants as his words fully penetrate my mind.

The stranger makes his way up the stairs with a lethal grace that I admire, although I’d never admit it. He might be young, but his every move speaks of power and authority. That’s as much a part of him as his skin.

I throw out my hands and press my spine against the wall. “Stay back.” My high-pitched voice has me mentally cringing at the show of weakness. My warning holds no more power than I do at this moment.

He stops. Stunned, I can only stare helplessly as he slowly folds his arms across his chest. With him being on the same level, he towers over me, looming like a demon despite proclaiming to be my guardian angel.

“Why?” My whispered question is the only sound in the night. As I wait for his response, I swear my heart is going to burst out of my chest.

“Why?” he repeats softly. “Because no one touches what’s mine.”

Despite this man breaking into the house and admitting to murder, I can’t stifle the righteous indignation that surges through my body. I lift my chin in defiance. “I’m not yours.”

“Not yet.”

I part my lips to say something appropriate to that ridiculous statement, like a “fuck you” or “kiss my ass,” but he turns around and descends the steps without another word.

My head spins until I grow dizzy and sit down on the carpet to avoid fainting.

What—and I can’t stress this enough—the fuck just happened?

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 4XAVIER

The crisp morning air rushes past my body, tugging at my clothing like a needy girlfriend. My motorcycle hums louder when I twist the throttle. I rush down the freeway going faster than is advised and not giving a fuck. This is one of the few times I’m in complete control of my life.

Too soon, the large gates of my father’s mansion come into view, forcing me to slow down. And shift my mind back to reality. The wrought-iron gate slowly swings open, and I ride through, dreading this encounter.

My father summoned me, and I have no choice but to answer if I want to keep breathing. Some of the founding families see their sons as a means to a legacy, a continuation of a powerful dynasty. Edward Donovan only cares about his empire.

Unfortunately, that makes me a soldier in his fucked-up army.

I park my motorcycle in the courtyard and cut the engine. It dies, like I wish my father would.

After removing my helmet and setting it on the seat, I run my fingers through my dark hair and take a deep breath. Fortifying myself.

Speaking with my father is like entering a battlefield; I have to be armed.

The mansion looms, growing more imposing the closer I get. I walk through the front doors, the marble underneath my boots and the grand ceiling overhead familiar. I’ve walked these halls all my life, but this will never be my home.

I make my way through the hallways, passing the portraits of ancestors dating back to before the Revolutionary War. People who have long since passed, but had a hand in creating this country. And the Obsidian Order.

Another army I’m going to be a part of. Like with my father’s, I’m being drafted.

In this place, behind enemy lines, my senses are heightened. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t aware of my surroundings and the people inside them. If that type of vulnerability ever existed in me, it was erased the moment my father hit me. Or when my mother stood there and watched.

I turn the corner and she stands there as if conjured by my thoughts. My mother paints an elegant picture, beautiful and stately, like an expensive piece of art only to be admired from afar. Or a statue, hard and cold, unable to show affection.

Or offer protection.

“Xavier,” she says with a small incline of her head.