The Darkest Assassin (Lords of the Underworld 14.6)

“Enough!” he roared.

Fox tensed, only to relax a second later. He knew what that meant, and it pushed him over the edge. She’d just gone cold, probably in hopes of avoiding a well of hurt.

“She did murder the ten,” he snarled for one and all to hear. “Something she regrets with every fiber of her being. Something I understand. I, too, have killed indiscriminately in the past, and not just during battle. Many, many species would relish my capture and punishment. How can I despise her for something I have done, as well?” Today, he’d come prepared for questions like Leema’s. He dug into his pocket and withdrew ten small pebbles. Using a play in the Sent Ones’ handbook, he tossed those pebbles at the crowd. “For those of you who have made no mistakes in your life, please, be the first to stone Fox the Executioner.”

Silence. Not a single stone was hurled in her direction.

Bjorn raised his chin. “Now, ask me if she cheated on the male she’s supposed to love.”

Embarrassment burned two red spots in Leema’s cheeks. “I…you…”

“I want you out.” He didn’t hate Leema, but he harbored no love for her, either. Not anymore. She’d done him dirty, cheating on him when cutting him loose would have been far more merciful, but he’d since moved on. However, she’d just hurt Fox and, for some reason, that particular detail pulled the pin on his temper, setting off the bomb. “You may leave. Now.”

Jaw dropped, she gaped at him. “But. But—”

Ignoring her, Bjorn pointed to the soldiers he thought would work best in his budding army, thereby completing his task. The unchosen hurried out of the club—everyone but Leema—the others remaining behind. “Go home and pack,” he told them. “Tomorrow, we move to Hell.”

The chosen hurried off next, but still Leema remained behind with Bjorn, Fox, his friends, and club’s employees.

“I think Leema hopes to watch us make out before she leaves?” Fox turned, resting her head on Bjorn’s shoulder. With one hand, she combed his hair. With the other, she traced the rim of his wings.

He swallowed a groan, the sensations maddening. His resistance began to crumble. Would making the first move truly be such a bad thing? So he would lose their bet. So what? If she requested freedom, he could secretly tag her with a GPS chip in the back of her neck. A douche move, but at least he would always know where she was.

No, no. Fight this. Make her crave you so desperately, she cannot think past it.

Lowering his grip to cup her ass, he bent his head and quietly told her, “I want inside you.”

Her breath hitched, and she jolted. Her hands stilled, her nails digging into his scalp and his feathers. Goose bumps spread over her arms, the rest of her going liquid as she melted into him. The pulse at the base of her neck raced, a mini-heartbeat.

Seeing her reaction to his words—to him—threw kindling on the fires of his desire.

An impatient huff brought him back to the present. They still had an audience. Right. His ex had made a derogatory statement before deciding to disobey him and remain in place.

He glared at Leema until she got the message, lifting her chin, stomping her way out of the building. Her departure gave him no satisfaction. But he felt no guilt, either. Fact was, he couldn’t not touch Fox. If others couldn’t bear to watch, they could leave.

Moving before him, standing on her tiptoes, and pouring her words into his ear, Fox whispered, “You’ve got a hard-on pressed against me. I’m pretty sure that makes me your meat shield.”

His mouth curled into a half-smile. The things she said never ceased to entertain. “My apologies. I—”

“No, you misunderstand. I like it.” She leaned into him. “I’m into it.”

The same words she’d used during her dream. Had she, perhaps, dreamed about Bjorn?

Even the idea excited him.

“Besides,” she added, waggling her brows, “the time has come for a showdown. We’ve got to stop playing it safe and start playing for the win, you know?”

He chuckled, the sound rusty. Well, not as rusty as it’d been before Fox entered his life. During the past week, she’d wrenched more smiles and laughs from him than…anyone. Ever. Now, however, the amusement was overshadowed by lust, his body on fire for her.

“Agreed,” he croaked. Whisper-quiet, he added, “Do you surrender, then, and admit you’re ready to get rid of our guests and race to our bedroom?”

Their bedroom? The wordage gave him pause. When had his room become their room?

She licked her lips and said, “Do you surrender?”

He…did. Bjorn couldn’t survive another day without staking a claim to Fox the Executioner. Mine! I will have what’s mine. Finally.

Yes, yes. Soon, he would be gloved by her hot, wet core. He would know true satisfaction at long last. Need this. Need her. No one else would do. Not now. Not…ever?

He traced his fingertips along Fox’s hip bone, saying to his boys, “Isn’t there something you wish to discuss with Fox?”

“There is.” Thane raised his chin and stepped forward. “We apologize for whipping you. What you are doing for Bjorn…we cannot thank you enough.”

Xerxes nodded in agreement. “We’ve never seen him so light or free. For that, you will forever have our support.”

Fox shivered against him, then stilled. He suspected she had just buried her emotions—again—to avoid softening toward the males who’d harmed her, in case they ever voided said support. It was a defense mechanism, and it made his heart hurt.

“She will consider forgiving you,” he said with a wink at her, “for one hundred thousand dollars. From each of you.”

She gasped and jolted, zooming her gaze to him. His defense of her in front of hundreds of Sent Ones hadn’t elicited such a delighted response, and he didn’t have to wonder why. She liked that he supported her interests, liked being defended when she preferred to take care of herself. “That is, hands down, the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” As her eyes watered and widened, she pressed a fist above her heart. Was she too overcome with awe and admiration to continue burying her emotions?

“I, like, need your autograph,” one of the waitresses called. Bellorie, one of his favorites, as well as Elin’s best friend. All the waitresses were her best friends, which meant Thane, and thereby Bjorn and Xerxes, guarded the females with their lives.

“Guess what? You’re my new best friend,” another waitress said. Savy.

The third, Octavia, grabbed a bottle of whiskey to pour shots for everyone—wrong, only for herself; she hadn’t used a shot glass, had just drunk straight from the bottle.

Part of Bjorn wanted to linger, to give Fox a chance to befriend his friends and employees. People he greatly respected. He also hoped to give everyone a chance to get to know Fox better. They’d love her. They must. But, he’d been a live-wire of lust for eight days, and the thought of making small talk...I’d rather cut out my tongue. But he needed his tongue to win Fox. Today. Now.

Don’t fail. Turn up the heat. “Now that apologies are done, there’s something I must discuss with Fox. If you’ll excuse us…”

Catcalls rang out as he led Fox away, everyone shouting different encouragements.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sure you give good discussion.”

“Will this chit-chat involve a flesh-color

ed bullhorn with a slit in the tip?”

“If the room is rockin’, it ain’t boots they’re knockin’.”

Laughter joined the catcalls, but Bjorn hardly noticed. Anticipation consumed him.

Chapter Fifteen

Smoldering with sexual prowess, Bjorn opened the bedroom door and motioned Fox inside. She stood rooted in place, uncertain. One of them was about to lose the bet. As horny as she’d been, as horny as she was, she had a sinking suspicion the loss would go to…drum roll please…her. Fox the Executioner.

Eight days. Eight days she had ached for this man—his dirty kisses, and his every touch—with increasing intensity. She’d dreamed of him each night while breathing in his masculine fragrance. Watched his rainbow eyes glitter with every smile. Fantasized about all the things they could do to each other. What she hadn’t done? Broken the rules. No getting herself off. The near-constant pressure had honed her body into a conduit of sensation. Aching nipples. Fluttery belly. Weak knees. Raw, primitive desire coursed through her veins, demanding a climax.

Did she affect him as strongly?

Does it matter? You are a passing fancy to him. A new conquest, easily had, easily forgotten. A joke. A source of amusement for years to come. Go ahead. Have sex with him. Fall in love. You deserve all the heartache headed your way.

Ouch. Distrust went for the jugular. Fox wrapped her arms around her middle, but the action failed to help. Never had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

At last, she swept past Bjorn, trembling all the while. Along the way, she brushed her hand against his robe. Or, more specifically, against the erection underneath the robe. He sucked in a breath; she swallowed a laugh, her nerves appeased. She did, in fact, affect him as strongly. Take that, Distrust. It matters!

Tonight, Fox and Bjorn would be together, ending the week-long torment…after one of them broke, of course.

She came to a halt at the foot of the bed, then spun to face him. Where to begin? How to make him break? So far, she’d done little to try. Because, if she won, she’d have only one real boon to request—let me go—and she hadn’t been ready to leave him. Foolish girl.