A twig snapped behind me, and I froze, my pulse kicking up. “Who’s there?” I whispered, turning slow, my breath catching when I saw him—Ace, leaning against the willow tree, his black hoodie blending into the shadows. His gaze hit me like a punch, hungry and pissed, like he’d been hunting me down.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, voice low and rough, stepping closer. His boots crunched the grass, and I could smell him already—herbs, spice, and that woody edge that made my knees weak. “Not alone.”
“Fuck you,” I shot back, crossing my arms to hide how my hands shook. “You don’t own me, Ace. Go back to your fiancée.”
He flinched, just for a second, then his jaw tightened. “You think I want that? You think I chose her over you?” He was in my space now, towering over me, his heat cutting through the chilly night. “You’re all I fucking think about, Iris.”
“Then why didn’t you fight for me?” My voice cracked, tears burning my eyes, but I didn’t care. I shoved his chest, hard, and he barely budged—just grabbed my wrists and yanked me against him. My sweater rode up, his calloused hands brushing my bare waist, and I gasped, the jolt of it shooting straight between my legs.
“Because I’m trying to keep you alive,” he growled, his breath hot against my ear. “My father finds out how deep I’m in with you, he’ll gut you just to watch me bleed.” His grip tightened, possessive, desperate, and then his lips crashed into mine—hard, messy, tasting like whiskey and regret.
I should’ve pushed him off, should’ve run, but my body had other ideas. I kissed him back, fierce and sloppy, my hands fisting his hoodie as I pressed myself closer. His tongue claimed mine, a low groan rumbling in his chest, and I felt him—thick and hard against my hip, straining through his jeans. “You’re a bastard,” I panted, breaking away just to bite his lip, drawing a hiss from him.
“Yeah,” he muttered, his hand sliding down to grip my ass, pulling me up until my legs wrapped around his waist. “But I’m your bastard.” He backed me against the willow trunk, the rough bark scraping my skin through the sweater, and I didn’t care—couldn’t, not when his fingers dug into my thighs, spreading me open as he ground against me. My shorts were thin, useless, and I was soaked, the friction of him rubbing right where I needed it making me whimper.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he rasped, his lips trailing down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse. His hand slipped under my sweater, palming my breast, thumb flicking my nipple until I arched into him. “Tell me to stop, Iris.”
“Shut up,” I moaned, my nails clawing his shoulders as I rocked against him, chasing the heat building fast. “Just—fuck, don’t stop.” His growl vibrated through me, and he yanked my shorts aside, his fingers finding me wet and ready. Two slid in deep, curling hard, and I cried out, my head tipping back against the tree as he pumped them, relentless.
“You’re mine,” he snarled, his thumb circling my clit, pushing me to the edge so fast I couldn’t breathe. “No matter what he does, no matter who he tries to chain me to—you’re fucking mine, Flower.” His mouth was on mine again, swallowing my moans as I shattered, clenching around his fingers, my whole body shaking with it.
I was still gasping, clinging to him, when he pulled his hand free and fumbled with his jeans, freeing himself. I felt him—hot, thick, pulsing—teasing my entrance, and my eyes fluttered shut, ready to lose myself in him completely. “Ace,” I whispered, needy, desperate, “do it—”
A sharp whistle cut through the night, close—too close.
Ace froze, his head snapping toward the sound, his body tensing like a predator on alert. “Shit,” he muttered, shoving me behind him as he zipped up fast, his hand already reaching for the gun at his waist. My heart slammed against my ribs, the haze of lust crashing into cold fear as footsteps crunched nearer.
“Who’s there?” I hissed, peering over his shoulder, but he pushed me back, his voice a low command. “Stay down, Iris. Now.”
A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, broad, the glint of a blade in his hand catching the moonlight. Ace’s grip on his gun tightened, but then the man spoke, his voice a gravelly sneer I’d heard before. “Don wants you back at the compound, boy. Now.”
One of Michael’s soldiers. My stomach dropped. Did he see us? Did he know?
Ace didn’t flinch, but his eyes flicked to me, dark with a warning I couldn’t ignore. “Go,” he mouthed, stepping forward to block me from view. “Run.”
But as I slipped back into the shadows, my legs shaky and my heart pounding, I couldn’t shake the dread clawing up my spine. If Michael Kholodov found out what we’d just done—what we were—this wasn’t just a breakup anymore.
It was a death sentence."
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