The tension in the warehouse was razor-sharp.
Brandon didn't flinch as Luka rose from his chair, walking slowly toward them, hands behind his back like he was about to deliver a sermon instead of a death threat.
Ariana remained behind Brandon, her body tight with anxiety, eyes locked on the man whose reputation was built on blood. Luka's gaze flicked over her again, but it wasn't lustful—it was worse. It was possession, ambition. Like he was already imagining the ruin he could make of her.
"You're making a mistake," Luka said to Brandon. "Bringing her here. Putting her in the middle of this."
Brandon stepped forward, his hand flexing once before curling into a fist. "She's not in the middle. She is the reason."
Luka smirked. "Then you've already lost."
One of Luka's men moved slightly—a shift, a glance—and Brandon's gun was out in a blink. The silence shattered like glass as the barrel pressed against the nearest man's skull.
"Try it," Brandon growled.
Ariana's breath caught. It wasn't just the danger that made her heart race—it was Brandon's fury, the absolute claim in his stance. He wasn't just protecting her. He was owning her.
Luka raised a brow, calmly watching. "Still the same boy. Angry. Reckless. In love with something he can't keep."
Brandon didn't respond. Instead, he stepped back, gun still raised.
"You said you wanted a meeting," he said. "Here I am. Tell me what you want."
Luka gave a slow, calculated smile. "I want to remind you that I always win."
Brandon laughed darkly. "Not this time."
He backed toward the door, grabbing Ariana's hand in the process. She followed without question, her heart slamming in her chest. The message was clear: this was far from over.
---
Back in the car, Brandon didn't speak. His jaw was locked, one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Ariana broke the silence. "You baited him."
Brandon didn't look at her. "I needed to see what he would do."
"And?"
"He's scared. Of me. Of us."
Ariana turned toward him. "What's next?"
He pulled the car into the underground garage of his penthouse and cut the engine. For a moment, he sat in silence, breathing heavily, like he was trying to hold something back.
"Next," he said slowly, "I remind you what you're fighting for."
---
As soon as the door closed behind them, Brandon was on her.
He slammed her against the wall, kissing her like he needed to burn every trace of Luka off her skin. She responded with equal ferocity, hands tugging at his shirt, nails raking down his chest.
Clothes were torn, not removed. Breathless gasps filled the room, the tension between them finally snapping.
He spun her, bent her over the table, and entered her with a growl. Her moan echoed off the walls. This wasn't soft. It wasn't slow. It was war—flesh and heat and need colliding in an explosion of lust.
"You're mine," he whispered against her ear, thrusting harder.
"Yes," she cried. "Only yours."
He reached around to touch her, fingers skilled, cruel, perfect.
She shattered for him, her climax hitting hard, stars behind her eyes. He followed with a groan, burying himself deep and staying there until both of them were trembling.
When he finally pulled back, he pressed a kiss to the base of her spine, surprisingly gentle.
They collapsed onto the floor together, tangled limbs, damp skin, and pounding hearts.
"I meant what I said," he whispered, holding her tight. "You're the reason I breathe."
She didn't reply. She didn't need to. Her body melted into his, her silence saying everything.
---
Later, Ariana stood in front of the mirror, her body marked by his hunger—bruises on her hips, bite on her collarbone, a fading fingerprint across her thigh.
She wasn't afraid.
Not of him. Not anymore.
She was afraid of how much she needed him. How easily she had become addicted to the violence, the protection, the consuming passion he offered.
She walked back to the bedroom to find Brandon on the phone.
"Do it," he was saying. "Tonight. I want eyes on Luka's compound. Any movement, you call me first."
He ended the call as she entered. "We're moving again."
"Where?"
"To one of the safe houses," he said. "We can't stay here anymore. Luka knows too much."
"Are we running?"
"No," Brandon said firmly. "We're drawing him out."
He walked to her, wrapped his arms around her from behind. His voice was a promise against her neck. "And when he comes for you—I'll be waiting."