The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the worn wood walls.
Ariana lay stretched out on the bearskin rug, her skin flushed, her body sated and aching in the best ways.
Brandon prowled around the cabin shirtless, a glass of bourbon in his hand, his tattoos stark against his golden skin.
She watched him from under her lashes, marveling at the sheer lethality he wore like a second skin.
He caught her staring and smirked.
"Like what you see, little star?"
Ariana flushed but didn't look away.
"You know I do."
Brandon set the glass down and stalked toward her.
"You should," he growled, dropping to his knees beside her. "Because every inch of me belongs to you now."
Before she could answer, he was on her again, his mouth devouring hers, his hands rough and greedy.
The hours blurred — a haze of touch and heat and whispered demands.
By the time they collapsed again, Ariana could barely move.
Brandon tucked her against his chest, his arms locking her in place.
Safe.
Claimed.
Loved?
The word hovered unspoken between them, heavy and dangerous.
---
The next morning, Ariana woke alone.
Panic flared — irrational and sharp — but then she heard the low murmur of Brandon's voice from outside.
She wrapped a blanket around herself and tiptoed to the door.
Through the crack, she saw him standing by the SUV, phone pressed to his ear, his body taut with tension.
"No," he was saying, voice hard. "I don't give a fuck what it costs. Find him."
A beat of silence.
"If he gets within a hundred feet of her, I'll put him in the ground myself."
Ariana's breath caught.
She backed away, heart pounding.
She knew he was talking about James.
And she knew — deep down — that Brandon meant every word.
Still, a sliver of fear wormed through her.
This world Brandon lived in... it was brutal, violent, merciless.
Could she survive in it?
Could she survive without him?
---
Later, after he ended the call, Brandon found her sitting by the fireplace, hugging her knees.
He crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his eyes.
"You heard," he said quietly.
She nodded.
Brandon sighed and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap.
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Ariana," he said gruffly. "Even if it means dirtying my hands more than they already are."
She traced the lines of his jaw with trembling fingers.
"I know," she whispered. "I just don't want you to get hurt either."
Something shifted in his gaze — a flash of raw vulnerability.
"I've been hurt before," he said. "But losing you... that would kill me."
Ariana pressed her forehead to his.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He kissed her fiercely, like he was trying to brand her soul.
---
That night, a storm rolled in.
Thunder growled across the sky, shaking the windows.
Rain lashed against the roof in sheets.
Brandon built up the fire, wrapping Ariana in a thick blanket before pulling her onto his lap again.
They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the storm rage around them.
Finally, Ariana spoke.
"Tell me something about you," she said. "Something real."
Brandon's brows knit together.
"I'm not good at... sharing."
She smiled softly.
"I'll settle for a little."
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then:
"When I was seventeen, I watched my father get shot in front of me."
Ariana's breath caught.
Brandon stared into the fire, his voice low and even.
"He was the head of the Marshall syndicate before me. Ruthless. Powerful. Untouchable — or so we thought."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"But he trusted the wrong man. A business partner. Someone he called a brother."
He shook his head.
"They ambushed us outside a club. Shot him twice in the chest. He bled out in my arms."
Ariana's throat tightened painfully.
She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.
Brandon gave her a ghost of a smile.
"That night, I learned that trust is a weakness. That love is a liability."
He turned to her, eyes dark.
"Until you."
Ariana felt tears burn behind her lids.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He shook his head.
"I'm not. That pain made me strong enough to protect you now."
She kissed the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse race under her lips.
"You don't have to do it alone anymore," she said. "I'm with you, Brandon. Always."
---
Outside, lightning split the sky.
Inside, their bodies tangled together again — desperate, hungry, needing.
Brandon took her on the rug, slow and deep this time, his hands gentle where before they'd been rough.
He whispered her name over and over again as he thrust into her, as if weaving a spell.
Ariana cried out, clutching at him, her nails scoring his back.
When she came, it was with a sob that broke something loose inside her.
Brandon followed her over the edge, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
When they finally stilled, he buried his face in her neck and whispered words in a language she didn't understand but felt in her bones.
---
Meanwhile, the danger closed in.
James Nick stood outside a warehouse on the edge of the city, his heart a stone in his chest.
The shipment was ready.
Guns.
Muscle.
Enough chaos to smoke Brandon Marshall out of whatever hole he'd hidden Ariana in.
He smiled grimly.
"You should have stayed gone, darling," he murmured to the rain. "You belong to me."
Behind him, his men loaded crates into black vans.
The storm would cover their movements.
Tonight, the game changed.
Tonight, James would win her back — by any means necessary.
---
Back at the cabin, Ariana woke sometime after midnight, heart hammering.
She sat up, straining to listen.
Something wasn't right.
The storm had eased — but the world outside was too quiet.
No wind.
No rain.
Only a heavy, unnatural silence.
She shook Brandon awake.
He came up instantly, all lethal grace and alertness.
"What is it?" he asked, already reaching for the gun he kept under the couch.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I just... feel something."
Brandon swore under his breath.
He pulled her against him, scanning the windows.
A moment later, the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel reached them.
Someone was coming.
And they weren't coming to chat.