Page 18 of Torn Souls

With a sound of disgust, he stands up and then delivers one more kick to my middle. “You disgust me. Clean yourself up,” he demands before stomping away.

I’m sure he’s gone to drown himself in whatever liquor is in his office, but I can’t focus on where he’s gone right now. I breathe through the pain and drag myself to stand when it feels like I’m not going to be sick. Dragging myself to my room is a feat, but I manage it.

Barely.

When I collapse in bed, knowing I should take care of my injuries now instead of later, I’m consumed with the memory of the way the four men I met tonight looked at me. There was something in their eyes, something which makes me warm from the inside out.

I could use a little warmth right now as an ache so profound it leaves me breathless settles throughout my body. It’s soul deep and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake it.

Hopefully, everything will be better tomorrow, but I have my doubts.

CHAPTER 6

MAXIM

I keep my eyes on the Hammond Whiskey I’m swirling around in my glass, forcing myself not to take in the men around me who are lounging with deceptive casualness around Kirill’s office in our home. The tension between us is palpable, but I’m not going to be the one to break it. Not tonight.

Kirill is too on edge, and I learned a long time ago when to push and when to sit back and wait. This is definitely one of the times to wait. I can see the wheels in his mind turning from here. He’s calculating. He’s analyzing.

I’m not going to be the one to disrupt the way he thinks. He needs this. And he’s not the only one.

All of us have been quiet since the moment we walked out of White Stone’s private dining room. The food, which I was looking forward to since it reminds me of my mama’s cooking, sits like a stone in my gut. It was delicious, as always, but it was the company, and the offer Chambers laid on the table that made it feel like I ate glass instead of the traditional food of my homeland.

The bastard.

How dare he offer up his daughter like some prize. She is,don’t get me wrong, but still. The moment I saw her, I wanted her. Underneath me. Writhing and moaning my name. Coming all over my fingers, my mouth, my cock.

There is something more there as well. It wasn’t the innocence she seemed to display, which was truthful, but there is so much more to Oaklynn Chambers than she allows others to see. She reminds me of a chameleon hiding in plain sight.

I want to know more. I’m man enough to admit that even though the thought of settling down has never crossed my mind before. My soul is screaming that she is the woman to tame me, to make the darkness recede, to bring me peace in times of chaos and strife.

How can one woman make me feel so much when she hardly said a word and we were able to spend so little time around her?

It makes no fucking sense and thinking about it only makes my headache pound behind my eyes with more force.

“That man doesn’t deserve a daughter like Oaklynn,” Kirill breaks the silence first, his voice filled with malice and fury.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Baker offers to the room and all of us nod in agreement.

He’s not fucking wrong. My instincts are screaming at me.

“Chambers didn’t offer up his daughter just as an incentive for a partnership. There’s more to it,” Kirill’s voice is cold, but I can see the red-hot fury in his eyes when I glance away from my whiskey and lock eyes with him.

He takes a sip from the vodka in his glass while studying each one of us in turn. While I’m normally good at reading my brother, I’m not sure what he’s thinking right now. It’s unsettling.

“You want her,” I throw the words at my brother while gauging his reaction.

He stands abruptly and starts to pace the room, his glass of vodka forgotten. He reminds me of a caged lion, the energy around him dangerous and filled with a threat of violence. I know it’s not directed at me, but my own primal need, the feeling I’ve been trying to ignore since meeting Oaklynn, roars to life inside of me.

He’s not the only one who wants her.

“Like you don’t?” My brother snarls the words, throwing the question right back at me.

I smirk at him and revel in the way he’s unraveling for a moment. It’s so unlike him.

“No,” his voice is hard, “don’t do that.” When I arch an eyebrow in question, he points at me. “She deserves more than your games.”

I hold a hand up in surrender and admit, “I’m not playing a game.”

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