Page 34 of Penalty Kiss
And I do. For me as much as for him.
“My father’s men, like I told you, they’re watchers. They trail me. Just visible enough that I get irritated, maybe rattled, until I eventually pack up and leave. Sometimes they even… protect. That’s the pattern.” The words sound clearer spoken than they ever did in my head. I swallow hard. “They don’t grab. They don’t chase me into alleys. That isn’t their style.”
And the words keep tumbling out. “But Lucien? He’s different. Always has been. He doesn’t watch, he acts. He doesn’t get satisfaction from control, he gets it from the moment he makes someone flinch.”
“When I was seven, he shoved me down a staircase because I beat him at a game. Fifteen years old, stronger, bigger, and he smiled while I screamed. And then he lied—looked my father in the eye and swore I tripped, even pretended he tried to save me. Everyone believed him.”
I close my eyes, and the images keep rolling, like it’s happening right in front of me. I recall his smug expression whenthe adults clapped his shoulder. The way he leaned close to my hospital bed later, whispering“Better keep your mouth shut.”
My stomach turns. “Lucien’s always been like that. Calculated, but impulsive in the worst ways. He’s careful when it serves him, but when his temper breaks? He lashes out, then covers it with a story so neat even the adults buy it. He’s lived his whole life that way—rage first, lies second.”
When I open my eyes again, Cam is still silent, still watching me with that sharp intensity. His bare chest rises and falls slowly, like he’s the only thing holding the room steady while I unravel.
“He hurt you,” Cam says, and his voice carries a promise of violence that should terrify me but somehow doesn’t.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “He’s hurt plenty of people. That’s kind of his thing. I just… I don’t know why he’d suddenly come after me. It doesn’t make sense. My father’s men annoy me, yes. Lucien? He’s never cared enough to chase me.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
“Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”
Cam’s eyes narrow, unamused.
I fumble for logic, but my voice sounds thin even to me. “I mean, sure, I remember everything. Every lie, every cover-up, every ugly deal. If Lucien thought that mattered, maybe it would explain things, but…I’ve made a conscious effort to stay clear of him.”
I shake my head. “And he’s always gotten away with everything. Why would now be any different?”
Cam leans closer, his tone low, uncompromising. “Because men like that only need one reason, Tara. You breathe wrong, you look at them wrong, and you become their problem. That doesn’t mean you’re imagining this. It means you’re in his way.”
He falls quiet, studying me for a beat, like he’s weighing the edges of what I’ve said. Then his voice drops again, careful, deliberate. “Whether it was one of your father’s usual watchers or something tied to your cousin…it doesn’t matter. Whoever came at you in that alley… they may have a different agenda.”
My pulse kicks. “Like what?”
His gaze sharpens, voice steady but edged. “Like keeping you quiet. If you remember every lie, every cover-up, every deal…that makes you dangerous to the wrong person.”
“And the unwarranted aggression means they want you unsettled—or silenced.”
His words hang in the air between us, oppressing as a mountain.
"I'm sorry," I say, the words barely audible. "I'm so sorry for dragging you into this. You came here to recover, to heal, and instead you're—"
"Hey." His hands frame my face again, gentle but firm, forcing me to look at him. "Don't apologize. You can trust me."
"But you don't understand what you're up against. These people, they don't play by normal rules. They have resources, connections, power—"
"And I have something they don't," he interrupts, his smile sharp as a blade.
"What's that?"
"Nothing left to lose." His thumbs stroke over my cheekbones, wiping away tears I didn't realize had fallen. "My career's on hold indefinitely. My brain's scrambled eggs half the time. But you know what's crystal clear?"
I shake my head.
"The fact that anyone who wants to hurt you has to go through me first." His voice sinks to a growl. "And darling, I'm a lot more dangerous than they think."
Before I can respond, before I can tell him he's crazy or heroic or both, he's kissing me.
This isn't like the desperate collision in the alley. This is deliberate, thorough, devastating. His mouth moves over mine like he's memorizing the taste of me, like he's claiming something that already belongs to him.
