Chapter Six — Proof

Elara's POV

The stranger's words hung in the air like a death threat. "The end of your family." His gun gleamed under the pool house light, pointed straight at Damien. I pressed back against the wall, my leggings still bunched around my thighs, exposed and vulnerable. My heart pounded, fear mixing with the leftover ache from Damien's teasing cock at my entrance. Just seconds ago, I'd been ready to let him fuck me deep, his thick length filling my wet pussy until I broke. Now, this.

Damien stood firm, blocking the intruder's path to me. "Who sent you?" His voice stayed low, controlled, but I saw the tension in his shoulders.

The man stepped closer, a scar running down his cheek, suit rumpled like he'd come straight from some back-alley deal. "Marcus Kane. He knows you're sniffing around Victor's dirt. The debts, the laundering. And now this." He waved his phone, the screen glowing with that message: "We have proof on the girl too. Back off, or she pays."

Proof on the girl. Me? What proof? Photos from the lounge? Damien and I tangled in that booth, his cock thrusting into my virgin heat while I moaned like a slut? Heat flushed my face, shame twisting with terror. If that got out, it would ruin me. High school whispers, Mom's heartbreak, Victor's rage.

"Put the gun down," Damien said, hands up slowly. "We can talk."

The intruder laughed short. "Talk? Marcus wants the files you stole. Hand them over, or I start with her." His eyes flicked to me, lingering on my bare legs, a dirty smirk crossing his face.

Damien lunged then, fast as a shadow. He grabbed the gun arm, twisting it up. A shot fired, cracking loud, a bullet hitting the ceiling. Plaster rained down. I screamed, ducking low. 

They grappled, bodies slamming into the lounge chair, knocking it over. Damien punched hard, fist connecting with the man's jaw. Blood sprayed. The gun skittered across the floor, toward me.

I scrambled for it, fingers closing around the cold metal. Heavy, real. My hands shook. I'd never held one before. The men rolled, Damien on top now, knees pinning the intruder's chest. 

"Who has the proof?" Damien growled, fist raised.

The man spat blood. "Wouldn't you like to know, Blackwood? It's juicy. Your little stepsis spreading her legs for you already."

Damien's punch landed again, harder. The intruder's head snapped back. Lights flicked on outside—Victor running from the house, robe flapping. "What the hell?"

I shoved the gun into my waistband, pulling up my leggings quickly. Victor burst in, eyes wide at the scene. Damien hauled the man up by his collar. "Call the cops, Dad."

Victor hesitated, face paling. "No cops. Not yet." He glanced at me, then the intruder. "What does he want?"

"Files," Damien said, voice tight. "On your deals with Marcus."

Victor's jaw clenched. "Let him go. I'll handle it."

Damien shoved the man against the wall. "Handle it? Like you handled Mom's death? This ends now."

The intruder smirked through blood. "Listen to Daddy, boy. Or the girl's pics hit the net."

Pics. Proof. My stomach dropped. Victor's eyes narrowed on me. "What pics?"

"Nothing," I said too fast. But Victor's look sharpened, suspicion creeping in.

Damien released the man suddenly, stepping back. "Get out. Tell Marcus I'll meet him tomorrow. Neutral ground."

The intruder straightened his jacket, wiping blood. "Smart. Bring the files. Or she pays." He slipped out, vanishing into the night.

Victor turned on Damien. "What have you done? Dragging this shit home."

"Me?" Damien snapped. "Your messes, Dad. The laundering, the hits. Mom died because your deals went bad."

Victor flinched. "That's not true."

I stood there, gun heavy against my skin, mind spinning. Mom's light came on in the house window. She'd wake soon. "We need to go inside," I said quietly.

Back in the kitchen, Victor poured whiskey with shaky hands. Damien paced, eyes on me every few seconds, dark and protective. I hid the gun in a drawer, not sure why I kept it.

"Tell me everything," Victor said, sitting at the table.

Damien leaned against the counter. "You first. Mom's car accident—wasn't an accident, was it? Marcus's crew?"

Victor rubbed his face. "It was a warning. I owed money. But I paid up. It's over."

"Liar," Damien said. "You're still in deep. I found the accounts at the office."

I watched them, the air thick with old hate. My body still hummed from the pool house, pussy aching empty where Damien's cock had teased. Wrong time, but the danger made it worse, heat pooling low.

Mom shuffled in, sleepy. "What's going on?"

"Break-in," Victor lied smoothly. "Handled now. Go back to bed."

She frowned but nodded, kissing his cheek before leaving. Alone again, Victor glared at Damien. "Stay out of it. Meet Marcus, give him fakes. I'll fix the rest."

Damien shook his head. "No. I'm ending this."

Victor stood. "You think you can run the branch? You're a kid playing games." He stormed out.

Damien turned to me, pulling me close once Victor's door shut. "You okay?"

I nodded, but tears pricked. "The proof—it's us, isn't it? From the lounge."

He cupped my face. "Probably. But I'll handle it."

His touch sparked, thumb brushing my lip. Despite everything, want stirred. "How?"

"Meet Marcus. Get the originals." He kissed me soft, then deeper, tongue slipping in. I melted, hands on his chest. The gun's weight forgotten, my body pressed against his hardness.

"Not here," I whispered.

He pulled me to his room upstairs, door locked. Pushed me onto the bed, stripping my tank quick. 

"I need you now." His mouth on my breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing nipple. Pleasure shot through me, mixing with fear.

I arched, fingers in his hair. "Fuck me, Damien."

He growled, yanking off my leggings. Spread my legs wide, tongue diving into my wet folds. I moaned, hips bucking as he licked my clit, fingers sliding in deep, curling against that spot. 

"So wet for me, stepsis. Even after that shit."

The danger fueled it, dark and hot. He sucked harder, building me fast. I came shaking, pussy clenching his fingers, cries muffled in the pillow.

He stripped, cock springing free—thick, veined, dripping. "Turn over." I did, ass up. He slapped it light, then thrust in hard, filling my tight heat completely. "Mine," he grunted, pounding deep.

I pushed back, meeting every slam, his balls slapping my skin. "Harder." He gripped my hips, bruising, fucking me raw. Pleasure built again, coiling tight.

But his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it, thrusting faster. I came first, walls pulsing around him, pulling his release. He groaned, spilling hot inside me, body tense over mine.

We collapsed, panting. He held me close. "I won't let them touch you."

The phone buzzed again. He checked it, face hardening. A text: "Proof sent. Check your email. Back off."

He opened his laptop quickly. An attachment: photos. Us in the lounge booth, my face clear, legs wrapped around him, his cock buried deep. Blurry but damning.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Another email pinged. From unknown: "More where that came from. Meet at the warehouse at dawn, or these go public."

My heart sank. "What now?"

He closed the laptop. "I go alone."

"No." I sat up. "I'm coming."

He shook his head. "Too dangerous."

But a noise downstairs—door creaking. Footsteps. Victor?

We froze. Then a whisper through the door: "Damien? We need to talk."

Not Victor. Mom's voice? No, deeper. Lila? His ex?

Damien's eyes widened. "Hide."

The knob turned. Locked, but a key scraped. Someone had a spare.

The door opened slow, a woman stepping in—tall, dark hair, eyes sharp. "Damien, baby. I came as soon as I heard."

Lila. Here. Now.

And she saw me naked in his bed.

Shit!