Thirty: Dangerous Distraction

Thirty: Dangerous Distraction

Zacian POV

The door to the master suite remained closed for three hours.

I spent that time in the living room, staring out at the Strip, a tumbler of whiskey in my hand, untouched. The silence in the penthouse was grating. I was used to noise—traffic, construction, the hum of the city below. But this? This was the quiet of a tomb.

Or a cage.

My mind kept drifting back to the bedroom. To the soft rise and fall of her breathing behind the closed door. I imagined stripping those sheets back, peeling that silk nightgown from her skin inch by inch until she was bare and trembling. *I wanted to wake her up with my head between her thighs, forcing those sleepy moans into cries of pleasure, making her wet and desperate before she even opened her eyes.*

I checked my watch. Noon. Ryker was late.

I set the glass down on the bar and walked to the window. The city sprawled out beneath me, a glittering grid of greed and excess. It was mine. I owned the casinos, the politicians, the cops. But I couldn't control the one thing currently sleeping in my bed.

The elevator chimed, breaking the silence.

I turned as the doors slid open. Ryker stepped out, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like shit.

"You look like hell," I said by way of greeting.

"Feel like it," Ryker grunted, walking past me into the living area. He didn't sit. He paced, his energy jagged. "Warehouse is clean. Harlan's boys scrubbed it top to bottom. No DNA, no traces. It's like nothing ever happened."

"And the Henderson estate?"

"Cleaned up," Ryker said. "We swept the staff. Pumped them full of sedatives and dropped them at different hotels across town with fake stories about a bad batch of ecstasy. They won't remember a thing. Police are treating it as a robbery—smashed windows, missing jewelry. No connection to us."

"Good."

"But there's a problem," Ryker said, stopping in front of me. "Dominic is mobilizing. He knows we took her, and he knows it wasn't a negotiation tactic. It was a declaration of war. He's formally allied with Piper and Alex. They're moving assets to hit the Fremont port just like we predicted, using your snatch of the girl as their rallying cry."

I froze, my hand tightening on my glass. He already knows? I expected confusion, panic, a desperate plea for terms. I didn't expect him to identify the hand that fed him so quickly. It meant he was sharper than I gave him credit for. Or he had a rat in my house.

"Let them scramble," I said, my voice flat, burying the surprise. "It keeps them distracted."

"Distracted is dangerous," Ryker warned. "Desperate men do desperate things. They're hitting the docks, the warehouses, looking for her. They're tearing the city apart."

"Let them tear it apart," I said, turning back to the window. "It keeps them away from here."

Ryker was silent for a moment. "You're playing a dangerous game, brother. Keeping her here... it's personal. You never make it personal."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because he was right.

The sound of a door opening behind us made me turn.

Cecilia stood in the hallway.

She looked better. The color was returning to her cheeks, but she was still pale. She had dressed in a fresh set of jeans and  a loose tee, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked soft, domestic, and completely out of place in my world of blood and money.

She stopped when she saw Ryker. Her eyes widened, flicking between us.

"I... I heard voices," she said, her voice hesitant.

Ryker turned to look at her. I didn't like the way is eyes roamed over her. They swept down her body, lingering on her legs, her chest. It wasn't sexual, exactly, but it was assessing. Like she was a piece of meat on a hook.

"Who's this?" Ryker asked, turning back to me. "The merchandise?"

I felt a flash of white-hot rage. I moved before I could think, stepping between Cecilia and Ryker, blocking her view.

"Eyes off," I said, my voice low, lethal. "She's not merchandise. She's mine."

Ryker held up his hands, a smirk playing on his lips. "Easy, Zacian. Just teasing. She's a pretty thing. I can see why you wanted to keep her."

"Watch your mouth," I warned. "Get to the point. Why are you really here?"

Ryker's smirk faded. "We need to move the product. Tonight. The docks are too hot. We need to use the private runway."

"No," I said immediately. "The runway is for VIPs only. I'm not risking my aviation license for your shit."

"It's not my shit, it's our shit," Ryker corrected, his voice hardening. "And if Piper and Alex intercept it, we lose millions. Are you willing to lose millions over a girl?"

I glanced back at Cecilia. She was standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, watching us with wide eyes. She didn't understand the words, but she understood the tone. She knew she was the topic of conversation.

She was smart.

"Fine," I said, turning back to Ryker. "Move it. But if anything goes wrong, it's on your head."

"It won't," Ryker said. "I'll handle it."

He turned to leave, but paused at the elevator. He looked back at Cecilia, one last time.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart," he said, his tone mocking. "The name’s Ryker. Try not to get electrocuted again."

The elevator doors closed, swallowing him whole.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I turned to face Cecilia.

She was staring at the elevator doors, her face pale.

"Who was that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Business," I said, walking over to the bar. "Don't worry about him."

"He called me merchandise," she said, her voice gaining strength. "And he knew about the electrocution."

"Ryker knows everything," I said, pouring another drink. "He's my Second. My right hand. He knows when to keep his mouth shut."

"He didn't look like he was keeping his mouth shut," she said, walking into the room. "He looked like he was calculating how much I was worth."

I turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. "To him, you're a complication. To me, you're a complication. But you're a complication I paid for. So yes, you have value."

She flinched, but didn't back down. "I'm not a thing to be bought and sold, Zacian."

"Aren't you?" I asked, raising a brow. "Your father sold you the moment he took that loan. I just collected the debt."

"He didn't sell me!" she shouted, stepping closer. "He's a good man! He made a mistake, but he wouldn't... he wouldn't trade me. And I’m not yours."

I stepped into her space, forcing her to crane her neck to hold my glare. "You are exactly what I say you are, Cecilia. As long as you breathe within these walls, you belong to me."

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't retreat. "You can own my body, Zacian. You can lock me in this tower and play king. But you will never own me."

"Then explain the warehouse," I shot back, ignoring her bravado, looming over her. "Explain the electrocution. Explain why Piper and Alex had you in a chair instead of him."

It was a lie. But pinning the blame on them was a believable one.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn't have an answer.

"Exactly," I said, holding her gaze. "Your father is a coward, Cecilia. He used you as a shield. And now, you're here. With me."

"And what happens next?" she asked, her voice trembling. "You keep me here forever? Play house?"

"Until the debt is paid," I said. "Or until I get bored."

"You won't get bored," she said, her chin lifting. "I'm too much trouble."

I couldn't help it. I smiled. A genuine smile. I leaned in closer, inhaling her scent—vanilla and wildflowers. It was intoxicating. *God, I wanted to bend her over the bar right now, yank down those jeans, and spank her until she admitted she was mine. I wanted to see that pale ass turn red under my hand, hear her scream my name until she was hoarse.*

"Yes," I murmured. "You certainly are that."

The fire in her eyes was captivating, but I saw the flicker of pain behind it. She was swaying slightly on her feet, the adrenaline of the argument fading to reveal the exhaustion underneath.

I forced myself to step back, breaking the tension before I did something stupid.

"How are the ribs?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Sore," she admitted. "But I'll live."

"Good," I said. "Because Ryker is right about one thing. We have a long night ahead of us. And I need you to stay out of the way."

"Or what?" she challenged. "You'll chain me to the bed?"

"Don't tempt me," I said, my voice dropping. *Images of her bound in silk ropes, writhing on my mattress as I teased her for hours, flooded my mind. I’d make her beg for the smallest touch, make her cry out for release, and only then would I take her.* "I might just like the view."

I walked past her, shoving down the violent urge to claim her right there, and headed for the office. I had work to do. Plans to make. A city to burn. I couldn’t I couldn't afford to let my dick dictate my strategy.

But as I closed the door, I could feel her eyes on my back. Burning into me.

She was a distraction. A dangerous, beautiful distraction.

And I was in way over my head.