Twenty Five: Leverage or Lust?

Twenty Five: Leverage or Lust?

Zacian POV

The elevator hummed upward, a smooth ascent through the steel heart of my tower, but the air inside felt thick, charged like the moments before a storm breaks. Cecilia nestled against me, her slight frame cradled in my arms, every breath she took syncing with the pounding in my chest. The soaked pajama top clung to her like a second skin, the thin, wispy fabric translucent under the soft glow of the overhead light, revealing the perfect outline of her breasts. No bra to hide the dusky peaks of her nipples, hardened from the chill or the lingering shock of her ordeal.

My gaze dropped involuntarily, tracing the way the pink material molded to her ribs, the faint shadow of her navel dipping lower where the fabric hiked slightly before it met the waistband of her pajama bottoms. Those soft pants hugged her like a lover’s grip, the fabric stretched taut over her hips and thighs, accentuating the curve of her ass that I’d palmed earlier in the car. Her bare feet were cold, toes curled slightly against the air, the delicate arch innocent and vulnerable. Details that twisted the knife of desire deeper.

Fuck, she was a vision of vulnerability and fire. Her strawberry blond hair spilling over my arm like molten gold, lips parted in that unconscious pout that begged to be tasted. Holding her like this, skin to fabric, I could feel the heat radiating from her core, a siren pull that made my cock strain against my slacks, insistent and unyielding. I wanted to press her against the elevator wall, peel away these wet layers, and drive into her until she woke gasping my name.

But restraint. Goddamn it. Restraint was the chain I wrapped around myself, links forged from years of calculated moves. I was the King of Kings, the shadow that owned this city. I didn't lose control. I didn't take what wasn't offered, not because of morality, but because ownership required consent to be true. To take her now, while she was broken and unconscious, would be a cheap theft. I wanted her surrender. I wanted the moment she realized she was mine and begged me to keep her.

She was leverage, a key to dismantling Dominic, not some conquest to ravage in a fit of lust. Yet my body betrayed me, arms tightening possessively, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the damp top, the contact sending a jolt straight to my groin. One slip, and I’d ruin everything. Or claim it all.

The doors slid open with a chime, spilling us into the penthouse foyer. The transition was jarring. From the dark, gritty reality of the warehouse to this sanctuary of cold luxury. White marble floors gleamed under recessed lights, the black veining in the stone looking like cracks in a frozen lake. The vast space opened to panoramic views of the Strip’s electric sprawl, a neon heartbeat that pulsed against the night sky.

Ryker had outdone himself. The air smelled of fresh linens and faint citrus cleaner, no trace of the disuse that usually haunted this place when I was away. It was too clean, too perfect for the girl in my arms. She looked like a wild thing dragged into a glass box, a splash of blood and chaos on a canvas of grey and gold.

Waiting there was Doc Harlan, my personal physician for the uglier side of business. Mid-fifties, wire-rimmed glasses, white coat crisp over his button-down, medical bag at his feet like an obedient dog. He stood by the entrance to the main living area, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp.

His eyes flicked to Cecilia, professional detachment masking the quick assessment. He took in the wet clothes, the bruises, the way she clung to me.

"Boss," he greeted, stepping forward. "Ryker filled me in. Electrocution?" He gestured down the hall. "Lead the way."

I nodded toward the master suite, the one with the king bed overlooking the city, heavy drapes ready to seal out the world. My strides ate up the distance, Cecilia’s weight a sweet burden as I shouldered through the door.

The master suite was my sanctuary, the only room in the city where I didn't have to wear the mask. It was dimly lit, the charcoal blackout curtains drawn tight against the Vegas glare, creating a womb-like silence. The king-sized bed was turned down, the grey upholstered headboard framed in black, a stack of my black T-shirts folded on the nightstand. Oversized, soft cotton that would swallow her frame.

I laid her gently on the duvet, her body sinking into the plushness, pajama top riding up to expose a sliver of toned midriff. The contrast of her pale skin against the dark grey bedding was visceral. That glimpse alone had my pulse roaring, desire warring with the need to play the protector.

Harlan set his bag down on the black marble side table, pulling on gloves with a sharp snap. "She’ll need a full exam. Internal and external. Those shocks can damage nerves and organs if the voltage spiked wrong. Strip her down, get her into something loose. Can’t assess through wet pajamas."

Strip her. The words hung like a dare, my jaw clenching as I met his gaze. No one touched what was mine. Not yet, not without my say. The thought of another man’s hands on her, even for medicine, made a dark, violent instinct rise in my throat.

"I’ll handle it," I said, voice gravel-rough, brooking no argument.

Harlan nodded, stepping back to the sitting area to unpack his tools, giving me the space.

My hands trembled. Fucking trembled. I reached for her top first, my movements agonizingly slow. Fingers hooked under the hem, lifting slowly, the wet fabric peeling away from her skin with a soft, sucking sound. Inch by inch, her torso revealed itself: smooth, pale expanse unbroken save for the faint red welts from the clamps, blooming like accusations across her ribs and the undersides of her breasts.

No bra, just those full, pert tits spilling free, nipples tightening in the cooler air. They were practically begging for my mouth. I swallowed hard, cock throbbing painfully as I tugged the top over her head, her arms flopping limp. The scent of her hit me then. Sweat, fear, and that underlying sweetness, like vanilla and rain. It made my head spin, a drug more potent than anything I’d ever sold.

Next, the pajama bottoms. I hooked my fingers into the waistband, sliding them down her hips, the soft cotton dragging over her curves like a reluctant lover. My hands ghosted over her hips as I pulled the pajamas away, the first real touch of her flesh electric, warm and yielding.

Her thighs emerged, firm and silky, marked with faint bruises from the chair’s restraints, leading to calves toned from whatever innocent runs she took in her sheltered life. The pink fabric pooled at her ankles, and I pulled them free, tossing them aside.

God, she was flawless. Curves that fit my palms perfectly, skin so soft it mocked the violence she’d endured. Desire surged, hot and vicious. *I imagined pinning her down right there, spreading those thighs, tasting the heat between them until she shattered*.

But I reined it in, breath ragged, forcing myself to grab one of my black T-shirts from the stack. The cotton whispered over her skin as I slipped it on, the hem falling to mid-thigh, collar gaping to hint at her cleavage. It dwarfed her, marking her as mine in this oversized claim, the fabric carrying my scent now mingled with hers. She looked like a fallen angel in my bed, peaceful amid the storm I’d dragged her into.

Harlan approached then, stethoscope ready.

"Good. Let’s see."

He worked methodically. Listening to her heart, checking her pulse, palpating her abdomen for any swelling or tenderness from the shocks. I stood sentinel at the bedside, arms crossed, every clinical touch a fresh spark of jealousy twisting in my gut.

When his gloved hands pressed against her ribs, I had to physically restrain myself from knocking him away. Mine to touch. When he lifted her arm to check her joints, I saw the red marks left by the restraints, and a fresh wave of hatred for the men I’d hired washed over me. Mine to heal.

She murmured once, shifting under the exam, but didn’t wake. Harlan shone a light in her eyes, tested reflexes, even hooked up a portable EKG for a quick read. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the beep of the machine and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Clear," he said finally, packing up. "Surface burns, some muscle strain, but no internal damage. Voltage was controlled. Your bastards knew their limits. Hydrate her when she wakes, pain meds if needed. Rest’ll do the rest. Call if she seizes or complains of chest pain."

I nodded, seeing him out with a curt thanks, the biometric lock clicking shut behind him.

Alone now, the penthouse silent save for the distant hum of the city below. The air in the room felt different now. Heavier. It wasn't just a penthouse anymore; it was a cage. And I wasn't just the owner; I was the jailer.

Logical next step: Secure the board. Dominic was likely sitting in the dark, unaware that his world had already shifted. It was time to break the silence. I’d leak the narrative now. Rival lowlifes grabbing his daughter, me playing the hero. It would be the blow that shattered him, drawing him out, making him sloppy. Time to tighten the noose.

I pulled out my phone, thumbing Ryker’s contact.

"Status on the traces? Dominic’s moves?"

His voice crackled through, steady. "Radio silence on his end. He’s sitting tight, completely unaware. No movement from the house yet, no calls out. He has no idea she's gone."

"Good," I said, my voice cold. "Keep it that way until I say otherwise. Now, push the narrative. Leak that a rival crew grabbed her and I intervened. Make it look like I’m protecting his asset, not stealing it."

"Understood. I'll feed it to the channels now. And what about the counter-moves? We know Piper and Alex are planning to hit the Fremont port and stir up Rodney’s gangs based on the intel from the bug. Do we let them play it out, or shut them down?"

"Let them play it out," I said, my eyes on Cecilia. "Dominic thinks he's moving in the shadows, but he's walking right into the light. Let him waste his resources on diversions while I hold the only card that matters."

I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket. The plan was in motion. The wheels were turning, grinding Dominic’s empire to dust. But as I sank into the grey velvet armchair beside the bed, watching her sleep, the war inside raged on.

I had built an empire on indifference. I didn't care about people, only power. But looking at her, wearing my shirt, breathing my air… the lines were blurring. I told myself she was leverage. A tool to crush a rival. But the ache in my chest felt suspiciously like protection, and the hunger in my blood felt dangerously like obsession.

Keep her close, let her wake thinking I’m the knight, not the dragon. Use that trust to unravel her father, piece by piece.

But as the minutes ticked by and the city lights flickered beyond the curtains, I knew the terrifying truth. I wasn't sure if I could let her go when this was over.

Leverage or love? In my world, they blurred too easily. And for the first time, I wasn't sure which side would win.