Flame (Dragon Triad Duet Book 2)

friendly kiss on the cheek, bunny—they’ll be back. And if you do decide to stay, you better be ready for that. Gino is a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before the idiot goes too far.”
If I stay…
There are plenty of reasons why I shouldn’t, but I can’t dwell on the choice now—so, I retrieve the broom, and I perform the one task I have control over. I clean.
Ironically, there is some familiarity in the act where he is concerned. I’m transported back a few days ago when I dutifully scrubbed blood stains from the floor of my old apartment. Utilizing the broom, I push the smallest pieces of glass into the center of the room, letting the monotony lull my brain into a false sense of normalcy.
Nothing else matters. Like the fact that I’m essentially homeless, or the police cruiser slowly driving away without its occupant ever stepping foot from it.
Once I’ve made headway in sorting a majority of the glass, I finally take stock of the store as a whole.
“So much for your invitation-only policy,” I state to Rafe, nodding to the remains of the front door. “You may have to take walk-in clients, after all.”
He shrugs and lumbers down the back hallway, muttering over his shoulder, “I have plywood somewhere.”
A few minutes later, he returns armed with sheets of the material while I set off in search of a dustpan.
Between the two of us, it takes only a few hours to have a majority of the mess either boarded up or filed away into trash bags. Only as I dump the last few shards of glass into a quickly filling bag do I gather up the nerve to broach the topic he himself left open for discussion, “You said I can ask you anything.”
He’s on the other side of the room, wrestling the larger frames into a trash bag. Stopping, he looks back at me. “And?”
I suck in a breath, mulling over how to phrase my next question. But there isn’t a pretty way to put it. “Mara says you’re a member of the triad.”
“Triad?” Laughing, he approaches me and lifts my chin with the pad of his thumb, peering directly into my eyes. “Do you even know what that word fucking means, bunny?”
I don’t break eye contact. “I know it sounds illegal.”
“Illegal.” His voice deepens, raspier than usual. “Do you even know what that word means, rabbit? It means I do shit like ‘shake down old men for money,’ right? Or it could mean that I pay off their debts when a little bunny bats her eyes at me once. It means…”
Suddenly, he’s too close. Warm breath feathers over my skin, and with every inhalation, his nostrils flare as if straining for more of me. More, more, more. I eye the flames licking down his forearm, convinced the dragon suits him more than ever. This must be how such a predator chooses to devour his prey—through fire. One scorching exhale at a time.
He even resembles the creature. Dark, glowing eyes and a fearsome expression unbothered by the day’s events. Jealousy bites at my fragile resolve. Even bruised, he looks unshaken. Untouchable.
I look…
Broken. A trembling little bunny shrinking from my own reflection. But in his eyes, there is no hiding from it. The real Hannah is laid bare in the center of his irises—a creature caught beneath his gaze with a wide, unwavering expression. Someone who makes his brow furrow and his lips part, glistening with wetness.
The motion draws my attention to the red gash there—no longer bleeding—and the trail of dried blood snaking down his jaw.
I don’t know why I do it. Lick my forefinger and swipe at the smear. Maybe self-preservation? Scarlet suits him, feeding the dangerous illusion he struggles to maintain. Without it, he’s no more intimidating than anyone else.
Though no one has these eyes. Dark, they meet mine unflinchingly as he gently captures my hand in his. And no one has his voice, inspiring goosebumps as it drips into my ear. “I’ll tell you,” he murmurs, picking up the thread of our previous conversation. “It means I’m capable of some fucked-up shit, bunny. Shit that would make your innocent little toes curl. It means…you should probably vet the people you fuck.”
“You too,” I counter in a tone I don’t recognize. “You don’t know me.”
He blinks in surprise before releasing a low laugh. “I figured that,” he snarls, lowering his mouth to the crook of my shoulder. “I knew from the second I first saw you, watching me with those bunny eyes—you’re a head fucker. I’ve got my work cut out, don’t I? Making sure you don’t pull your tricks on me—”
He seizes a piece of sore, abused skin, and rakes his teeth over it. In the same moment, he captures my waist, anchoring me to him. My nails sink into his forearms, seeking out stability, but beneath the various aches and pains I still feel all over my body, something sparks to life, too foreign to name. Pleasure?
Whatever it is builds as his lips latch over my pulse point, his tongue lathing in slow strokes.
It’s terrifying how easily I can forget everything else.
“You get off on this,” he grates, exhaling against my collar. “The thrill of it all. But you should ask yourself, bunny… What happens when I decide I’m tired of playing with you?”
In so many ways, it feels like a rhetorical question. One even he doesn’t know the answer to—because he’s the one initiating this game. His fingers are already sliding beneath the hem of my borrowed shirt, drifting to the waistband of my skirt and grazing the flesh beneath. Then he changes tack and travels higher. His fingers find my breasts next, toying with my nipples until I can’t silence a gasp.
Our lips meet, and it’s electric. My skin flushes warm as his tongue coaxes my mouth open before slipping inside. At the same time, his fingers continue their slow, searching caress unabated. I find myself arching