CHAPTER 162: GAMES OF FLESH AND SHADOWS

–Damon–

I’d heard from my Shadow that Deanne had arrived hours ago and collected Caine. Five hours, to be exact. Yet here I am, still sitting in this damp, reeking cell with some bulky brute glaring at me like he’s been paid to break my bones.

"I told you—stay away from my face and from my big boy down here," I muttered, my voice low and coiled with threat. "I know you’re aiming for it."

He growled, deep and animalistic, a sound like gravel dragged over steel.

"Damn it." I hissed through my teeth, rising to my feet, every muscle stiff from the cold concrete bench. My boots scraped the floor as I crossed to the bars. "Any call for me?" I asked the man Livana had stationed here, a police guard in uniform but hers nonetheless.

"It will take a while, sir," he answered flatly.

I raked my fingers through my hair, exhaling sharply. "Damn it. Those two are still screwing around." My laugh was hollow, bitter. "Deanne, you’re doing this on purpose."

When the door finally clanged open and a man stepped inside, I chuckled darkly. "Took you long enough."

They shoved my wrinkled clothes at me, and I slipped into them without care, the fabric stiff and smelling faintly of sweat and mildew. I stepped out of the cell, rolling my shoulders as freedom brushed against my skin like cold air.

And there she was. Exactly as I expected—Deanne. Professional, untouchable. Wide-brimmed hat, oversized sunglasses, every detail immaculate despite the filth of Istanbul clinging to the air. She looked like she’d stepped out of another world entirely.

But she wasn’t alone.

Caine was plastered to her, hands roaming like she was already his territory. She didn’t push him away, didn’t even blink. She let him hang off her like a parasite, as though his touch meant nothing—or perhaps everything.

I narrowed my eyes, the bitterness rising hot in my throat.

"So, you were fucking for the whole five hours?" I sneered as I slid into the back seat of the car. My eyes flicked to Gerald, who looked at me with the nervous eyes of a puppy caught in the wrong room.

"You could say three hours," Caine replied, grinning, while I snorted.

"I’m hungry. But first, I want a bath."

"Sure," Caine said easily, his hands already straying over Deanne. She didn’t flinch. She never did.

"Can’t you both wait until we’re back at the hotel?" I snapped, my voice cracking through the car like a whip. "Do you have to rub it in my face when my wife is thousands of miles away?"

They ignored me, which only stoked the irritation curling in my gut. I clenched my jaw and stared out at the passing city lights, thinking how I’d have to endure this insufferable, horny couple until we reached the hotel.

The drive felt like an eternity, but as soon as we arrived, I stripped off my clothes and jumped into the shower. Hot water beat against my skin, washing away the stink of the cell, the dried blood from my lip, and the scent of other men’s sweat. I groomed myself with methodical precision, trying to scrub the tension out of my bones, then emerged dressed in clean clothes, my appetite clawing at me.

The meal was served elegantly—silver lids, crystal glasses, every detail in its place. Gerald hovered like a butler from some old novel. But behind the closed door, Caine’s laughter spilled out, punctuated by Deanne’s low moans, and it grated against my nerves like nails on glass.

"They’re killing my appetite," I growled.

Gerald, wise enough, raised the volume of the television. I gave him a slight nod of thanks and kept eating, though every bite felt like ash. How could they keep up with it?

When I’d had my fill, Gerald handed me another disposable phone. I dialed Livana’s number, my thumb pressing harder than necessary. She answered quickly, her voice cool and crisp.

"Hello. Is this the Ice Queen?" I grinned, leaning back into the chair.

"Speaking."

"Hello, baby." My grin deepened. "How about I come home and leave the horny couple here in Istanbul?"

"No," she replied, her tone frosty and measured. My ice queen. "Finish what you started there."

"Okay," I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. "But why send Deanne here? Those two are screwing nonstop."

"Hmm." I could almost hear the smirk in her voice. "Deanne went there voluntarily."

"Oh, that explains why they left me rotting in a cold cell with that brute. By the way, he beat me up, asking for the passcode to the compass."

"Hmm. Interesting."

My brows furrowed. "What’s interesting? Me getting hit or them delaying the pickup?"

"The interesting part was your cellmate asking for the passcode, dummy," she scoffed lightly.

"Oh." I chuckled, low and rough. "My apologies, my lady. Sometimes I’m really dumb."

"Yes, I know that."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but even now, I could picture her smirk. I’m always dumb around her. I don’t mind. She’s beauty and brain, a storm wrapped in silk. I can’t correct my wife. I can only agree.

"I’m homesick," I murmured, twisting the cap off a water bottle. I stepped into my room and closed the door, shutting out the sound of those two animals rutting. "I’m going to end all of this in a few months."

"Take your time," she said casually, almost like a dare.

"It seems like you don’t want me with you."

"I need to breathe away from you, Damon. You always panic."

"Are you taking care of yourself?" My voice dropped, dark and protective. "I’m away, but it doesn’t mean you can do as you wish. You can’t take on stress right now."

"I’m fine." She sighed.

"Is this why you left the Blackwell residence?"

"Finish what you need to do in Europe. Don’t get caught again or get mixed up in any mess."

"Yes, my love." I sighed heavily. "But I want to hear your voice more. How’s our baby?"

"Our baby’s heartbeat is strong. So, you don’t have to worry."

"I’m more worried about the mother than the baby." My throat tightened. "Livana. Do you know how much I love you? Being away from you is already torture."

"Hmm." Her hum slid through the phone—soft, distant. Almost nothing. Or maybe she was thinking too deeply, as always.

"I’ll love your humming even more when I’m making love to you," I said quietly. "At least respond to one of my countless confessions."

"What’s there to say, hubby? I don’t really love you. But I like how you make love to me."

A smirk tugged at my mouth. She was luring me to her fire again. Damn, I love her. I love chasing her.

"Whatever. Love me or not, you have no choice. We’re married."

"Yes," she murmured, almost a whisper of a smile. "I agree to that."

–Sophia–

This isn’t a pre-honeymoon. Not at all. I glanced at Kai, who looked at me with that pitiful, almost wounded expression of a man denied pleasure for far too many nights. I slid my hand into his, watching his eyes widen as if I’d just unlocked a secret door.

"Let’s take a few days’ break," I murmured.

"Okay." His smirk broke through his feigned misery.

We’re bound for Greenland, not Istanbul. We should have gone there, but Livana had other plans. I need to contact the caretaker at her villa in Greenland, to make sure the machines we brought for her operation are secured, locked away where no one—especially Damon—can stumble upon them. He can never know that Livana has already undergone her first eye procedure.

They won’t stay there for long, but there’s always a chance Damon could retreat to that place. It’s the safest ground for him. The villa is untouchable, shielded by neighbors who are anything but ordinary. Retired assassins, once part of the Ice Queen’s empire, now settled into quiet lives. Even retired, they remain lethal. The Pawns keep their stipends, their bonuses, their tasks—intel, clean-ups, quiet removals. That place is a fortress of shadows.

When we land, we don’t risk a booking. No reservations. No paper trail. We slip into a hotel, unregistered, unseen. After a meal, after a shower, my body already hums with anticipation. I know exactly what Kai wants—and I intend to give it to him, but with a twist of my own design.

I step out of the bathroom wearing a new piece of silk—black lace, sheer, a whisper of a negligee from Victoria’s Secret. My heels click against the floor, sharp staccato notes, like an assassin’s heartbeat before the kill.

Kai is on the phone, mid-report, when his eyes find me. He blinks once, twice, nearly drops the device. Then he kneels, overly dramatic, but I indulge him.

"Oh! Y-yeah. We’ll wait for you. Okay. Bye." He hangs up, flings the phone aside, and groans. "Oh, God."

"Why call for God when I’m right here?" I purr, striding to him in stilettos. I stop just before him, watching him reach for my hands.

"Sophia..." His breath trembles as he presses a kiss to my navel.

"Don’t rip my lingerie," I warn, teasing, my fingers tilting his chin. "I want you to make love to me while I’m wearing it."

His hands trail my thighs, sliding higher, brushing the lace between my legs. His eyes ignite when he discovers the cut.

"Oh!" he gasps. "This is crotchless. Oh, I love it."

I giggle as he topples me onto the bed, wrestling me into his hunger. Before I can protest, he spreads me open, his mouth claiming me with a fever that shocks even me. His tongue works mercilessly, his lips consuming, and I feel my soul spiraling out of my body. My hips grind instinctively, but he pins me with ease, folding my legs toward my face to grant himself full access.

The release crashes over me, sharp, shattering. He doesn’t stop—doesn’t waste a drop—cleans me with devotion, with a tongue that worships. Before I can catch my breath, he enters me raw, no barriers, his pace both tender and ruthless.

"I can’t get enough of you," he whispers hoarsely, his lips brushing mine. "That means I love you." He pulls back just to look at me. "Fuck it. I love you."

I smirk, answering him with a kiss as deep as his confession. The phone rings again, shrill, insistent, but we ignore it. Our bodies chase each other into climax, and when the heat finally breaks, he doesn’t let go. He lifts me, still joined, answering the call with ragged breath.

"Yes?" he growls into the receiver.

"You need to leave the hotel now," a voice warns, urgent. "You have ten minutes. I’ll buy you time. Take the stairs, not the elevator."

I don’t hesitate. I pull away, his warmth spilling down my thighs, but I don’t waste time cleaning. I throw on my clothes, efficient, fast, practiced. He’s already shoving items into bags, his movements sharp, disciplined. I sweep the bathroom, clearing every trace we brought. Nothing left behind.

"Five minutes!" he shouts.

"Got it." My voice is calm, sweet—sharp as a blade.