Ruthless Knights (The Dark Elite, #2)

by Eva Ashwood

She didn’t deserve to have her freedom taken away. You’re not enough. You’re not fucking good enough for her. She deserves better.

She doesn’t want you. Look how you treated her, asshole. You think you deserve her?

You can’t have her. That’s the truth.

The syndicate didn’t exist. It was just me and Grace, and it was fucking perfect. Even in my drunken state, I could feel the seismic shift inside myself. I felt… whole. Complete. Grace has wrecked me.

I shoved her away because I can’t have her, because I’ll never be good enough for her. She’ll always hate me for what I did to her, and she has the right to hate me. It’s probably better that she hates me. Then why do I still want a chance? Why do I want her to love me instead?

“He could kill me,” I say quietly. “No. Don’t think that, Grace.” Zaid takes another step forward, finally reaching me. He turns me around and lifts my chin up, forcing me to meet his serious gaze. “Listen to me. That. Will. Not. Happen. We’ll look out for you. I promise. Okay?”

“I won’t let anything hurt you, Grace,” he promises, his voice rough. “Ever.”

When his lips press against mine, I can feel the restraint in him. He wants more, wants to eat me alive. But this kiss isn’t a claiming. It’s a promise.

Lucas’s face, so similar to his twin’s, splits into a wide grin as Zaid and I separate. They both have bright green eyes, blond hair, and infectious smiles. Individually, they’re almost impossible to resist, but when they combine their charm, they’re absolutely devastating.

Softer than a butterfly, a hand brushes against mine, startling me out of my panic. The tips of Ciro’s fingers curl against my palm for only a second before they’re gone. Though the touch is fleeting, it brings everything back into focus. My heart squeezes a little.

I pretend I don’t notice how the four men who escorted me into the room fall into position around me. Zaid and Lucas stand at either side while Ciro stays behind me, Hale’s body creating a temporary barrier of safety between myself and Damian.

He stepped in front of me without hesitation, shielding me with his own body to protect me from his father’s words, as if he would take a bullet for me.

Grace draws out the possessive animal within me, the primal instinct to protect. I know she can hold her own, but our world is vicious. I don’t want to leave her alone among the goddamn wolves.

I promise I’ll make things better, Grace, I vow silently. I promise I’ll fucking fix this. Because as much as I want this beautiful, fierce woman in our lives, I want her there by choice. I want her to choose us.

But what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? Lies are still lies, no matter how prettily they’re wrapped in promises.

He can’t run from what happened to him. It will always be there, no matter how much he tries to hide. The repercussions of his torture will last forever.

Goddammit. I hate how much he hurts, even if he tries to hide it. I hate that he tore open a wound inside himself just to try to make me feel better, to let me know I’m not alone.

But I love him for it a little bit too. I can’t help myself. I should keep the wall up between us, for both his sake and mine. But fucking hell, I can’t. So I lean forward and press my lips to his.

If she were causing me pain, I might not even notice the proximity. It’s the gentleness that fucking kills me. I don’t know how to handle it.

With Grace, I want more. I want to be better. She’s soft, impossibly soft. So soft it makes my chest ache. Her gentle lips and her smooth skin, the palms of her hands and the tips of her fingers are almost too much for me, too good and pure for me.

But every step forward I take sends me two steps back. I’ll never be fucking normal, and she knows it. I clench my jaw, waiting for her to tell me to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ciro. Not today. Not tomorrow.” Her voice is warm. I know the idea that she can never leave still hurts her, but right now, I don’t hear any of that pain. Her words don’t sound like a curse or plea. They sound like a promise.

Back before my capture, I hooked up with girls from time to time. None of them seemed to think I was unattractive, but none of them looked at me the way Grace is looking at me right now either.

“Well, you are. You’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. Your tattoos. Your gorgeous jawline. Your lips. But more than that, it’s your eyes. It’s what I see inside them. It’s you.”

She rises slowly to her feet, a shy smile spreading across her face. She moves to step away from me, and I don’t know where she’s going, but I suddenly can’t bear the thought of letting her leave. Before I’m even conscious of the movement, my hand reaches out and grabs hers. I tug her back toward me, and I see her eyes widen in surprise before I pull her down onto the bed with me. I move us toward the middle of the mattress and lie down, bringing her with me and wrapping my arms around her, burying my face in her hair. It’s

The fact that he even allowed me to touch him made me feel special, and the way he looked at me with worship in his eyes meant the world to me. Means the world to me.

It’s like he’s afraid of himself again. Like he thinks this is what he gets for trying to heal, to have something good, to let himself go for a little while. It’s like he thinks if he touches me… he’ll break me.

And if I let Ciro leave this room thinking that he can never touch me again, that I don’t want him to touch me, I’m sure he never will. He’s kept himself locked up so tightly for so long that if he retreats back into himself now, I don’t think he’ll ever get out. I can’t let that happen.

If I were trying to convince myself to hate these men, I might argue that his sweet gesture doesn’t count—he’s only trying to fix what he broke. But he didn’t break me. I’m not that fucking breakable. I’m not sure he’ll ever see it that way though, or ever stop blaming himself for the demons that haunt him.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, learning that they see me as theirs. But I’m absolutely certain it shouldn't feel like an achy knot inside my chest, spreading down to the lowest part of me, heating my blood.

We’ll keep her safe. We won’t let any motherfucker hurt her.

And I’m pissed that Grace doesn’t trust us, that these are the circumstances that brought us back together. Jesus, I thought about her for years after she disappeared, hoping I’d see her again one day. Hoping she’d come back.”

But I want to. Even though it seems impossible. I want her to look at me with love and desire in her hazel eyes, and I don’t want the lingering remnants of distrust to infect that anymore.

“I know Hale has something for her, and I’m not exactly sure what that is, but honestly, I’m jealous,” Zaid continues. His hands flex on the steering wheel, and he keeps his gaze on the road. “I’m jealous because I want to be the one to protect her. I want to be the one she goes to.”

No. Not tonight. For one evening, I want to pretend like she’s ours, like she believes that she’s ours. Because she does belong here, whether she’s come to terms with it or not.

Lucas chuckles, but his expression grows serious as he turns away from the stove and catches my gaze. “We want you to be happy here, Grace. I don’t know quite how to make it happen, but we’re trying.” The sincerity of his words knocks me back a little. It’s the most open and honest I’ve ever heard him be, all joking and charm pushed aside until only the truth remains.

“Don’t be sorry.” Lucas shrugs. “We have a new family now. This is our family. Family isn’t decided by blood. It’s decided by the people who take care of you and who you care for.

That’s what I’m good at. I’m good at breaking shit. At wrecking shit. I can kill. I can torture brutally and efficiently. But I was kidding myself if I thought I could touch something beautiful without breaking it.

I want it. Fuck, I want it so much. I want to be worthy of her trust, deserving of her belief in me. She’s offered it to me freely, but I’ll never take it until I know for certain that she’s giving it to someone who deserves it.

I pause in the hallway at the sound of Grace’s laughter—it’s light and airy, a sound I haven’t heard in years. The tension in my shoulders melts a little at the comforting sound. Fuck, I need to hear it again and again. I need to feel it against my skin, need to absorb it into my soul.

But even though the evidence of my weakness and violence still sits on her skin, Grace’s gaze isn’t filled with loathing or fear. It doesn’t have a trace of pity or anger, just softness. A kind of softness that only she possesses, one that infuses every part of her. Her voice, her skin, her scent.

I miss his touch immediately. I need it like I need a fucking anchor, something to keep me steady in this storm.

As the elevator starts to rise, the careful control I’ve been holding on to slips. Fear grips me for a heart-wrenching second, and I can’t stop myself as I reach for Grace, needing to feel her in my arms, needing to know that she’s safe and real and alive. Her heart thuds against my chest and as she clings to me with a quiet noise, like I’m her salvation.

It’s madness being with her, another storm within the already raging tempest of my life. But I want her. More than anything, I want to be her anchor. Not just when she’s reeling from a death threat, but always.

My girl. My brave fucking girl. Another surge of pride fills my chest, but I focus on business.

My own breath stills in my lungs. I’ve never disobeyed a direct order from my father, but I’m seriously considering doing it right now. I trust this man and respect him, but when it comes to Grace, trust only goes so far.

“The most terrible thing about trust, Grace,” Damian says, looking at me closely, “is that the more deeply it’s earned, the worse it is when it is broken.”

owe Hale my life,” I find myself saying, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. “But how I feel about him… goes beyond that. He’s learned to trust me, and I’ve learned to trust him too. I would never betray him—not because of a debt owed, but because I care about him. Even if he hadn’t saved my life, I would never do anything to hurt your son.”

To anyone but the four men who’ve gotten under my skin and inside my heart, all I am is a pawn of the syndicate. I’m a piece on a chess board, not an actual part of their organization. Not someone to be welcomed with open arms.

“Damn,” Lucas mutters, walking over to me. His green eyes burn with possessive awe as Ciro releases me and steps away. “You’re gorgeous, Grace.” Zaid lets out a soft whistle. “Holy shit. I know Lucas calls you princess, but he’s got it wrong. You look like a fucking queen.”