Chapter Seventeen

Justine

POWER TAKES A unique shape for everyone.

Even those chasing the gold standards of money or celebrity seek it for their own reasons, trying to fill a void that refuses to be satiated. Power might be commanding the full attention of a room the second you walk inside or erasing someone else’s name from the history books; it could be facing down a line of armed soldiers empty-handed and watching them falter, or falling in love for the first time. Whether small or world-changing, power promises to close the gaps between who we are and what we see in others.

The shape mine takes is Campbell kneeling in front of me, baring the bloodied ruin of their heart, that well-worn and often-bartered soul. I’ve never seen obeisance inscribed so deep into those gray eyes, prepared to accept whatever vengeance I unleash for their trespass.

Vengeance is sweet. It lingers under the tongue like a piece of hard candy, offering up a taste with every twitch of jaw to teeth. I don’t regret anything I did to Richard, much less having him murdered, and the nightmares I expected after Victor terrorized me never bore traumatizing fruit. The same hand I have on Campbell’s face drove a palette knife into his back, severing muscle and tendon alike.

Campbell does mean “anything.” If I asked for Cesare Galici’s head, they would leave this very second and bring the prize back to me still dripping. Even if they were caught afterward. Even if it got Sofia killed.

“I want the men threatening my father taken care of,” I say, drawing my thumb across Campbell’s lips to hold their silence. “Dead or alive doesn’t matter. I want my parents protected, completely immune. Will you give that to me?”

“Yes,” they whisper.

I slide my hand back over their head, nails a light abrasion against Campbell’s scalp, finding the deepest grip I can in russet hair. When I pull, they bend with me and expose their throat, as if they’re prey and I’m the predator—as if that has always been true.

“I’ll lie for you,” I say. How could I not? What fear could be greater than losing the person in front of me, the monster brought to heel because I dared to love them? Nothing. “I’ll help you kill La Rosa.”

Their eyes squeeze shut; a shaky breath of relief sends a tremor through Campbell’s entire body. “Thank you.”

I tighten my hold, drawing their face past a curtain of black fur and against the inside of my thigh. Just under the hem of my dress, the rasp of lace atop my stockings rubs a pattern into Campbell’s cheek. Another tug brings their mouth against my panties, the thinnest barrier of fabric separating that wicked tongue from exactly where I need them.

“Do you want this?” I ask.

A sudden intake of breath soaks me with heat, fire fueling fire. “Yes.”

“Then take those off and get me wet.” When Campbell’s fingers slip up my calves, I clarify: “Not with your hands.”

I’ve never done anything like this before. It leaves me thoroughly unprepared for how satisfying it is when they obey, hands going slack in their lap. Campbell nuzzles upward, teeth ensnaring the band of my underwear, careful not to catch the sensitive skin underneath. Their cleverness condemns them to a slow tease, baring me inch by inch, and I offer no assistance other than pressing my legs a little closer together to work the tangle of cotton past my knees.

I step out of my panties, keeping my hold on Campbell to make sure they don’t wander. “What are you waiting for?”

They whisper an apology into the curls between my thighs, tongue seeking my clit just below. Pleasure answers like whiplash, drawing a sharp line up through my entire body. Looking down, I can barely see them, their body half-concealed by the line of my coat, the shape of their head displaced by my hand, divided in five. It verges on anonymity, a service expected—and given—by virtue of my presence.

Our reflection in the mirror tells a far different story. Campbell’s head dips and rises as they worship the lips of my pussy, tongue darting to the folds beneath. Above them, I stand imperious, deceptively chaste with the drape of sable concealing my nudity. Their body provides another barrier, shoulders guarding the line of my thighs, our difference in height severed by Campbell’s folded legs, pressed tight and close.

It never takes long to get wet when they touch me. My body is primed to the promise behind their wanting mouth and lethal hands, or Campbell’s thick shaft when they choose to use it. They refuse to settle for the minimum, urging their tongue as far past my entrance as it will go, drawing out dripping arousal and smearing the mess across my clit. They chase that with a hard suck, and ecstasy flares through my nerves, echoed twice over when the warm flush across my face spreads across the watching glass.

“More,” I hiss, greedy for it.

With Campbell, I can be greedy. I can be lustful. I can erect a tribute to every cardinal sin and engrave our names in the foundation. For the first time in my life, I feel invincible, and even that fleeting taste of immortality goes straight to my head. I grind against their mouth, demanding more friction, staining their lips with proof of my need. Adrenaline gilds every surge of bliss, a bright and cutting thing, splitting me open and revealing new treasure—the pearl made smooth and slick under their tongue, my blood rushing down to summon ruby-red flesh, driven by the diamond of my heart, emboldened under the pressure.

Their lips surround me—kissing, tasting, sucking—with a demand that matches my own, pleasure for pleasure, surrender for surrender. I sink my nails into the base of Campbell’s skull, branding crescents into their skin until the taut ache possessing my body is about to burst. Another short jerk of my hips is enough to tip the balance, transforming a wealth of tension into dripping rapture.

I ride their tongue without restraint, my other hand joining the first to keep Campbell in place. Once the high begins to fade and the pale sparks at the edge of my vision take on true color again, my fingers relax to stroke through their hair instead. Both of us are breathing hard, but with Campbell’s face so close to me, every tease of air sends another scorching aftershock through the rest of my body.

“Fuck,” I whisper, catching up with what I’ve just done. Doubt usually hangs like a sword above my head, but this time, only a satisfying emptiness remains, as if every worry poured out of me at once. “Campbell?”

They take advantage of my loosened grip, settling back on their haunches. Remnants of my arousal glistens down to their chin, but desire remains a fearsome force in Campbell’s eyes. The dark gray of a gathering storm, eager for cataclysm. “Yes?”

I want to make a joke about their laconic vocabulary, but seeing that they’re hungry for this, somehow both stalwart and seductive, destroys the last hook of hesitation trying to find purchase in my chest. “How do you want me?”

“Your hands,” Campbell answers breathlessly, “please.”

It’s rare for them to ask, so I double-check: “You’re sure?”

They nod, and I drop to my knees before pushing Campbell onto their back, head near the frame of the mirror. Straddling their hips gives me the angle I want, one hand tugging at their shirt to bare the foundation of Campbell’s throat so I can rest my fingers there, not squeezing but simply present, like the weight of a collar. The other seeks their belt, working the buckle open in two quick tugs, then the tense steel teeth of the zipper.

I don’t bother taking Campbell’s pants off the rest of the way. Instead, I shove my hand past the divide of fabric and blazing hot skin. They’re so ready for me a twitch of muscle answers against my palm, hips suddenly locked with tension. Campbell groans as I start with slow but firm strokes, watching for every subtle change in their expression. I never have the privilege of seeing them so undone; I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

When I lean down to kiss them, the loop of my fingers tightens around Campbell’s neck, pressing against cables of tendon and nerve. Campbell muffles another sound against my lips, rocking up into my touch. They’re strong enough to throw me off, to flip me over and demand release a different way, but Campbell doesn’t fight. They let me take and take and take, wringing pleasure from their body with a torturous pace until need drives them to seize my shoulders. If not for the fur, the demand in that grip would bruise me blue.

“Justine,” they gasp.

There are so many ways I could tease. How many times has Campbell asked if I earned my orgasm or tied me up and fucked me until I was nothing more than a moaning, hypersensitive mess, unsure if I wanted to be free or bound forever? Yet what drives me more than anything else is watching them give in under my command, too overwhelmed to disobey, fitting the threads of our trust between my teeth, canine to canine.

My hand quickens, claiming the pulse twinned in their throat, between their thighs. “Come for me, Campbell.”

From point-blank, I watch bliss conquer their eyes, the swell of black displacing tumultuous gray. Breath hot, jaw slack, arched underneath me like a bow fit to fatal arrow. Campbell shatters the syllables of my name once, twice, then collapses against the floor, panting hard. When their hips finally stop moving with aftershocks of ecstasy, I slip my hand free, fluid clinging between my fingers, staining up to my knuckles.

The taste is familiar, but I savor it anyway, salt and promise heavy on the back of my tongue. Campbell watches every movement, their iron hold on my shoulders slipping lower, stroking down my back.

“Come here,” I say.

They kiss me, rough enough to draw blood close to the surface. I bite back, just as eager, settling my body against theirs like the two of us might blend into some new, remorseless color.

“I’m not afraid,” I whisper. “Whatever you need for La Rosa, I’ll do it.”

“Why?” Campbell asks, just as soft.

Thinking of how they gave me the coat, I smile. “Do you want the practical answer, or the emotional truth?”

A small flash of teeth echoes my expression. “Both.”

“Well, if you don’t kill him, the Mafia comes after you. We could run, and we might survive, but I’d never be able to come back home. And if you do kill La Rosa and get caught, I lose you.” I suppose that could still happen if I don’t play my part right, but I shelve that anxiety for now; it’s impossible to fail what we haven’t tried. “I won’t choose, Campbell. I want you and I want my family safe. If that means taking a pound of flesh, so be it.”

“Far more than a pound,” they note. “Even when everything is equal, when you’re trading a body for a body, the act changes you. Death always claims its share.”

Maybe so, but I won’t change my mind. “I’d rather split the difference between us than have you bear the whole weight.”

Campbell stiffens, their eyes averting from mine, avoiding the mirror. They’re quiet for a while, giving away nothing but the path of their fingers down my back, made distant by silk and fur. Sometimes I wish I could read their mind, slip into the cold chamber of their skull and listen, so they wouldn’t have to voice the truth aloud.

“I convinced myself you were nothing like me,” they say, “but you are. A little. What terrifies me is that such a small amount can be so damning. Enough to reveal the shape of the door and a way to open the lock, but without offering a single clue as to what lurks behind it.”

“Campbell—”

“I want you in the dark, Justine.” The confession should be a shock; instead, it’s like a key twisting open a lock inside my chest. “You might never feel the urge like I do—in fact, I hope you never have a single hint of what that’s like—but the more blood stains my hands, the harder it is to hide. I would if you asked—I would wear any mask and tell any lie, but in the coldest, most selfish corner of my heart, I can’t settle for a lover. I need an accomplice.”

When my fingers brush their cheek, Campbell looks at me, but their face is leaden with grief, armored against a rejection they must feel is sure to come. “If this hadn’t happened with La Rosa, were you ever going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” Campbell sighs. “Which is a deeply unfair answer, but I’ve barely been able to admit the truth to myself. It felt like too much to ask. It still does. And the last thing I want is for you to say yes because you fear saying no will cost what we have.”

Unfair or not, the honesty is what I was searching for. I would rather have the raw and complicated truth than have Campbell put up a mask around me too, sealing away what they feel as deep as it can go. “If I killed for you, would you enjoy it?”

Gray eyes darken. “That’s a very dangerous question.”

“I expected a dangerous answer,” I admit. “But accomplice could mean a lot of things. Baiting a man like La Rosa doesn’t bother me—playing folie à deux with you guiding me to pull the trigger is something else.”

“I don’t expect that,” Campbell says, “or want it, really. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy seeing you do such a thing…because I probably would.”

We all want things we shouldn’t, desires that punch past the ego and straight to the id. I won’t judge a fantasy, much less the specter of one, conjured as a hypothetical into the air. For better or worse, I have my answer.

I brush my lips against theirs in another brief kiss. “The dark can’t be so bad, Campbell. You’ll be right there with me.”

“Always,” they whisper, “always.”

That’s the only promise I need.