✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

44-One More Year Of Regret

Jake

"I'm not planning on sleeping with you until you admit you like me too. I don't need a declaration of love, but I refuse to settle for a mediocre love. I want to drown in someone, and that someone is you,"

I meant every fucking word. The words dripped from my tongue like venom, every syllable laced with the raw truth of my intentions. I meant every single fucking word. Hunters needed to eat in order to survive, and in this game, I was starving.

But I wouldn't go back on my word, not after watching her gasp for breath, balancing at the point of no return to something deeper than desire, dark and all-consuming. That moment haunted me: her lips parted in a silent pleading that really gnawed at my resolution. I had made a promise to myself back then—a promise born of the depths of my most sinister instincts: I wouldn't touch her again until she crawled back to me until she was prepared to yield more than her body. I wanted her very soul, heart, and every last fractured piece that remained of her being. She was a damned eternal beauty, and the important thing was that the three are all mine in one woman.

What we had shared on the bed or on every part of our house had marked me with a mark, festering like an open wound that would not heal. I couldn't pull her into that pit with me unless she was willing to fall. Yet, if I wanted her to really want me, to really trust me, to love me, then I had to allow her to arrive at that decision on her own. But fuck, it was killing me.

I sat in my desk at the hospital. These thoughts weighed against my skull, an unremitting pressure. The casino renovations had been a convenient distraction, but even the chaos of rebuilding couldn't drown out the gnawing hunger within me. The fire had done more damage than we had expected to; smoke seemed to seep into every crevice and taint the very bones of the place.

"The casino needs a complete overhaul in the east wing," David's voice cut into my reverie, steady and methodical as he outlined the plans. His words were clinical, devoid of the chaos swirling in my mind. "The explosives damage was extensive, and we'll need to update the fire codes to prevent this from happening again."

"I've already started reinforcing security measures. No one's getting in without us knowing."

"But there's still a long way to go," David said again, his voice darkening as he watched the workers toil. "The fire shook things up—made people nervous. We need to make sure security is airtight. The last thing we need is someone exploiting this situation."

"I've already spoken with Jude about that," I said, staring out the window, my voice flat. In the distance, the city skyline loomed ahead of us, shrouded in morning haze, kind of a ghost of things to come. "She's doubling down on security in the sector, but we need to be discreet. We can't afford to draw too much attention."

David's gaze flicked to mine, piercing, impossible to read. "Does Ana know about the renovations?"

That question hung there, a shade between us, heavy with unspoken truth. I knew what he insinuated, the dark undercurrents of his tone, and I wasn't so sure that was a depth I wanted to explore. "No," I finally said after a moment's hesitation, my tone betraying the doubt gnawing at the edges of my resolve. "I'm pretty sure Jude will take care of it." Jude wasn't just a bodyguard; she was Ana's confidante, someone who spent more time with her than I did these days.

David's incredulity slashed through what little control I still clutched at by my fingernails as he raised an eyebrow. "Just don't keep her in the dark," he warned once more, his tone heavy with meaning, and it tightened something in my chest. A beat later, he said, "I've taken care of the gifts you prepared. They will be put through in Ana's room directly and discreetly."