All Baby has known in life is pain.
Years spent locked away in an attic to bare the agony of her father's brutal hands.
Family is a concept unknown to her since the moment her mother died when she was only a mere five years old.
Thirteen years sh...
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I sat there doodling lazy spirals and jagged shapes with my fingertips on the armrest of my velvety throne, the plush fabric yielding beneath each absent-minded trace.
Around me, voices droned on—security protocols, shift schedules, shipment plans—a monotonous symphony that blurred together, pressing in like a dense fog that dulled the edges of the world. The overhead lights buzzed, casting sickly halos over the table, every shadow pooling beneath the chairs like spilled secrets.
This was hell.
My hell.
And I was the king of it, ruling from a velvet seat, counting down the seconds until I could escape.
It was so boring, and mundane, and mind-numbing, and so fucking boring!
I just wanted to go home, hug my angel to my chest, and kiss all over her painfully adorable face until her freckled cheeks bloomed red and Baby filled my ears with her harmonious giggles.
I have been deprived of my angel for too long.
It's been months since we've been even remotely intimate, and except for the night at the club, we've all been deprived of her touch.
We gave her a week to ask us all her questions, bring up her concerns, and throw anything else at us. Bore the sight of her tears and heavy emotions, but we have given her plenty of time to wrap her precious noggin around this, and I needed her.
Now.
Viper sat by my side, fidgeting up a storm, and I was about to rip my ears off if I had to listen to his leathers creak one more time as he shifted in his chair.
