Chapter 6 - The Broken Barrier
The office froze in a terrifying, suspended silence.
My bare skin was pressed against the collar of his shirt, my hands resting directly against the warm, exposed skin of his nape.
The realization of what I had done hit me like a bucket of freezing water.
*I had broken the ultimate rule.*
I had touched the untouchable king of Seattle without warning, without permission, and without a barrier.
"I'm sorry," I gasped, instantly trying to pull my arms back, terror seizing my chest.
"Aiden, I am so sorry, I forgot—"
Before I could pull away, a large, calloused hand came up and gripped my wrist.
He didn't shove me away.
He didn't twist my arm to break the hold.
Aiden Chambers was holding my wrist, his fingers trembling with such violent intensity that I could feel the vibrations rattling through his bones.
His breath came in ragged, jagged gasps, his chest heaving against mine like a steam engine on the verge of exploding.
His eyes were shut tight, beads of cold sweat gathering along his furrowed brow as his nervous system screamed in primal panic.
"Aiden," I whispered desperately, completely still.
"Let go of me, I will back away. Breathe."
"No," he choked out through clenched teeth, his voice a raw, agonizing rasp.
"Aiden, you're having an episode, please—"
"Do not... pull away," he ordered, the effort to speak sounding as if it were tearing his vocal cords apart.
His eyes slowly cracked open, bloodshot and swimming with profound, terrifying conflict.
He was fighting twenty-five years of deeply ingrained neurological terror.
He was fighting the ghost of his monstrous father who had taught him that skin against skin was an execution sentence.
Slowly, agonizingly, Aiden lifted his other hand.
He did not use a glove.
He did not use the fabric of a tuxedo sleeve.
With glacial slowness, his trembling, bare fingertips reached out and brushed against the curve of my cheek.
The instant his skin met mine, a violent shudder ripped through his broad frame.
His pupils dilated until his gray eyes were almost black, his pulse hammering so hard in his throat I could see the vein throbbing beneath his collar.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, a tear spilling over his dark eyelashes.
"You are safe, Aiden," I whispered back, leaning my cheek gently into his shaking palm.
"I am not going to hurt you."
"Nobody is locking you in the dark."
His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, catching a stray tear that had fallen from my eye.
His skin was burning hot, radiating the immense sensory overload raging through his brain.
For ten agonizing seconds, the feared mafia lord stood in the center of his glass palace, holding his wife's face as if holding a piece of fragile, priceless porcelain.
Then, with a sudden, sharp exhalation of breath, his forehead collapsed forward, resting heavily against my shoulder.
He didn't fall to his knees this time.
He let the full weight of his head rest in the crook of my neck, his hands moving to clutch the fabric of my sweater like a drowning man finding a piece of wreckage in a stormy sea.
I brought my hands up slowly, resting them against the broad expanse of his back, feeling the tense knots of muscle beneath his shirt gradually untangle.
"You did it," I whispered into his hair, my own tears dampening his collar.
"You survived the touch."
He didn't speak for nearly ten minutes.
He simply stood there, breathing in the scent of my hair, anchoring himself to the reality of my heartbeat against his chest.
When he finally pulled back, his face was pale, his eyes rimmed with red, but the haunted, hunted look that had defined him for a decade was gone.
"Lily's surgery began fifteen minutes ago," he said quietly, his voice hoarse and raw.
"Harrison called my private line while I was holding you."
"Is she... is she going to be okay?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
"She has the best surgical team in North America, Tessa," Aiden replied, his hand lingering inches from mine before he let it drop to his side.
"She will dance at your university graduation."
I looked at him, truly seeing the man beneath the bloodsoaked reputation.
"Why did you let me touch you, Aiden?" I asked softly.
"You could have pushed me away."
"You could have let the panic take over."
Aiden looked down at his own hand, flexing the fingers that had just rested against my cheek.
"Because for fifteen years, I believed touch was a weapon used only to inflict agony," he murmured, his gaze lifting to meet mine with an intensity that took my breath away.
"But when your skin touched mine, Tessa... it was the first time in my life that touch did not burn."
"It felt like peace."
A soft knock at the office door shattered the intimacy of the moment.
Aiden’s chief of security, Viktor, stepped inside, his expression grim and tight.
"Boss," Viktor said quietly, his eyes darting cautiously between Aiden and me.
"Marcus just left the building in a private vehicle."
"He didn't go to his residence."
"Where did he go?" Aiden asked, his posture instantly snapping back into defensive authority.
"He crossed the bridge into the industrial shipping district," Viktor reported.
"And three satellite phones registered to the Petrov Syndicate just activated in the southern warehouse docks."
Aiden’s eyes narrowed into slits of deadly calculation.
"The Russians," Aiden muttered, his jaw setting hard.
"Marcus knows he is finished with the board."
"He is trying to sell our northern maritime routes to the Petrov family before his assets are completely seized."
"Should we dispatch a strike team?" Viktor asked.
"No," Aiden said coldly, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a customized black handgun, checking the chamber with practiced efficiency.
"Marcus is my blood, and he is my responsibility."
He looked at me, his eyes softening for a split second.
"Go home to the penthouse, Tessa."
"Stay with the security detail until I call you."
"Do not go alone, Aiden," I pleaded, stepping toward him, fear gripping my heart once again.
"The Petrovs do not care about your Syndicate rules."
"They are butchers."
May you like
"I know what they are," Aiden replied, holstering the weapon beneath his jacket.
"And it is time they remember what I am."
