Page 22 of The Endless Want

“Don’t.” He’s closer than he was. I don’t remember either of us moving. “You asked.”

We stand in the narrow space between desks, every unspoken thing between us coiled tight enough to snap. He releases my wrist only to cup the back of my neck, fingers warm, steady, infuriatingly gentle.

I should move. I should stop this. I should⁠—

His mouth finds mine before I finish the thought.

The kiss is sharp, heated, a collision of hurt and want and history that neither of us knows how to contain. My hands fist in his shirt. His fingers slide into my hair.

I break away first, breath unsteady, heart pounding like it’s trying to tear its way out of my ribs.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” I whisper.

I watch his eyes transform into dark storms before he turns and leaves without another word.

CHAPTER 7

Declan

I walk away from her like a man fleeing a crime scene, but every step feels heavier than the last. The corridor seems too narrow, the lights too bright, the world too sharp for the kind of chaos unraveling inside my chest.

The moment sears itself behind my ribs. Her breath trembling against mine, the furious heat that belonged nowhere near us and yet ignited anyway.

I should have been stronger. I should have been colder. I should have been the version of myself I’ve spent years refining—the one who sees threats, not temptations; angles, not lips; leverage, not longing.

Instead, I became the kind of man who lets his guard slip because a woman he’s spent years resenting finally cracked open a door he’s been pretending doesn’t exist.

No. It doesn’t.

Because five months ago I stood in a room with my brother and told her to pick. Out loud, in front of witnesses, while men who worked for both of us watched. Liam or me. I did it because I was losing and I wanted to watch her choose me where everyone could see it.

She looked at me for a long time. Long enough that I understood what I’d done to her. Then she said his name, and she was right to say it, and I have hated her for being right every day since.

The words echo in my skull, looping and looping until I feel like I’m suffocating on them. I push through the stairwell door, the slam echoing up the concrete walls, and descend fast enough that my boots thud like gunshots. I need distance from her; I need cold air and something that shakes me back into the man I’m supposed to be.

On the last step, and I stop so suddenly it pitches me forward. I brace both palms against the rough concrete wall. My breath drags hard through clenched teeth.

“Idiot,” I hiss, a whisper meant only for myself. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

The anger, when it comes, is volcanic—years of restrained emotion erupting like it’s been waiting just under the surface, ready to punish me for losing control. I slam my palm against the wall again, harder. The jolt stings, but it anchors me. Pain usually does.

She can’t be the thing that breaks me. Not when she’s already tangled too deep in something I’m trying to unravel.

I shove away from the wall, shoulders tight, fists aching. My lungs burn like I ran ten streets in one breath. I don’t stop moving until I’m outside, the cold air slicing against the heat of my skin. The city stretches in front of me—harsh, loud, dangerous. It feels better than the office, where her scent still lingers in the air and temptation whispers at the edges of logic.

I need clarity. I need information. I need a target I can put my hands around.

It takes me until the following evening to admit where that is.

I spend the day not calling her. I run the manifests again. I let Ryan chase his trace. I tell myself twice that the casino is a bad idea, and the second time I'm already reaching for my keys.

So, I plug the address into my GPS and prepare for a drive.

I don’t tell Liam where I’m going. He’d never approve such a thing.

If he finds out, I’d rather ask forgiveness and have something to show for it than try to get his permission like I’m below him.

And this is me being proactive.