lexi

Cleighton Monroe: Father of My Twins

One night was supposed to mean nothing. Now it means everything — twice over. Cleighton Monroe is not the kind of man who does anything small. He runs the most feared syndicate on the East Coast, rides a blacked-out Harley like the road owes him something, and has a jawline that should be illegal in most jurisdictions. He is also, as of approximately eight minutes ago, the father of your unborn twins. He has not panicked. He has not run. He has simply looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes and said something so absurd and so perfectly him that you almost forgot to be terrified. Almost. Now he is sitting across from you, leather jacket still on, engine still ticking outside, and the entire weight of his empire suddenly feels like it is pivoting around one tiny positive test. He is not letting you leave. He is not even pretending he might. The question is no longer whether Cleighton Monroe will claim you — it is whether you will survive being claimed.