Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
The kiss deepens, consuming my air and giving me his in return. The noise of the citadel drops away, the helicopter, the guards, and the cartel with its dangerous secrets all gone. There’s only this. The press of his mouth, the way he holds me with the intent to keep me, and the way my chest finally stops hurting.
When we break apart, our foreheads touch, both of us panting and smiling like lovesick weirdos.
For the first time since I arrived, the place feels complete.
“Let me look at you.” I untangle us and step back, taking in his outfit. “Love the look. It’s giving… Safe in your own skin and dangerous to anyone who underestimates you.”
“Checks out. Also…” He nudges the ground with a daisy-printed rain boot. “The forecast called for rain.”
“I fucking love you.”
“Keep saying it. It’ll never get old.” His lips quirk. “Speaking of old…”
I follow his gaze over my shoulder and land unerringly on Jag.
Our eyes meet and hold.
He stays back, parking himself a few steps from the helicopter, shoulders drawn in, and hands shoved deep into his pockets. Guilt sits in the hard lines of his face. Relief, too. And other things I can’t name because there’s so much I don’t know.
Too many questions crowd my throat. Too many years of redacted truths and fill-in-the-blanks. The cartel told me nothing, only that everything Jag has done, every choice, every cruelty, was done for me.
I don’t know what that means yet. But whatever it is, it took its toll on our relationship.
“He let you believe the worst in him,” Wolf says quietly. “Worked really hard to keep his best parts hidden.”
“Why?”
“That’s between you and him. He has some groveling to do, but when that’s done, hear him out, okay?”
“Okay.” My pulse quickens.
“Go on. Talk to him. Kiss and make up. But when you’re ready to fuck, I want to be there. To watch.” He waggles his eyebrows and backs away. “For now, I’m going to mingle and make some sicarios uncomfortable.”
“Fearless.”
“Nah. Just too stubborn to flinch.” He spins on his heel and strolls straight into the citadel, arms spread wide, like he’s greeting old friends. “Hello, darlings. Who’s in charge of hospitality? I’m thirsty and emotionally available.”
“What are the odds he’ll get us killed?”
I jolt at the sound of Jag’s voice right behind me. His breath stirs my hair, too near, too quiet, making my heart tick too fast.
Pushing back my shoulders, I turn to face him.
His gaze tracks Wolf for a half-second before lowering to me. “These people aren’t his friends.”
“They will be when he’s finished with them.”
His mouth tilts, and a nod follows.
A cloud of feelings and thoughts piles up in his expression as his eyes rake over me. I see him trying to sort through it, testing sentences in his head and discarding them, his face twitching with the effort to find the right words instead of the wrong ones.
At last, he exhales and meets my stare. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for. The things I know about? Or the things I don’t?”
“All of it.”
“The night before the cartel took me, you came to the island to say goodbye. Is that because you joined them and agreed to move here?”
“Yes.”
“You did it for me? Because someone bad was coming for us? An enemy you and the cartel both want stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Are you…?” My breath rushes out as I look him over. “Are you okay? Safe?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll be safe here now? In this fortress? Behind your keyboard?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the extent of what I’ve pieced together. Everything else is muffled secrets and pressed lips. I’m so fucking sick of living in the dark.” I rub my face in frustration. “Will I ever get the entire truth?”
“Yes.”
“Say something else, dammit! Something more than yes. Tell me where you’ve been, what you had for breakfast, how many people you killed today.” I wave my hands around and let them drop to my sides. “I don’t know. Give me something. Anything.”
“You look… Good.” The compliment scrapes out of him as if he might trigger an explosive argument. Then he straightens and tries again. “You look beautiful.”
Well, this is awkward.
I finger the messy blue braid slung over my shoulder, twisting and tucking the loose ends back into the knot.
His gaze tracks the motion, and I wonder if he’s thinking about fixing it, unraveling the tangled mess, and starting over. He was always better at that than I was.
Out of habit, I glance at his hands and search his fingernails for blood, finding none.
We stand there, hovering too close and not close enough, stranded outside the roles we understand. We know how to be brother and sister, protector and ward, stalker and prey, and enemies with shared baggage.
But this? None of our familiar roles fit in this strange, uneasy space, and neither of us knows how to navigate it.