Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
"She could come—"
"To live how? On what? In a world where she has no one but us?" I shake my head. "You don't understand what it means to have nothing to fall back on. No safety net. No rich brother to bail you out when things get hard. This shitty twenty acres of scrub is all I got, Savannah. This new trailer is a dream come true. I get it, I understand what you're saying. And… it's even fucking reasonable. But I'm not walking out on my land."
She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. "But you want me to do it."
"No," I say firmly, taking her face in my hands. "I want what is best for you. And this?" I pan to the land and the trailer. "This isn't it."
"But it's good enough for you. It's good enough for Mercy."
"Savannah—"
But before I can say anything else, she presses her fingertips against my mouth.
"I'm going home to change," she says softly. "I feel ridiculous standing here like this." Her fingers trail down from my lips to my chest, resting right over the brand I took for my brothers.
She doesn't know it's there. Doesn't know I've already carved another name on my heart. And her touch, light as it is, hurts.
"But you'll know where to find me at midnight."
She steps back, and for a second, I see something in her eyes I've never seen before. Not the careful calculation of an Ashby or the practiced seduction of our silo nights. Something wilder. Something that scares me more than prison ever did.
Then she's leaving. Walking back to her Range Rover. The engine purrs to life, expensive and certain, just like everything else in her world.
I stand on my porch, feeling the night settle around me, wondering what kind of man I am—the kind who follows a woman into a dream that can't possibly last, or the kind who stays with the only family that ever truly wanted him.
I go inside and start counting the minutes to midnight.
At a quarter to twelve, I check on Mercy. She's sprawled across her bed, one arm dangling toward the floor, the other still clutching that damn BB gun like it's a teddy bear. I adjust her blanket, careful not to wake her. On her nightstand sits the fortune cookie from dinner, still unopened.
"Be back soon," I whisper.
Outside, the night air hits good. Stars punch through the black, cold and sharp. I take the old footpath down past the dried-up creek bed, my boots crunching on stones that have felt my weight a thousand times before.
The silo rises against the horizon like a sentinel. Ten minutes by foot from my door, but it might as well be another world.
The place where damnation and light begin.
My pulse is jumpin’. I'm five minutes early when I reach the clearing. The metal shell gleams silver in the moonlight, worn but standing. Like me.
Then I hear it—hoofbeats. Coming fast.
Savannah appears at the edge of the trees, Cassia's dark form moving like liquid shadow across the field. She doesn't slow until the last moment, then slides off before the horse fully stops, her feet hitting the ground running.
She's wearing a short dress, buttoned down the front, white cotton that catches the moonlight. Just like when we were kids. Just like the first time.
"You came," she breathes, stopping three feet away, chest rising and falling.
"Always do," I say, my voice rough.
The space between us burns away in seconds. We collide like we're trying to break each other, mouths hungry, hands desperate. I back her against the curved metal wall of the silo, the steel cool against my palms as I cage her between my arms.
I press my mouth against her neck, biting down on the soft skin where her pulse jumps.
Her fingers claw at my belt. "Legion…"
I press my hips against hers, letting her feel how hard I am. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. I wanna be inside you."
She moans, her head falling back against the metal. "Legion..."
"You want my fingers first?" I ask, already hiking up her dress, finding bare skin. No underwear. Fuck. "Or you want me to bend you over right here, where anyone could see?"
"Fingers," she gasps. "Then everything. All of you."
I slip my hand between her legs, finding her already slick and ready. "So fucking wet for me," I murmur, sliding two fingers inside her. She arches, a sound catching in her throat. "You think about this while you're wearing his ring? Think about me fucking you while he talks politics?"
"Yes," she admits, shameless, her eyes locked on mine. "Every day."
I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her eyes roll back. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name," she says, voice ragged. "Until all I know is yours."