That news doesn’t sit well, and I clench my fists, hating how she got here. “That pisses me off.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t belong on his fucking bike,” I snarl, imagining her having to hold onto him, her breasts resting on his back, her thighs around him. Her pussy shouldn’t be anywhere near him.
She lifts her chin. “You left me no choice.”
“Why didn’t you drive?”
“Because the only way I’m leaving is if you take me.”
She throws down the gauntlet, outmaneuvering me. I swallow, my body reacting to her nearness.
“You know Sophia did the same thing when she was in love with my brother. Drove out to find him. So we figured a woman going to find her man should stay in the family.”
Her man.The sound of it has my cock twitching.
Camryn smirks and leans back in my chair. The same chair she fucked me in months ago. The same chair I’ve sat in while listening to her walk around her apartment. I disconnected all the audio and visual feeds, knowing that if I saw it, heard it, I would find it more challenging to stay away from her. Now, seeing her looking the same, yet different, is making my skin itch with the need to touch her.
Physically, she looks the same. More beautiful than ever. It’s the energy around her that feels different; darker, somber, and I fucking hate it because I know it stems from what happened to her. That change is because of me.
Even his death, all these weeks later, is still not enough. It’s still not enough that his skin has been turned into hide. It’s not enough that his skull has been de-fleshed by my beetles. It’s not enough that his hands and entrails have burned to ash used in my tattoo ink to mark my body, to immortalize my kill and hisdeath. I want his soul. I want to destroy more than his corporeal form. I want whatever spiritual remnants of lurking around.
My eyes track hers when she stands and walks over to my cut that’s hanging on the wall. She touches the leather, tracing my nickname, her dried blood. Her fingers move along the three skulls, a symbol of my allegiance to the Legion Lords. I haven’t worn it since the night I carried her to the waiting ambulance.
“Is this my blood?” She looks over her shoulder at me.
“Yes.”
“You were wearing it when you rescued me.”
She knows the answer, so I don’t say anything.
“Why haven’t you cleaned it?”
“Because I want to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“My role.”
She freezes and slowly drops her hand.
“I don’t blame you, Stone.”
She doesn’t need to. I blame myself.I brace myself when she turns and walks to me, her body moving fluidly. Not like she was a month ago, pale from a loss of blood, stabbed over twenty times. When she gets closer, I breathe in her scent. That familiar honeysuckle fragrance that haunts my dreams.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
I hold myself still, in disbelief that she’s here, standing in front of me, whole. “I can’t come to you.”
“Why?”
Because I love you, and I always will.I say it from the recesses of my soul where she’s buried deeply. I’ll never let her go, even if I can’t keep her. That love puts her in danger.
She touches my face, cupping my cheek, and a tear leaks out unbidden.
“So you do cry.”
