“Come for me,” I growl out the words. “Fucking break for me.”
And she does.
She shatters.
Her spine bows, breasts pressing to my chest, her mouth falling open in a cry that sounds more like a battle scream than pleasure. Her nails dig into my back, raking, anchoring, clinging.Her pussy clamps down around me in wild pulses, spasming through the release I just forced out of her.
The wave of her orgasm crashes over me in real time. I feel it through every part of her, the way she convulses beneath me, the hot rush of slick that coats me, the broken sobs she tries to stifle. It’s raw. Fucking real. Like she’s giving me every part of her body, breath, soul, and trusting I won’t break it.
My hips jerk, losing rhythm. All control slipping, as my grip tightens in her hair while I thrust one last time, deep, hard, and absolute. My balls pull up, and my toes curl, my entire body tensing with the force. I feel it burn inside me, the tingle rippling up my spine. The heat builds, the pressure so intense that it erupts harder than I have ever come before with a hard thrust, deep inside her. My vision blackens, and I can’t find my breath, the aftershocks rocking through me like a tsunami, crashing again and again. I curse, groaning, and bury myself to the hilt as I come hard, spilling into her, every pulse a confession I can’t take back.
My forehead drops to hers. My lungs seize. My body trembles as though hers taught it how.
And for a long moment, all that’s left is the wreckage of us.
The thunder of our breathing.
The sweat between our skin.
The silence in a Chapel that was never meant for this, but now belongs to only us.
The air is thick with sex, sweat, and something that feels a lot like regret, but not for what we just did.
But for how much I already know that I’ll never stop wanting it again.
For a long time, we don’t move. Her fingers trace the edge of my cut, and her badge still glints between us.
Two sides of the same war.
“Guess the Chapel’s not so clean anymore,” she murmurs softly.
I huff a laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Guess not. But maybe that’s the point.”
Her smile is tired but tender. “You mean redemption doesn’t always look holy?”
“Nah.” I kiss her again, slow this time. “Sometimes it looks like this, dirty, complicated, and worth every fucking sin.”
Two Weeks Later
Over the next two weeks, the preparations begin.
Ghost holes up with his equipment, hacking into Alliance communications with the kind of focused intensity that makes him dangerous. He identifies the time and place—a warehouse on the outskirts of Vegas, perfect for what the Alliance needs. Isolated. Minimal witnesses. Easy exit routes.
The arms shipment is coming from Mexico. High-grade weapons that will flood the streets if we don’t stop it. Rourke will be there to ensure no police interference, which means Alliance leadership will be present too.
A perfect opportunity to catch them all.
Maria coordinates with her small team—three officers she trusts with absolute certainty. It’s depressing how few clean cops there are in this city. Victoria works with her journalist contact, briefing them on the story while keeping them safe. The civilian needs to capture everything but stay out of the line of fire.
Koa and Bear scout the location, identifying positions.
Nitro runs drills with the brothers who’ll be on the ground.
Everyone has a role.
Everyone knows what’s at stake.
This isn’t just about revenge anymore.
