Elizabeth stands at the edge, looking out over the compound. The security lights cast long shadows, painting everything in shades of blue and black. She doesn’t turn around when she hears me approach, but her shoulders tense in awareness.
“We should talk,” I say, stopping a few feet behind her.
Chapter Twenty-One
SIN
“Should we?” Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “Because I’m not sure what’s left to say. You told me about Marcus Delaney. About the corruption. About Rourke. I said I wouldn’t print anything that could compromise what needs to happen. Where does that leave us?”
“Somewhere complicated,” I admit, closing the distance until I’m standing beside her. Close enough to feel her body heat, to smell her shampoo mixed with the lingering scent of the clubhouse.
She finally looks at me, and the vulnerability in her eyes guts me. “I came here thinking I’d write a story about a motorcycle club. Maybe find some colorful characters, some interesting angles. Butthis?”She shakes her head. “This is police corruption. Trafficking. Murder. A cover-up that goes to the top. This is the kind of story that could get me killed, Sin.”
“It could,” I say honestly. “Which iswhyyou need to be careful who you trust.”
“Like you?” She turns to face me fully, challenge in her eyes. “Should I trustyou, Sin? Because a few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure. Now you’re handing me information that could bring down a police captain. Either you’re the most trustworthy person I’ve met in Vegas, or this is the most elaborate setup in history.”
The air between us feels charged, heavy with all the things we’renotsaying. The attraction that’s been building like a storm. The danger that surrounds us both. The line between truth and lies that gets blurrier every day.
I reach out and cup her jaw with one hand. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
“You want to know if you can trust me?” My voice is rough, weighted. “Here’s the truth… I don’t trust easy. Neither do you. But what I told you in that Chapel about Marcus Delaney? That’s real. The corruption is real. Rourke is real. And the fact that I’m standing here, risking everything to help you expose it?Thatshould tell you something, wildcat.”
Her eyes flicker open, searching mine like she’s trying to see past the mask I keep locked tight. “Why? Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”
“Justice for a kid who deserved better,” I say, the honesty scraping raw in my throat. “A chance to take down a corrupt cop who’s been a thorn in our side for years.” I hesitate, then let the truth fall between us, heavy and unignorable. “And maybe…” My thumb grazes across her cheekbone, soft against the desert chill. “Maybe a chance to see if this thing between us is as real as it feels.”
The words hang suspended between us, fragile, electric. The wind sweeps through the rooftop, lifting strands of her hair that catch the dim light, framing her face like fire. Her lips part, but no sound comes out, only her ragged breath.
I should step back.
But I don’t.
Neither does she.
The silence is thick, weighted with everything we haven’t said. My gaze drops to her mouth, lingering there. Her pulse flutters in her throat, and I feel the tension crackling like static, pulling us closer. My hand cups her jaw, fingers sliding back into her hair. She leans into the touch, and that small surrender is the breaking point.
By the time I lower my head, she’s already rising onto her toes. The first brush of her mouth against mine is tentative, testing, but then it ignites. Her kiss deepens, raw and hungry, like a wild animal. Like awildcat.She grips my cut, tugging me closer, and I back her against the wall, my body locking her in like I couldn’t let her go if I tried.
She tastes like coffee and sugar, and when she moans against my lips, the sound rips through me, shattering every wall I’ve built. My hands grip her hips, pulling her tight against me. Sparks scatter down my spine as she arches into me, heat searing through the thin line where our bodies meet.
“Sin,” she breathes, her lips brushing mine. And fuck, the way she says my name, like it’s both a curse and a prayer, undoes me completely.
I spin us, pressing her back harder against the commercial AC unit, my mouth moving to her neck. She tilts her head, giving me access, her pulse racing against my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl against her skin. “Tell me this is a bad idea, and I’ll walk away right now.”
Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan. “I can’t,” she admits, her voice wrecked. “I should, but I can’t.”
My hand slides up her side, thumbing the underside of her breast through her shirt. She gasps, her hips rolling against mine, and I’m about to lose what’s left of my restraint.
“Pres!” Ghost’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. “Need you downstairs. We got a situation.”
Elizabeth and I freeze, our breathing harsh and uneven in the sudden quiet. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and I know I look just as wrecked.
“Fuck,” I mutter, resting my forehead against hers. “Worst timing ever.”
“Or best. Because the way I want you scares me more than all the bullets I’ve faced this week,” she whispers, her breath still unsteady.
