Fuck.
Striker’s face flashes in my mind. I left on impulse, without telling anyone. I’m going to have to contend with not only a furious Reap, but an angry and hurt Striker. We made a pact in that dark prison we called home. Until Breaker left.
And now me.
But we made a pact with them too. With our delicate little warriors, and I’ll be damned if an order is going to keep me away from her. I’ll be damned if she’s going to fight this alone.
Part of me wonders if this was Reaper’s plan all along. He knew Breaker would follow Cora. And he knew I’d follow, unable to sit still and wait.
But, now I’m here. But it seems Breaker isn’t, since he’s not out here yelling at me. He’s probably off watching over Cora or Rune. The security cameras should have pinged his phone the moment I arrived. I unlock my phone and wait, expecting him to see me on the security camera, but after a minute, when he doesn’t message or call, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and head toward the side of the factory.
It’s been a month since I’ve been here, and it’s strange to feel this slight comfort at being back. This isn’t home. The cliffs, the woods, the salty marsh, the huge empty house with its ghosts and ruined gardens, are home. This place was never meant to be anything but temporary. Yet it’s familiar, and I move toward thedoor with an airiness in my bones, a jitteriness in my fingertips, knowing I’m going to see him soon if not right now. Knowing that even though I have to keep my cover, I will see Cora at some point. If Breaker got his hands on her, then I will too, even if I have to tear this city apart brick by fucking brick.
When I unlock the door, my hand freezes on the door handle. Something cold slithers beneath my ribs, settling in my gut. Something that feels an awful lot like dread. Intuition maybe? Or just the knowledge that when I enter the building, there is no going back. I will become part of the Snyder Group, and will eventually have to come face to face with Rune.
The reality is almost deafening with how it screams through my thoughts. When we planned this, we knew we were going to have to face Rune. Pretend to be his ally. Pretend to be just as thirsty for evil.
At the time, revenge was a hungry beast, driving us all, turning us just as mad as him. Now there is so much at stake. Now there is so much knowledge.
Before, Rune was a monster who fed off terror, driven with a grotesque hunger I’ll never comprehend. And never forget.
But now? Now weknow.
He’s Cora’s tormentor. Delilah’s pain.
He’s a vile cancer that needs to be cut out.
With that thought, I shove the door open. The metal hinges protest with a rusty screech that echoes through the large space. When I step through the door, my gaze lands on him sitting on the couch.
And the gnawing itch that’s lived under my skin since he left fades, and a pulsing need courses through me as I drink in the sight of him.
Breaker sits on the sofa, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid under his black t-shirt. My fingers twitch with the need to trace the powerful line of his jaw. Breaker is the only man—well, untilrecently—the only man who has ever made me ache so deeply. For his touch. His mouth. His want. Everything that makes him is so perfect and fiercely beautiful. He always felt like an angel placed in my life to keep me sane.
Until I started noticing he wasn’t an angelic boy anymore. He had structure and substance. He grew into a man, and every feature cut me with a need I knew was bad but couldn’t control.
Then one night in that ratty hotel room brought all that need to a boiling point. I surrendered to what I’d been fighting since he grew from that beautiful boy into the hard, lethal man before me. I avoided him for months after that. Couldn’t bear to see the hurt in those pale blue eyes. The way he longed and ached. The confusion, and how my refusal left him so bruised. It’s tragic it took Hunter’s death to force me to let go and claim what I wanted.
Even more tragic, I refused to speak it openly for so long.
Now? Now I want to scream it so everyone knows that this desire for him is pure and good and I don’t have to feel shame. It’s not a sin.
Watching Striker accept the things I struggled with in secret made it easier to accept them within myself. And we have our girls to thank for that.
Cora.
God. I can’t wait to see her. Get my hands on her.
I march forward, my heart expanding with each step. He must not hear me because he still doesn’t move as I approach. It isn’t until I’m right on him that his head jerks my way, eyes widening when he sees me. I expect a snarky remark, but he just stares at me, expression turning from shock to…
Dread
Suddenly he snaps out of it, and says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, asshole.” I say, eating up the sight of his hard, muscled body, noting how his shoulders bunch and his arms go tense. How his jaw tightens even more, his plush lips thinning.
I circle the couch, tracking the rise and fall of his chest, counting each breath the way I counted the days without him. I stop in front of him, the coffee table between us. All I can think about is wrapping my arms around him and breathing him in, and it takes everything in me not to do just that. Kick all obstacles out of my way and pull him to me until there’s nothing separating us.
Fuck, I’ve missed this stupid, impulsive idiot.
