“Breathe, Kerri.”
I finally exhale before I pass out.
I gingerly withdraw my hand, but I feel him. Everywhere. In the fabric of my reality. Woven into my molecular structure. But I can’t touch him. I’ll come undone because I’m holding on by a thread. Averyfrayed thread. The muscles of my fingers are fatigued from the desperate effort to keep a grip on my sanity as the tide of emotions rolls through me like two rivers coming together, converging into unnavigable rapids.
That’s the reason I need him here.
Havoc is my lifesaver.
“What if I fall?”
“I’ll catch you,” he vows.
Oh, God.
His touch is soothing. Gentle. A contradiction to his demanding tone. His fingers rake through my hair. Then travel to the nape of my neck. He draws me closer and brushes his lips over mine. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on for dear life because I need the safety of his arms. I crave his strength because I can’t do this.
I can’t.
Oh, my God, I can’t.
“Havoc.” His name is a hymn ripped straight from my heart. A plea, and when my knees buckle, he upholds his promise to catch me. “Make it stop, please. I’m scared.” I curl my hands in his shirt. Tug on the material. “What happens after?”
He wipes away the uncontrolled tears from my cheeks. “You go on living, Kerri. With me. You’re mine. I’ll hold you together.”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead over his beating heart. Savor the ragged rise and fall of his chest. No, Havoc Taylor will never let me unravel. He’ll be strong enough for us both.
I run my hands up his chest and grab his shoulders. I reopen my eyes, lift my head, and give him a sad smile. “Did you mean it, what you said before, in the kitchen?”
“Yes.” His expression is so dark, so profound. “For you, I’d give up anything. Everything.”
There’s a wealth of meaning unspoken between the lines, because to walk away from Mayhem is to leave behind the Unholy.
His family.
Something I would never—never—ask this man to sacrifice.
I inhale him, his rich, woodsy scent as earthy and wild as Havoc himself. It’s become my favorite aroma. “I would never ask you to sacrifice your home or family for me. That’s not what love is, Havoc.”
He trails his fingers down my spine, raising a delicious chill in their wake through my thin sweater. “I never wanted to see someone smile until I met you. I never wantedanythinguntil I met you. You make me believe we can have a future together.”
I smooth his dark blonde hair away from the chiseled planes of his face. His expression is hard, and his jaw clenched tightly. He’s made himself vulnerable with his simple admission. He handed me his power. In return, I’ll treasure the gift and give him my heart.
“I love you, Havoc.”
Four small words finally confessed into existence.
His mouth opens. No reply is given, nor is one needed. I didn’t admit my feelings expecting Havoc to make a grand gesture. He said enough when offered to walk away from Mayhem. That’s his love language. He shows affection by protecting those he cares about at all costs. At the tip of a knife or the trigger of a gun. It’s what he knows and what he has already done for me.
Because in his twisted and violent way, Havoc loves me, too.
I grab the bottom hem of his hoodie and slowly peel it up his body. Our height difference gives me trouble when I try to get it over his head. Havoc takes over and pulls it the rest of the way. He throws it across the room, not caring where it lands. His tank top follows. Once he’s shirtless, I run my hands over his torso. I trace my fingers along his skin, the flesh hot beneath my eager touch. Each hill and groove of the taut muscles tells a story. Of the strength he needed to survive his childhood, to survive his life as an enforcer. Each scar marks a chapter of his life he wishes he could close, and when I trail down his arms, I notice there are no fresh cuts added to his collection of nightmares he’s inflicted over the years.
Not one.
I give in to the urge to kiss the fevered skin, thankful he hasn’t harmed himself. I press my lips to the intricately tattooed graywork skulls that watch me through hollowed sockets. They whisper the horror and violence they’ve witnessed over the years. They hide Havoc’s agony. I wish I could take away his pain, but all I can do is replace those memories with better ones.
My lips travel to the bold, black letters of the wordUnholyinked across his pecs. I kiss each one. Letting him know I love even this side of him. Then I track lower, to the thin trail of dark blonde hair that runs vertically down his stomach. Follow those soft hairs until they disappear below the waistband of his jeans.
