But as I walk, the high of death doesn’t fade.
It never does… not right away.
Not when the man I just killed had it coming. Not when the world’s better without him breathing in it. Not when the thought of what he did is still sharp in my chest.
What scares me isn’t the act; it’s how clean it feels. Howeasy.
I remind myself I don’t kill for fun. I kill because someone has to, and men like him don’t get warnings. Only endings.
But there’s something wrong with how my pulse is still steady. How the weight in my chest isn’t guilt—it’ssatisfaction.
That’s the part that keeps me up at night. Not the blood. Not the body. But the voice in my head that whispers,you liked that, didn’t you?
And I did.
God help me, I did
“That was quick.” I smile as Hex strides toward me, still holding his phone to his ear. His expression is mostly flat, but there’s something about the way he moves—controlled, with that ever-present confidence—that makes my stomach tighten.
“1407. Thanks, Will.” He ends the call and slips his phone into his back pocket.
I notice something in his hand, a small object, and tilt my head. “What’s that?”
Hex stops in front of me, holding it out between his fingers. A small, round wooden token, about the size of a poker chip, with an intricate design burned into the surface. I take it, turning it over in my palm. Bet he got it from one of the booths during that call with Will.
It’s a pair of stacked pancakes, dripping with syrup, and the wordChampioncharred into the middle.
A burst of laughter escapes me, rich and unrestrained. “Oh my God.” I press a hand to my mouth as if he just gave me a diamond ring, shaking my head. “Hex, seriously?”
His grin spreads wickedly slow. “Hey, you earned it.” His voice dips, a low rumble that resonates deep within me.
I narrow my eyes at him, lips twitching. “Is this your way of saying you appreciate a woman who can handle a sizable...stack?”
The look on Hex’s face sharpens, eyes dark with mischief. “Oh, Legs, I have no doubt you can handle whatever I put in front of you.”
A blush warms my cheeks as I stick my tongue out at him, holding up my new token in triumph.
Before I can come up with a comeback, he steps in. Closer than before. Close enough that the air between us vanishes in an instant. His hands slide to my hips, rough fingertips pressing into the soft curve as he pulls me flush against him.
My breath hitches in my chest.
There’s no second-guessing. Just heat and certainty.
His mouth claims mine with the quiet hunger of a man who’s spent all day reining himself in. I open myself to him and he deigns what I’m offering. He tastes of lingering syrup and heat, something rich and heady, something entirely him. His hands tighten at my waist, fingers pressing into my skin, not out of fear I’ll pull away, but to anchor me there with him.
I’m not going anywhere.
A small noise escapes the back of my throat, and it only makes him deepen the kiss, taking what he wants. His body is solid against mine, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt, his muscles tensing beneath my hands as I grip his shoulders.
One of his hands glides up my back, threading into my hair, tilting my head just how he wants it. A shiver rolls down my spine. It’s been a while—too long—since someone kissed me like this. Like they meant it.
Like they needed it.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground myself in the middle of this storm he’s pulled me into. A storm I’m not sure I ever want to leave.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and his voice drops into something rough, something dangerous.
“If you stick that tongue out at me,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna claim it.”
