Just the sensation of everything ending all at once.
The ceiling collapses. The walls cave in. Fire, steel, and concrete all become one violent, churning mass of destruction. Everything moves all at once. The beam dislodges as the ground beneath me begins to fall.
And somewhere in the heart of that chaos, Hurricane, the president, the father, the husband, the brother, the man who lived like a force of nature, goes out…
… like a fucking hurricane.
Chapter Twelve
KAIA
Two Weeks Later
The After…
The warmth of sunshine kisses my skin as I stretch languidly beneath Hurricane’s protective embrace. His fingers trace lazy patterns across my bare shoulder, as the familiar smells of bacon and bourbon, mixing with Hurricane’s familiar cologne, tickle my nose.
“God, I wish I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs against my temple, his voice thick with contentment and love.
I turn in his arms, meeting those ice-blue eyes that never fail to make my heart skip. “You would fuck me anywhere, you fiend, but we’re in the middle of the clubhouse…” My hand finds his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “And your daughter is right beside us, eating her breakfast.”
He grins, that cocky smile that made me fall for him despite every instinct telling me he’s trouble.
“True, but she’s young. She doesn’t know what Mommy and Daddy are doing yet. Seeing us fucking won’t scar her until she is at least…” he shrugs cockily, “… five, six? So we got time. At least until these little peanuts arrive.” His hand slides out, caressing my swollen stomach, carrying our twins.
I laugh, remembering our adventure with Oahu Defiance, the pregnancy test, and the twins. “Only we could turn a romantic getaway into a rescue mission and a baby announcement.”
“Speaking of babies…” Hurricane’s hand flattens on my stomach. “Do ya think they’re gonna be as stubborn as their mama?”
“God, I hope not. One of me is enough trouble for this family.” I lean up to kiss him, soft and sweet, tasting the promise of our future on his lips.
But something feels wrong…
The kiss tastes different…
Distant…
Like I’m trying to hold onto wafting smoke.
My eyes flutter open, and instead of Hurricane’s face, I’m staring at the familiar ceiling of our bedroom in the clubhouse. The ceiling fan turns slowly, the same uneven wobble it’s had for months. The walls are still painted black from when I moved in here, not the tropical elegance of our Hawaiian suite. Bike pictures line the wall, a couple of old-style rock bands, too, but he also added pictures of us, pictures of Immy. His wet bar full of alcohol is untouched, just sitting there waiting for him to drink, because we all know my beast of a man was an excessive drinker. And as I lie in our giant king-size bed that takes up most of the floor space, I pull up the black velvet throw under my chin, needing the comfort, instantly his scent is all around me.
Confusion floods through my mind as I try to orient myself.
The dream was so vivid, so real.
I could smell the bacon.
Feel his touch.
He was right here with me again.
Tears well in my eyes before I clench them tight, wanting more than anything to go back there. To be with him again, when a small hand pats my cheek. Opening my watering eyes, I turn to Immy, whose beautiful eyes are looking at me with concern. My three-year-old daughter is curled up beside me in bed, her wild curls even messier from sleep.
“Mama sad?” Immy asks, her little voice soft with worry.
That’s when tears roll down my cheeks, and the crushing weight in my chest threatens to suffocate me. The dream shatters like glass, and reality comes crashing back with the force of a tidal wave.
Hurricane is dead.
