She hangs up.
A heavy breath escapes me, and I loosen the tie around my neck. Lana whimpers, her angelic face suddenly twisting in fear and pain as a nightmare grips her in its throes.
Probably nightmares about me.
Berating myself for my inability to resist her, I brush her hair back, my breath hitching as I touch her without my gloves for the first time in decades. Gloves were my way of keeping her at a distance. But now, with her so close to me, I suddenly forget why I need to stay away.
My fingers shake as I trace her cheek. Her warmth sizzles my skin and my chest spasms.
“You’re fine, Elise. You’re fine,” I whisper. “Everything’s fine.”
She thrashes, then quiets, my voice seeming to settle her.
A spark of warmth, an insidious craving, flares when she grabs my hand and snuggles it.
Just like that day on the lake when we were different people. A lost boy, beaten by life but with beautiful dreams of the future. A princess feeling suffocated by her gilded cage.
Her chest lifts and falls, drawing my attention to the pulse fluttering in her neck.
She looks good in my clothes. If I had my way, I’d have her dressed in my shirts all day long so the world knows she was mine.
I want to kiss the soft skin where her vitality beats. Inhale her light at the source. Whisper promises on her lips. Tell her who I really am. Tell her I’m not the monster she thinks I am.
One more kiss. Just one more.
Sweet kisses at sixteen weren’t enough. I didn’t know what I was doing then.
But I do now. Fuck I know just what to do if I had the chance.
Heat rushes to my groin. I’m a sick fuck. Incurable. I should go to Rafe for a confession when I get back to Chicago. The priest of The Syndicate is there to absolve us of our sins.
Yeah, right.My soul is so dark, no amount of bleach could cleanse it.
Biting my cheek to distract myself, I pull out the letter from my pocket—the document that sparked my point of no return.
Carefully, I unseal it. Why would The Association risk a high-profile heist in broad daylight?
I unfold the single sheet of paper and read.
My stomach drops. Fear shoots through my veins. My attention snaps back to Lana, who’s unaware of the future awaiting her.
This—what just happened in the vault—is only the beginning.
They aren’t done with her yet.
Whatever part two of the Rite is, I’ll walk through it—fires, flames, and hell. And Lana, the woman I hate? I’ll make sure she gets out alive.
Carefully, I reseal the letter and put it away.
Decision made, I pull out my phone and type a message to the Berishas.
Elias
I have the letter. Complications happened. Requesting meeting at my NYC safe house.
I glance at Lana again, who’s now gripping my hand like it’s her lifeline. Gently, I swipe my thumb over her skin, giving her a gentle squeeze.
Heat sears me from the simple touch, warming parts of me I thought were long dead.
