"Your woman," she tests the words. Gooseflesh rises on her arms.
"My woman." The words taste like iron and victory. "My best friend. My future."
I take the mug from her hands and set it down, needing to touch her again. I slide my hands up her thighs, finding the warm skin of her waist. I pull her to the edge of the bed until her knees are bracketed by my hips.
"I already told you," I say, my voice dropping to that low, vibrating growl I use when giving orders that determine life or death. "I can’t function without you. Yesterday... before I evensaw you... I was looking at a map of the mountain and I couldn't focus. My hands shook from a desperate craving for a woman I haven't tasted for a long time."
I press my palm flat against her lower belly, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her breath. "I’m an addict, Courtney. And you’re the fix. If you leave again, I won't survive it. I’ll turn mean. I’ll turn into something this town can't handle. You keep me human."
She covers my hand with hers, pressing it harder against her stomach. "I was scared," she whispers. "Coming back. Scared of the memories. Scared of you. But being here... with you... it’s the only time the fear goes away."
"I’ll kill the fear," I vow. "I’ll kill anything that scares you."
"Even the ghosts?" she asks, looking around the room.
"Especially the ghosts."
I lean forward, resting my forehead against hers again. "I have to go down and check the perimeter properly. Check the wiring in the basement. I saw some fraying that could spark a fire. I need to make this place safe for you."
"Okay," she breathes.
"But I need a promise first."
"Anything."
"You don't leave the property line. Not today. If you need anything—groceries, paint, tampons, I don't care—you call me. Or you text the number I put in your phone for the clubhouse. Do not go into town alone. Do not open the door for anyone who isn't wearing a cut."
She dips her chin, her gaze dropping as she absorbs the reality of the threat. She knows enough about my world to know I’m not being paranoid. The eastern cliffs are watching. Dominic Costa is watching. And a woman as beautiful as Courtney, alone in a rotting house on the edge of the territory, is bait I refuse to dangle.
"I promise," she says.
"Good." I kiss her hard, a seal on the contract. "I’m going to go get my tools from the truck. You eat. Shower. Put on something of mine. I like seeing you in my clothes."
I stand up. The loss of contact creates a wrenching sensation in my gut. I force myself to walk to the door.
"Austin?"
I turn back, my hand on the frame. She sits in the pool of sunlight, wearing my flannel shirt—a sight that hits me harder than a gunshot to the chest. Her hair is a mess, her lips still swollen from my mouth.
"I meant it," she says. Her voice is quiet, stripped of the adrenaline and the moans from last night. "What I said when... when you were inside me. I love you, Austin. I never stopped."
The air leaves the room. Hearing it in the cold light of day is different than hearing it in the dark. It’s not a plea anymore; it’s a surrender. I haven't had those words directed at me in a decade, and now that they're here, they're the only thing keeping me upright.
"I heard you the first time," I reply, my voice dropping to a rough, possessive growl. "And I'm never letting you take it back.I've loved you since the third grade, Courtney. Every minute you were gone was just time I spent waiting to hear you say it again."
I walk out into the hallway before I do something embarrassing like fall to my knees. I march down the stairs. The wooden steps creak under my boots. I hit the front door and step out onto the porch. The mountain air is crisp, smelling of pine and ice.
I scan the tree line. West is clear. North is clear. East... toward the ridge... the shadows are deep. I narrow my eyes. I can feel eyes on me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Let them watch.
I walk to my truck and pull out my tool belt and the shotgun I keep behind the seat. I rack the slide. The sound echoes off the trees—a metallic warning to anything hiding in the pines.
I’m Austin Gunnar. I’m the Vice President of Broken Halos. And I’m home.
I turn back to the house, hammer in one hand, shotgun in the other.
It’s time to build a life.
