“And we’re in the middle of a war,” she continues. “Tesauro Vincino, the Bolivars, the Serpents, whoever else is hiding under their rock. Vladimir said this was just one hand. That there’s more cards on the table. More bodies waiting to drop.”
“I know,” I say again.
She searches my face as I take a breath.
I think about Raptor’s body on the club floor. AboutMiami, defenseless in a hospital bed with someone trying to finish the job. About Liberty’s girls riding through gunfire on splintering planks. About Gianna’s calm eyes while she drove a knife into a man she used to call uncle.
Then I think about the way Valkyrie laughed at the bar earlier, that quick, unguarded sound. The way her shoulders dropped when she saw Miami alive. The way she stood at my side on that boardwalk even when it was a bad bet with the odds stacked heavily against us.
“I’m done with simple. We might die next week. Tomorrow. In our sleep. On a run. In some stupid bar fight. I’d rather spend whatever time I have left knowing you’re mine and I’m yours instead of being too scared of logistics to claim it.”
Her eyes go dark and bright at the same time.
She swallows.
“Say it then,” she says.
I don’t need to ask what she means.
“Claim,” I say.
“Claim,” she repeats, voice a little rough.
Her hands come up, palms resting flat against my chest, feeling my heartbeat through leather and cotton and scar tissue.
“We ride side by side,” she says. “Through whatever this turns into. Darkness. Light. Asphalt. Ruin. Roman’s plays. Tesauro’s counterplays. Liberty’s schemes. Blackjack’s bullshit. All of it. Youdon’t get to shake me off when it gets hard.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I say.
“And if our clubs end up on opposite sides of something someday…” She grimaces. “We talk first. We don’t let anyone else write our script.”
“Deal,” I say. “If it comes to that, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
She stares up at me for a long moment.
Then she nods.
“Okay,” she says.
That one word carried more weight than some vows I’d heard at weddings.
“Okay,” I echoed.
“Dramatic bitch,” she said.
“Still here,” I replied with a smirk.
We moved in at the same time.
The kiss out here was different from the one inside. Slower. Deeper. Less about proving something to a room and more about staking out some territory in each other we hadn’t quite dared to claim yet.
Her hands slid up over my chest, fingers curling into my cut, dragging me closer. Mine found her hips, then her back, holding her there like I was afraid she’d disappear if I loosened my grip.
She tasted like whiskey and a good decision. Underneath that was something that was just her.
When we finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, we were both breathing harder than the kiss alone justified.
We fell quiet again, just standing there, her back now pressed into my chest, my arms around her, both of us staring up at the same moon that had watched a man die on a beach and now watched two idiots in leather decide they wanted something beyond sheer survival.
