Fuck. Yes, please. Thank you, baby.
I slide down beside her like an eager puppy whose owner allowed him into their bed. My arms go around her. I flip her over and she curls into me, her breath warm against my neck.
Perfect. So fucking perfect. This is where she’s supposed to be. This is whereI’msupposed to be.
I kiss the top of her head, taking my first deep breath all day close to eleven at night.
“Goodnight, hellcat.”
I don’t dare move. I’m sure that if I shift even an inch, I’ll break whatever spell has her pressed against me. My arms are locked around her, possessive in a way I don’t bother hiding. She asked me to hold her. Shegaveme this.
Her hair spills across my jaw, silken strands catching in the stubble. My heart tries pounding through my chest as if it can imprint its rhythm on her skin.
Her hand twitches, curling into my shirt, and her lips brush my collarbone as she exhales, already half-asleep.
And I know that if this is all I ever get: her weight in my arms, her breath against my skin... it won’t be enough.
14
Koby
Morning comes too fast. And along with it, the dreaded FaceTime call with Anton.
Carter dropped off a suitcase a couple of days ago, full of clothes Leilani wore for the dead-man-walking. Not just girly dresses. Props, too. Ribbons, plush toys...
She kept it under her bed and only unpacked it today, after our morning coffee. I watched her hands tremble and clenched my jaw so hard I almost cracked my teeth.
I should be out this morning, gathering intel, but I told Carter I’m not leaving Leilani alone until her conversation with Anton is over and I’m certain she’s okay.
She’s in the guest bathroom, getting ready for the show.
I hate calling it that, but itisan act, a performance to keep Anton clueless while Carter and Blaze set the wheels in motion.
I rake my gaze over the living room.
The back of the couch faces a plain white wall, and the burner phone waits on the table, propped against a bowl ofsweets. There’s nothing in the camera’s view that could make him suspect Leilani’s anywhere she’s not supposed to be.
I set an armchair nearby, so I can be close if she starts raging and I have to cut the call and calm her down.
I’m dreading this as much as she is, if not more. I keep having to talk myself out of doing something stupid like kissing Leilani’s head while she’s on the call with that fucker just to show him she’s not his.
She never was.
My impulsiveness would jeopardize the plan and even I’m not stupid enough to risk our chance at killing both Grey brothers.
With five minutes to spare, I cross the hallway, rapping my knuckles against the bathroom door. “You ready?”
“As ready as I can be.” She sounds better than I expected. in control, determined. “You can come in.”
I push the door open and everything inside me stills.
She’s wearing a cream-colored dress, the hem fluttering around her thighs. It’s cinched under her breasts, lace hugging her collarbones, ribbons in her hair. Pair that with her flushed cheeks, glossed mouth, and dark brown hair tumbling down her back in a half-up ponytail and... fuck.
This is wrong. Fucking devastating.
She looks so small, so fragile as she shrinks in on herself, molding back into Anton’s doll.
“You look like you’re waiting for you mommy to pick you up from nursery,” I say, bitterness coating my tongue. “Is that what he made you wear every day?”
