Page 76 of Death

“Better?” I ask.

Her eyes shine in the dark. “Yes.”

Unable to stop myself, I grip her tightly to my chest. I place my hand behind her head and rest my cheek on her hair.

Ciara’s arm moves over my side and she presses her body fucking hard to mine.

Fuck this feels good.

I rub my hand up and down her back before gripping her hair in a fist and practically squashing her in my arms.

The love I feel for her overwhelms me, and I press a kiss to her head, a tremble shuddering through my body.

Her breathing speeds up, and it sobers me right the fuck up. Pulling back, I ask, “Too much?”

She shakes her head, closing the small distance I put between us. When I wrap her tightly against me again, she whispers, “It just feels very comforting and safe.”

“Good,” I murmur, soaking in how fucking incredible this moment is.

It’s been a month since I found her, and even though she still has to start therapy, she’s made a lot of progress. I plan to bring up the group meetings or one-on-one sessions with our resident psychiatrist when we return home.

Her voice trembles when she asks, “Have you found him?”

“Not yet. But I will,” I assure her.

“Will you kill him?”

I pull back again, and staring into her eyes, I brush my hand over her cheek and hair. “Do you really want to know?”

When she nods, I reach for the bedside lamp and switch it on again. Picking up the stack of tarot cards that’s lying beside my phone, I say, “Usually I let the person choose a card before I kill them.”

Ciara reaches out and takes the cards, slowly looking at each one, then she says, “I like the black and gold.” Her eyes dart to mine. “What does each card mean?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “With ‘The Devil’ and ‘Judgment’, I get to choose how they die.”

She holds up a card. “Strength?”

“I fight the person until either one of us is dead.” Her eyes widen, and it has me quickly adding, “I’m really good at fighting. You don’t have to worry about me.”

I watch as she glances through them again, then she shows me another card with a gold pillar on it.

“The Tower means I throw them off a building.”

“Why do you make them choose? Why not just shoot them?”

“Some people deserve more than a bullet,” I answer honestly. “By them choosing a card, I leave it up to fate.”

Ciara nods, and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth when she looks at the card with the Grim Reaper printed on it.

“Death,” she whispers.

Before she can ask the meaning, I say, “That one’s too gruesome for your ears,mi sol.”

Her eyes flit to my face again. “Are you going to let Nolan choose a card?”

I stare at her for a moment, then ask, “Would you like to pick his card?”

She glances through them all, then stops on Death again. “Is this the worst card?”