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The truck’s tires crunch onto the gravel shoulder. I circle around to the guardrail, catching sight of Saint’s massive head hanging out of his shelter in the truck bed, ears pricked toward the view.

My hands grip the cool metal rail, and I stare unseeingly at the ravine a hundred feet below. After a moment, Cade’s presence settles beside me, close enough to feel like a weight pressing on my skin.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s daring me to tell him the truth.

A bitter laugh escapes me as I wrap my arms around myself, an armor against his concern. “Now you ask if I’m okay?”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “I know this morning was . . . intense.”

“Intense?” I scoff, turning to face him fully. “Intense! Tell me something, Cade, are you feeling guilty about those men you killed? Is that what this little roadside therapy session is going to be about?”

Hisgaze holds zero remorse. “Hell no. For you, baby, I’d kill anything.”

His words wrap around me, igniting a warmth deep in my belly. I shouldn’t be turned on by him casually confessing he’d kill for me, yet I can’t fight the dark pull.

I grit my teeth, grasping for sanity. “What about all the others? Do you ever feel guilty?”

Cade’s hand moves to his shirt, and I already know what’s coming. The rosary emerges like a secret confession, the silvery-gray beads catching the California sunlight.

“Would you freak out if I said no?”

I stare wide-eyed at Cade, realization hitting me. It’s not about power. Maybe not even revenge. This . . . this is something else. This is his religion. His worship.

A laugh bubbles up my throat, hysteria wrapped in acceptance. “Freaking out about you is starting to get old, Cade.”

For a moment, we stand in silence. Then Cade’s arm bands around my waist and he drags me to him. I’m tired of fighting this, tired of putting up walls that crumble with a single look. And I’m sick of wanting this to make sense.

I go willingly, melting into his chest, the thud of his heart against my ear grounding me in ways I didn’t know I needed.

“So,” he says, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “Wanna talk about it?”

I pull back just far enough to meet his gaze. “Wow, Cade. Have you been practicing your manners? That came out almost . . . perfect.”

His grin is all white teeth and wicked charm, catching me off guard with it’s sheer beauty

“Talk to me, Luciana.” It’s gentle, but there’s no mistaking the command. Even when he’s being nice, he’s still Cade.

I hesitate, my hand brushing against the rosary still hanging between us. “No, Cade. You go first. You’re the big mystery here.”

He shrugs. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

I hook a finger under the beads, lifting it gently. It’s much heavier than I would have expected. “Are you Catholic?”

His smile fades. “No. My mother was. Her rosary was the last thing she gave me.”

My heart hammers in my chest and I reach for the rune hanging on my own neck. “Your mother gave you this?” I nod at the rosary.

“No.” A hollow laugh. “Hers broke the first time I used it.”

A chill goes through me. “To strangle someone?”

He nods. “Regular rosaries snap pretty easily. This one’s unbreakable.”

I should step away. Instead, I slide my arms around his waist and press closer. “Tell me about your mother.”

Cade remains silent for the longest time, then his arm tightens around me. “Matilda was a good woman. A deacon’s daughter. Only fault was her atrocious taste in men.”

“Bikers?”