Page 64 of A Witchy Spell Ride

Pent-up.

The kiss of someone who’d almost broken and the man who refused to let her fall.

She clung to me like I was her air.

And I kissed her like I didn’t care if the whole fucking world burned around us.

Because in that moment?

I didn’t.

All I cared about was her.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Her fingers curled in my cut. My hand still gripped her waist like she was the last thing tethering me to sanity.

We didn’t speak. Not yet.

Not because we didn’t have words.

But because we finally had something better.

Truth.

And it tasted like gasoline and longing on my tongue.

Selene blinked first, a slow recalibration. She searched my face like a map she’d traveled blind and just found north.

“We can’t do this because of him,” she said, voice wrecked and steady at once.

“We’re not,” I said. “We’re doing this because of us.”

A soft knock hit the frame. Briar, of course, a human firework in a silver hoodie. “Hate to interrupt your life-affirming smooch, but Cross just got something new on Adam Lane and Reaper’s about to put it through a blender.”

Selene’s hand tightened on my cut; mine didn’t leave her. I stood and offered my other palm. She took it and rose with me. It felt like an oath.

War room. Different kind of church.

Cross had the board up: a mess of printed stills, timestamp ribbons, transaction logs, and a Google-street-view still with a red circle around a two-story shotgun house across the river.

“Adam Lane is an alias,” Cross said without preamble. “Real name’s likely ElliotAdair. Birth record matches jawline and ear notch. Two misdemeanors in Baton Rouge. No violent felonies. Delivery gigs. A six-month stint at a security company that installs consumer-grade cameras. Hence, avoidance of fields.”

Reaper’s hands were flat on the table like he could crush wood to dust without moving. “Where.”

“Gretna,” Cross said, tapping the photo. “Rents a room. Cash. Landlord’s a slumlord with a theology degree and six shell LLCs.”

Bones leaned in, crowbar balanced against his shoulder like a saint’s relic. “You want a meet-and-greet?”

“Not yet,” I said.

Reaper’s look said explain.

“He’s planning something around the party,” I said. “If we vacuum him now, we get screaming and denials. If we let him step, we get proof. We get who helped him. We make it clean.”

Briar clicked her tongue. “Clean-ish.”

Cross pointed to three printouts. “Three burner emails.laneadam,justlane, andaplanefor2. All created within thirty minutes at a café on Royal. The café cam got the top of a cap and the curve of a jaw. Same cap from the sedan pass. The prepaid card used to buy the pendant two doors down from Selene? Loaded with cash at a bodega on Chartres at 9:06 p.m. Night of the lilies.”

Selene’s arms folded across her chest. “So, he’s local enough to learn my patterns and stupid enough to think a fake last name makes him a ghost.”