Page 209 of Buried in Blood

Dante and Evelyn moved to Miami.

Astra and Lucien are in Venice Beach now. Married. For no one but themselves.

Evelyn sends me voice memos filled with laughter and scandal. Astrasends me crime scene photos with captions like,“This reminded me of you.”It’s love. Twisted and blood-soaked, but real.

Ronan and Jared took over the empire. The business. The mess. They are thriving. Brooke stayed back with them. She thought she could be of assistance around the compound. I hear great things from Dante and Lucien. He says they are more brutal and committed than they were. They even say that Brooke and Jared are hitting it off. And that scares the Hell out of me.

Dante and Lucien walked away from it all, bloody hands finally clean. Or as clean as they can be. I’m proud of them.

I don’t want it.

Neither does Reese.

He steps outside behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, chin grazing the top of my head. I lean into him instinctively. I always do.

“You smell like sugar and fucking sin,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

“That’s probably the coffee I stole off your counter.”

“And the way you moaned when I kissed your thighs.”

I smirk. “You liked that?”

“I nearly lost my fucking mind.”

His fingers slide under the hem of the sweatshirt. I’m naked underneath. Of course, I am. He likes it that way. So do I.

“Still think we’re too fucked up to get married?” he whispers against my neck.

“Yes,” I breathe. “But I’d still take your last name if you asked nicely.”

He lifts me in one smooth motion, carrying me across the porch and into the house like we’re the only two people left on Earth. He sets me down on the kitchen counter, cool tile against my thighs, his mouth already parting mine open.

It’s not sweet. It never is.

It’s lustful. Desperate. Addicting.

Hekisses like a man starved, hands fisting in my hair, breath ragged, groaning into my mouth like it hurts not to touch me harder. I wrap my legs around his waist and yank him close, biting his lower lip just enough to taste him.

He presses his forehead to mine, eyes wild. “Say it.”

“That I’m yours?” I tease.

He growls. “That you want me.”

“I want you,” I whisper. “Always.”

The counter shakes beneath us as he slides into me. I gasp. He curses. We move like we’ve done this a thousand times, and still don’t have enough of each other. Because we haven’t. We won’t. There’s no end to this kind of hunger.

His name breaks from my lips like a spell.

He tells me I’m heaven and sin wrapped in soft skin and scars.

When it’s over, I stay wrapped around him. Our bodies tangled. The room warm and quiet, except for our breathing. He presses kisses down my neck, softer now, slower. The calm after the storm.

I trace a line over his shoulder where his tattoo ends.

He doesn’t flinch anymore when I touch him there.

“Do you ever think about who we were before?” I ask.

He exhales. “Sometimes. But I like who we are now better.”

Me too.

We aren’t healed. But we’re healing.

And in this crooked house by the sea, that’s enough.