Page 73 of Buried in Blood

He’s too close now. His breath is warm against my cheek. His jaw is tight. And I can feel that pull again—the one I’ve been fighting since the first time he cornered me in the pantry.

“You think I’m breaking?” I whisper.

“I know you are.”

He cups my face.

And I should pull away.

But I don’t.

Because the truth is—this place has drained me. The silence. The fear. The constant calculation. And Reese? He feelsalive. Like friction. Like heat. Likechoice.

His lips brush mine before I even register the movement.

I kiss him back.

Desperate. Shaky. Bruised.

He tastes of redemption laced with lust. I feel the electricity pulsing through my veins.

Foreign heat floods my core. But it doesn’t last.

Because when his hand slides beneath my shirt, when his thumb brushes a scar near my ribs—hisscar—my body stiffens.

He feels it.

And everything changes.

“You still want him,” he says quietly.

I blink. “No.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice is a whisper now. Taut. Dangerous. “You flinch when I touch you because I’m not him.”

Ishove him back. “Don’t flatter yourself. I flinch because I don’t trust anyone.”

“But you let me in.”

“Only because I have no one else.”

That lands harder than I meant it to.

His eyes narrow. “Right. Just a placeholder. Good to know.”

“Reese—”

“No.” He steps back, voice still low. “You made your choice.”

“It’s not a choice!” I hiss. “It’s survival.”

He nods once. Cold and mechanical. “Then survive. But don’t come crawling to me when he’s finished breaking you.”

I open my mouth to argue. But the door across the hall creaks.

We both freeze.

Soft footsteps. Brooke. Awake. Listening.