Page 123 of Chalk Outline

“You’re not a monster, you’re a protector. You’ve always been a protector. And in the world we live in, the difference between the two is razor-thin. Sometimes you need to become someone else to save yourself or the ones you love. But you already knew that. You were waiting for me to understand it better.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a radiant grin. “Bringing you here was the only way to set you free from everything back home and show my wife how resilient she is.”

“Technically, we’re not married because you’re dead.”

“Semantics. We don’t need rings, vows, or a fake certificate with the wrong name to know we’re connected far beyond the grave.” Reeve takes the knife from my hand, letting his fingers graze my skin before placing it on the nightstand.

“Maybe we should fake my death, too. I can get a new name and maybe dye my hair black.”

Watching him swallow hard makes me laugh. His features stiffen as if he’s already bracing for the loss. I know how much he loves my orange hair, but he would never tell me what to do with it.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to dye it soon.”

I offer my hand, and he instantly runs the pad of his thumb over my palm.

“When she sent officers and first responders to our house, was all of it fake? Were the people who pretended to be my parents actors?”

“Yes, they were operators,” he confirms, and a small part of me dies.

At least, now I understand why she felt the need to cage me in that house all those years.

“When did you get the scar on your palm?” he softly asks, looking at me with nothing but affection, and a lump forms in my throat. “Did you try to hurt yourself?”

I lower my gaze to the mattress, squeezing my eyes shut. Hurting myself never eased the pain; it only left a reminder on my skin of its control over me and my life.

Arms wrap around me, squeezing me tightly against him. He spreads all his warmth around me as a choked sigh slips from my lips. I slump into him and break down.

“Good, let it go, beautiful,” he says, brushing my hair.

“I didn’t mean to hurt myself. I was thinking of you and…”

“I’m here now,” he assures my sobbing mess. “You can fall apart in my arms, and we can rebuild the world to fit you better when you’re ready.”

My fingers trace the rough scars on his back, gently strumming the tatted skin that hides them, and allowing them to curve around his waist.

It’s been so long.

I poke his chest playfully, and he chuckles before pulling back to give me a look.

“You’re not going to disappear on me?” I ask, studying his features carefully as if he might.

“I’m right here.” He stretches backward to grab something from the nightstand drawer. “I think we need a few more hours of sleep. It’s still dark outside.” The cold metal gently loops around my wrists, and he locks the cuff around his wrist too. Somehow, that small gesture eases the tension I feel inside.

“Okay. But are you going to touch me tomorrow?”

His entire demeanor shifts, looking dangerously seductive—uncompromisingly sexy and wicked, with a piercing gaze only Reeve can master.

“I won’t be able to take my hands off you. I would fight your demons with mine. We’ll let them fight each other whileImake love toyou.”

That is definitely my Reeve.

I close my eyes. The bed shifts around me, then his lips press mine for a tender kiss.

“Sleep. You know who you belong to.”

Chapter twenty-five

Reeve Hardy