Page 88 of Dismantle & Prevail

I was drawn to Taylor for a reason. Her ability to think level headed while also unknowingly wearing her heart on her sleeve is rare. I knew if I ever allowed myself to give my heart to a woman, it would be someone that could carry their own, while being vulnerable enough to let me see what lay beyond the mask.

Because I can’t help myself, I press my lips to hers. As our heads rest against each other, a contented sigh releases from the both of us.

Moments fly by and I have no idea how long we stay locked in each other's silent reprieve, but when a yawn escapes from Taylor, I lean back.

Searching her eyes, I can see exhaustion written all over her face.

“Alright. Time for bed.”

Taylor shakes her head. “No, I just slept for hours and the sun is rising. I need to stay awake so I’m not up all night.”

Ignoring her, I hop off the bed, head over to my dresser, and grab a pair of grey sweats. Kicking off my jeans, I watch as Taylor tracks my every movement.

As I toss my shirt in the corner, I slowly make my way back to the bed. “Like what you see, Hellhound?”

Her cheeks heat, but she makes no move to hide. “You know I do.”

Chuckling, I pull the covers back and slide into bed. Immediately, Taylor moves until her non-injured arm is pressed against mine.

Slowly, I shift us so we are lying down, Taylor tucked into my side.

Brushing my nose against the top of her head, I watch as her eyes start to flutter closed.

“I love you, Hellhound. Thank you for fighting.”

With her eyes closed and her voice barely above a whisper, she says, “I love you, Ace. Thank you for giving me a reason to fight.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, a feeling of relief settles over me and I drift off to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Aries

Thebrightsunshinereflectsoff Taylor’s face, and I wish I could take a photo to capture her effortless beauty.

Wait…I can.

Slowly, so I don’t break her concentration, I slip my phone from the pocket of my sweats and snap a photo.

Her black hair is up in a knot atop her head and she is wearing one of my sweatshirts. The sleeve hangs slightly off her shoulder, the white bandage along with the black strap of her sling showing.

Her nose is scrunched, and she has her legs bent slightly to hold her laptop as she rests back against the headboard.

This has been our life for the past two weeks. We sit in my bed for hours on end and comb through footage of people we have known to associate with Clay in the past. The man seems to have become a ghost again, so this is Plan B until he reappears.

Ever since the shooting, I haven’t left Taylor’s side. She’s tried to push me away countless times, claiming she doesn’t need a babysitter, but I’ve ignored her.

Every time she tells me to go away, I tell her if the roles were reversed, just like they once were after my rescue, she wouldn’t dare leave my side. That usually quiets her protest until the next time I annoy her by asking if she needs anything for the millionth time in a day.

What can I say? I would worship the ground she walks on if she let me. And now that she is hurt because of me, I would give her the world if I could.

Dropping my phone on the bed, I rest my head on her good shoulder and look at her computer screen.

Together, we watch in comfortable silence as men and women enter and exit a rundown gas station that has been rumored to be connected to Clay’s crowd in the past.

For hours, there is nothing significant other than people coming and going, just like any other day.

Just as I feel myself falling asleep, something catches my eye.