Page 159 of Headstrong Like Us

I’m ascending to another plane of happiness. Somewherepurewhere he belongs, and Maximoff took me with him. Our eyes meet, and we laugh into bigger smiles.

“Surprised?” I ask him.

“No.” Maximoff skates an arm over my shoulders. “It’s what you always say.”

“You’re a precious smartass?”

“No.” He cringes.

“Pure—”

“Notthat,” he forces.

I think for a millisecond, eyeing his smile. “You can’t be first at everything.”

He nods, his gaze pleadingkiss me, love me. “Yeah, that.”

We share this quiet moment, and Ripley falls asleep in my arms. After I rest him in a crib, I clasp Maximoff’s waist and draw him towards the bed.

Our lips crash together, and we push and pull. My blood cranks up another ten degrees. He grips my hair, and I cup his perfect ass, his drawstring pants molding him too well.

Maximoff lets out a rough, wanting noise. And he clutches my ass cheek. Our eyes devour as I try to walk him to the bed, and he tries to bring me to the wall.

“Ryke, slow down!” Loren Hale’s sharp voice is unmistakable.

Our heads whip to the terrace doors, and we rip apart. Moving into action. We push onto the terrace, a café table and potted roses on stone. Overlooking a mossy path to the courtyard. Lo and Ryke disappear in the distance.

“Where the fuck are they going?” Maximoff asks.

My gut is saying this is very bad.

Swiftly, we’re back in the room. I clip my radio on my belt and pull a shirt over my head. Attaching the mic to my collar, I splay the earpiece over my shoulder so Maximoff can hear.

He lifts a fussing Ripley out of the crib.

I swivel a knob. Static breaks the line, and then I hear the Omega boss.

“Akara to Omega, meet in the courtyard. Immediately. There’s an emergency. If you’ve heard this message, respond.”

Shit.

Maximoff is not slowing. Baby in arms, he aims for the door. His forest-greens pulse like he’s about to heave an entire mountain, just so his family can crawl beneath and reach the other side.

I’m next to him. Step for step in sync as we leave our room.

“On my way,” Oscar says.

Thatcher answers, “Copy.”

“Me too,” Donnelly replies.

I click my mic. “Same.”

The line goes quiet, and Akara speaks. “Thatcher, wake up the men who’ve turned off their comms for the night.”Banks and Quinn.

“Roger copy.”

Maximoff and I descend a marble staircase and skip steps on our way out of the villa. Outside, pathways glow from fog lamps dug in the dirt. Not that bright with the dark sky.