Page 98 of Her Name in Red

“Then I'll have been destroyed for something I actually wanted.”

Maren doesn't answer with words. Instead, she moves like a predator, sliding onto my lap and straddling me. My hand automatically finds her waist and pulls her closer until I can feel our heartbeats syncing.

She kisses me, and it’s not desperate or hungry. It’s soft and gentle as her fingers carve invisible lines into my jaw.

“Let's just go,” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips. “Leave this place. Leave St. James behind. All of it.”

I freeze, searching her face for any sign she's fucking with me. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.” Her fingers tangle in my hair. “We don't belong here, Riggs. We never did. This place, these people are just placeholders and background noise.”

I kiss her like I’m burying the boy I used to be.

And just like that, we stop being theirs.

No longer the hockey player and the cheerleader. No longer the golden boy and Bloody Mary.

We don’t belong to St. James. We don’t belong to anyone.

We’re not running. We’re claiming what’s ours.

And if the world burns in the process.

Good.

Let it fucking burn.

Epilogue

MAREN

The steady rhythm of the knife against the whetstone fills our kitchen with a sound that's become as familiar to me as Riggs' heartbeat. I drag the blade in a perfect arc, watching the metal catch the afternoon light streaming through our windows.

Our house isn't much. Just a small two-bedroom on the outskirts of town with peeling paint and creaky floorboards. But it's ours. The mailbox at the end of the driveway says RHODES in black letters. Not that we get much mail.

I test the knife's edge against my thumb, satisfied when it draws a perfect line of blood. Sharp enough.

The screen door slams, and Riggs appears with his arms full of grocery bags. His dirty blond hair is longer now, falling into his eyes. I like it this way—it makes him look a little dangerous, a little less like the golden boy he pretended to be for so long.

“Got everything?” I ask, setting the knife down on the cutting board.

“Everything on the list.” He sets the bags on the counter and starts unloading them. “It was hell to try and find the wine. Ican’t even pronounce the fucking name Maren. And those weird chocolate things you like.”

I smile, watching him move around our kitchen with the same grace he once showed on the ice. He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I wipe my bloody thumb on my jeans. “My uncle's coming for dinner tonight.”

Riggs freezes for a half-second, barely noticeable if you weren't looking for it. “Hmm.”

The little hesitation makes me laugh. “Still scared of him?”

“I'm not scared,” he says, continuing to unpack the groceries. “Just…respectfully cautious.”

“That's natural.” I push away from the counter and move behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You don't get where he is in the Del Mar Family without being one scary-ass fucker.”

Riggs turns in my arms, his hands settling on my hips. “Is this a social visit or business?”