Page 114 of Kill for a Kiss

I nod, even though he can’t see it. My hands curl into the back of his shirt, the fabric damp from dew and sweat. But I stay close, right behind him.

We move, quiet and careful. Branches crunch underfoot as the trees thin and we approach the edge of the woods. The cabin comes into view, the familiar warm glow spilling from the window. But the scene outside steals the breath from my lungs.

There’s a man there, head to toe in black with a leather jacket and a helmet on. He steps off his motorcycle in a graceful glide.

Something in the way he moves claws at the back of my mind. The tilt of his head. The angle of his shoulders. It’s familiar in the way nightmares sometimes are, too vague to grasp. But my breath stalls all the same, my memory reaching and failing.

Then, from behind him, the biker swings out a gun with a round magazine. My breath lodges in my throat. I choke on it, my fingers tightening in Stan’s shirt.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. The words barely reach me, soft as breath. “Sterling will be fine. He always is.”

But my lungs refuse to work. My throat feels like it’s locked shut. My legs refuse to move. All I can do is hold on to Stan. His heat in my hand is the only thing keeping me tethered while everything inside me threatens to fall apart.

The armed biker lifts his gun. He points it straight at the cabin window. Straight at where Sterling is. My heart lurches for him.

But Stan doesn’t hesitate. “Goddamn it,” he mutters as he moves. “Can’t even have one nice night to enjoy a fucking kiss.”

His movements feel defiant, as if he’s daring to flirt with fate. My stomach twists hard, dread coiling hot in my gut. Every step he takesfeels like one too many.

“Elle, let go,” he says. But it sounds too close to a goodbye again. Too close to the one he gave me a moment ago, as if our farewells are stitched into the seams of every moment we steal.

“No,” I breathe, reaching for him, but he catches my wrist.

“You stay here and hide,” Stan says, his tone brittle. “Don’t move unless I don’t come back. If I go down, you run. You get to Sterling. You don’t stop. You don’t look back.”

“Stan—”

“I mean it, Elle.” His eyes pierce into me with a fierceness I can’t fight against. “Don’t follow me.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he’s gone. His body disappears into the shadows, silent and sure-footed, moving toward the darkness surrounding the armed biker, stepping around with reckless resolve.

The leaves hush in the wind. And I’m standing in the dark, hidden and trembling. The stars are still above me. But I can’t see them anymore through the blur of fear.

But then, a hand clamps over my mouth. I gasp, panic blooming. I twist, though I’m too startled to fight.

“It’s me,” Sterling breathes against my ear.

Relief crashes into me so fast I almost collapse. My heart hammers. My entire body thrums from leftover fear. But Sterling’s here. He’s holding me. I’m safe. So is he. His arm is tight around my waist, keeping me close to his chest, while we stay hidden.

I blink fast, trying to clear the blur from my vision. The biker steps forward, helmet still on, and gun still raised. The steel glints under the moonlight. Stan moves in the distance. Fast, silent, circling around wide like he’s stalking prey. I suck in a breath. My fingers wrap around Sterling’s arm.

The biker doesn’t seem to notice Stan. Instead, his head tilts eerilytoward the cabin, aiming his weapon at the front door.

Sterling goes still behind me. I can feel it. Every part of him locked in place, coiled and waiting. I press back into him instinctively. His chest is firm against my spine.

It shouldn’t feel spine-tingling. But it does. It’s as if we’re in the vineyard all over again. When he held me like this. When there was already something between us neither of us could explain.

His hand grips my waist. I’m protected, steady,his.

“That’s him,” Sterling mutters into my ear. “Same one who shot down the safe house.”

I nod. I thought as much. Despite that, it doesn’t ease my worries any better. I’m still worried over Stan, watching him move stealthily. He’s nearly behind the biker now. But then the biker turns. He sees Stan. My skin prickles. But the gun lowers.

“What’s happening?” I whisper.

“Clo probably gave the gunman instructions,” Sterling answers. “Don’t touch her favorites.”

I blink, frowning. “Favorites?”