Page 115 of Kill for a Kiss

“Stan.” He clutches my waist. “And you.”

The implication’s too much. The biker sees only one threat.Sterling. But in his arms, I feel safe. I know he’ll stay safe too. Because no matter what Clo sends our way, Sterling is already here, holding me exactly where I want to be. With him.

Stan steps fully into the clearing, toward the man whose weapon now hangs loose at his side. But the biker doesn’t make a move or sound. His helmet tilts, his posture unnervingly still. He waits, head angled as if he’s studying Stan’s face, expecting an order.

The way he stands makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of how Stan looked back at the mansion. The way I must have looked too. Trapped in Clo’s grip, waiting for her to pull the strings.

Then Stan speaks. “Visor up, mystery man.”

The biker lifts his gloved fingers to his helmet’s visor and pushes it upward to reveal his gaze and the brown locks of his hair framing his blue eyes, catching the moonlight like glass.

Chills crawl under my skin. A flicker of memory forms.Fire scorched my skin.In my mind, I hear a shaken voice I can’t place and feel a hand reaching for me through the red. But, just as quickly, the memory vanishes in a blurry blink.

My chest aches. I can’t breathe. It feels like I’m still in the remnants of that memory, taking in smoke. Behind me, Sterling tightens his hold around my middle.

Several feet in front of us, Stan interrogates the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

The biker lifts his eyes. “I don’t have a name,” he says, voice flat and frighteningly familiar. “I’m a number. Fifty-nine.”

A colder chill skates down my spine. Sterling’s mouth is right by my ear. “LIX,” he murmurs. “Fifty-nine in Roman numerals.”

Stan narrows his gaze. “You go by a number?”

“I’ve been called Lix.”

Stan lets out a low whistle. “So you’re Lix, huh?”

The biker doesn’t answer or react in the slightest. But I study him. I’m staring at those sea-glass eyes. His auburn hair. My mind pulls at those threads of memories, hoping they don’t fray and rip apart. My pulse spikes as pieces gather to the surface of my mind.

Stan paces a slow circle around the biker. “Alright, Lix, you gonna tell me why you’re here? Or are you one of those quiet types who only speaks in riddles and grunts?”

The biker moves his head slightly. The stars glint off the visor of his helmet. Then, without a word, he reaches into his jacket. I tense, my breath halting. Sterling’s arm coils protectively around me.

But instead of another weapon, the biker pulls out a card. Black and gold-trimmed. He holds it out betweentwo fingers.

Stan raises a brow. “What’s this? A love letter? That’s bold, man. I like a guy with confidence.”

The biker doesn’t respond. But Stan takes the card, flips it over, and looks at it with a frown.

“Charity gala,” Stan reads. “Classy. Subtle, too. Real impressive delivery method. A biker with a tommy gun. Nothing says RSVP like showing up armed.”

Then the biker speaks. His voice is deeper this time, smoother. “It’s not for you.”

Stan’s brows lift. “No?”

The biker turns his head, barely an inch. “It’s for…Elle.”

My name in his voice twists in my stomach. It doesn’t feel right, doesn’t sound right.

Stan, unshaken, smirks. “You got the broody thing down, I’ll give you that. Do you come with your own tragic backstory?”

Lix blinks slowly. “I was told to deliver the card. I delivered it.”

“And what? Now you vanish into the night like some sexy, mysterious messenger?” Stan shrugs. “Honestly? I’m kind of into it.”

Lix turns, walking back to his bike. I step forward. I need to see more. I need to know more about him. But Sterling’s arms are wrapped around my waist like iron.

“Don’t, Elle.Stay.” I freeze at the firm sound of Sterling’s voice. “It’s not safe.”