Page 130 of Kill for a Kiss

The line clicks off. I drive harder into the wet dirt roads, the storm battering the Valkyrie.

Elle’s hand finds mine across the console. My chest breathes evenly from the simple touch. The world around us might be falling apart. But I know the only thing I need to protect is right here beside me.

***

We drive through the soaked backroads, the Valkyrie’s engine roaring against the storm. It feels like forever before the safe house comes into view.The front façade that I left behind was tattered and riddled with bullet holes, thanks to Lix. But now it’s all fixed up, more discreet than before, with an all-black exterior.

I pull up hard, killing the engine. Stan throws the front door open, waving one arm wildly. “Took you long enough!” he shouts over the rain. “I was starting to think you were having another one of your broody breakdowns out there, Silver.”

Ignoring him, I leap out, run to Elle, and lift her from the passenger seat. She’s still clutching my coat close. I sprint for the door with her in my arms.

Stan steps aside, dramatically sweeping his arm like a doorman at a goddamn hotel. “Welcome back to your safe house,” he says with a grin. “Renovated by yours truly with a bit of help from the newlyweds.”

Inside, it’s warm and dry. I place Elle on the couch. Black leather squeaks under her, while I look around. My brows furrow. They didn’t change much of how I left the place I called home for the longest. There’s more furniture, more food on the counter too. That’s about it.

Kayla walks up to us, her mouth twitching like she’s fighting a smile. She tosses a towel at me without a word. Then she walks past me to talk to Elle, checking on her. Seeing if she needs anything.

Damon leans against the kitchen table, arms crossed, looking everybit like the embodiment of dominating control. His gaze pins me the second I step up to him.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Storm,” I grunt.

He nods once, no apology needed from either side. His attention flicks to Elle tucked against his wife’s arm. I meet Elle’s eyes and I must not realize how worried I look because she flashes me a tired but warm smile. “I’m fine, Sterling, only a little wet,” she reassures me.

But Stan’s there, sitting beside her, grinning like an idiot. “You good, babe?” he asks. “No lingering trauma from the storm or Sterling? Need me to warm ya up?”

Elle quietly chuckles under her breath, shaking her head and hugging my bundled coat tighter against her chest. Kayla hands Elle a thick hoodie and some other clothes to replace her soaked ones. “Let’s get you into some warm and clean clothes, Elle,” Kayla says. “You’re still soaked.”

She leads Elle into a room to change, and Stan’s talking a mile a minute about adding gym equipment in here to avoid getting “muscle atrophy.” Like fucking hell I’ll let him put his shit in my safe house. But I sigh and stay standing, muscles tight only a little. Elle’s safe. We’re home. My eyes are locked on the bedroom door where Elle went, even when Damon blocks my line of sight.

“Sterling,” Damon says, voice deep. “Focus.”

Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away. Damon pushes off the table, already all business.

“We’ve got a man on the inside. He told us to move fast,” he says. “The gala’s in a couple of weeks. We hit Clo where it hurts before then—strain her relations, sabotage some deliveries—and then deal the final blow at the event.”

Stan snorts from the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets as if heowns the place. “Look at you, Damon,” he says. “Ending a romantic, unnecessary two-month honeymoon by playing drug warlord against mommy dearest.”

He tosses a can of soup on the counter. Starts opening it with a pocketknife with the precision of someone with paws than hands. Kayla groans and mutters “weaponized incompetence” and makes him do it right.

Stan keeps blabbering, this time at Kayla. “By the way, I’m still pissed that it took so long to track you both down. God, the things I saw…” He shudders. “You two should come with a warning label.”

Kayla smirks, tossing back the pocketknife at his head. He catches it by the handle one-handed, flicking it closed, still grinning like the arrogant bastard he is. “Not my fault you walked into our villa uninvited,” Kayla says, smiling.

“You know what?” Stan winks. “I regret nothing.”

Elle’s laugh carries through the room like a siren song, returning to the space with her warmth. Seeing her feels like oxygen pumping back into my brain.

I turn to her, about to walk to where she is. But Damon levels me with a look. I frown and stay put.

He taps his laptop, pulling up an encrypted chat window. “Jade,” he says. “Mother’s distant old friend. I’ve been trying to contact her since we got back.”

The name snaps my attention sharp. I know Jade’s the woman who paints all of the portraits Clo hangs on the walls. She’s always treated them like they’re treasure.

“Lix knows her well. He managed to get through to her, and she finally reached out to me,” Damon explains. “Clo uses some of Jade’s paintings to launder money. I expect her to do the same through the gala’s silent auctions.”

He clicks through a few photographs. I stare at the screen.Art catalogues, auction sheets, donation manifests. I take it all in.