Page 134 of Kill for a Kiss

He huffs a sound that might be a laugh. His hands move gently, guiding me to sprawl across his chest. One arm slides around my waist, the other into my damp hair, combing slow and steady.

I melt into him, feeling so warm that all I want to do is pause time.

Drowsy, I press my cheek to his chest. He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I’ll be up a while. So if you need anything…”

His body subtly bucks up from under me, and I feel it. He’s up in more ways than one. My smile widens. “I might take you up on that later,” I whisper.

He keeps stroking my hair, patient and gentle, and I hear the unspoken promise in every touch…I’m here.You’re safe.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is the sound of his steady heart, beating the most comforting sound into my ear.

***

Sterling and I wake up tangled together, breath shared, skin warm, mouths brushing against each other. Our bodies move more from reflex than thought, as though our bodies don’t know how to be apart from each other anymore.

Before breakfast, I find a bottle of vinegar and a box of baking soda tucked behind a line of mismatched spices in the kitchen. Making a mixture out of it—along with lemon juice a sleepy Stan squeezes for me—it ends up smelling sweet and biting. I bring the bowl of citrusy paste to Sterling with a thrilled smile on my face, because I can’t wait to strip out the last stubborn traces of dark dye from his hair.

Soon, we’re sitting on the floor of the shower. I work my fingers through his hair carefully, massaging the mixture in. Then I rinse him clean, and little by little, the false color runs down the drain, revealing the real silver-white underneath. He watches me the entire time, with a fierce look in his gray eyes that makes my heart thunder.

He peels my clothes off, and we end up using all of the hot water while making love under the spray of the shower.

Time blurs around us, slipping through our fingers like comforting fog. We move through the days like they finally belong to us. Somewhere in this welcome quiet, it feels like we’re building a life the world can’t touch this time around.

Sterling and I shower together every morning, lost in the steam and the feel of each other. Hands roam. Mouths meet. Some days, it’s tender. Others, it’s heat and teeth and need. Sometimes we make it to the bed. Sometimes the shower wall becomes our haven. Either way, we get frequent complaints that Sterling and I have hogged all of the hot water. Mostly from Stan, which only makes Sterling smirk cockily. It’s a good look on him.

Outside our love nest, the safe house breathes with life. Kaye and Stan bicker like boxers who’ve been fighting their whole lives and still haven’t gotten tired of it. During the afternoons, Kaye teachesme how to fight with good form, while Stan teaches me how to fight with flair. I laugh more than I thought possible while learning how to throw a decent punch. Sterling always watches from nearby, arms crossed, but there’s pride written across his face. Whenever he steps in to adjust my form, his hands would be tenderly at my hip, my wrist, or the slope of my shoulder. But he’s too distracting to pay attention to anything else.

In the evening, we always have dinner altogether. Damon sets up councils at the table. He maps out blueprints, social schematics, and security layouts with brutal efficiency.

“Everyone’s got a role,” Damon says, tapping the table sharply. “Kaye and Stan work the social angle. Elle, you’re the potential bait. Sterling’s your shadow. You don’t move without him.”

I don’t have to look at Sterling to know he’s already watching me. He always is. He’s already positioned himself at my back, like Damon only put into words something Sterling and I have always known and decided on long ago.

Damon takes the tech side. Cameras, comms, signals—the quiet work that makes the loud moments possible. If something goes wrong, his voice will be the one guiding us back to our goal.

One night, while everyone’s gathered in the kitchen arguing over strategy and how many cups of coffee istoomany—Stan insists that number doesn’t exist—I sit on the floor and finish mending Sterling’s mask. I started in the shack, but this time, in his safe house, I take my time. I’ve stitched the strap to be stronger. I still let the damage be visible. But since there’s leftover paint from the renovation, I use a bit of black, bleeding it into the red, colors inspired by his newer mask, the one Sterling took off when I asked him to. Somewhere during the safe house’s renovation, the newer one was misplaced. I wonder where it could’ve went, but this mended mask is perfect for Sterling now anyway. It won’t hide his voice and I’ve repaired it withall of my heart poured into every stitch.

Stan crouches nearby, curious but not quite helpful. Kaye elbows him into being more productive, considering we have a lot of work left to do, making lace masks for the gala. Their stitching is a tad crooked, even though I guide them through it. Kaye says it’s because her hands were made for rougher stuff. Stan pouts and calls out Kaye for sharing “too much information.” And I laugh quietly when Stan pricks himself and swears like he’s been shot. Sterling offers to demonstrate the real thing. Damon scoffs somewhere, his phone in hand, typing away to keep coordinating plans.

“You’ve done this before,” Kaye says to me while the brothers end up bickering over each other. “Not just when you stitched my dress or made these masks.”

I nod, eyes still on the black lace in my hands. “I used to patch up myself and my little brother when our mom got too mad. She had no other way to handle her feelings at the time.”

The words settle heavy in the air, but they don’t break me. Sterling brushes his knuckles against my back as he passes by, silent reassurance in every fleeting touch he offers me.

The late nights stretch long but in a good way, filling the safe house with calm silence. Every day spent here makes it feel more and more like my home with this family who found me and took me in. And every day, I wake up to the same things. Sterling’s heartbeat steady under my ear. His arms wrapped around me.

But this morning, I’m getting up quite early and quietly, so I can make breakfast for everyone without waking Sterling up. I’m at the steel door when his voice comes, rough with sleep. “Stay with me, Elle.”

I sigh, laughing softly before I head back to bed. Today, I’ve decided to stay longer under the sheets with him.

“I’ll stay, Sterling.”

I already have. I always will. I’m not going anywhere without him.

***

It’s the afternoon, with only some moments left before we leave for the gala. The air feels different. Almost trembling with everything waiting on the horizon. Kaye and Stan sort through black clothes and delicate lace masks, all of it I’ve stitched to fit us perfectly. Damon mutters to himself over blueprints, sharpening the plan that already lives inside all of us like instinct. Sterling stays close to me.