Page 138 of Kill for a Kiss

I nod, leaning on him. For a few long seconds, we stand there, watching the sky turn. We have a plan. We have each other. We have a chance. For a few heartbeats, we simply stand there, watching the last fire bleed out of the sky, letting the weight of what’s coming settle over us.

When Damon rallies us, Sterling walks me to his car. He opens the door for me without a word. I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. I stare through the windshield as Sterling sits behind the wheel.

The last rays of sunlight spill across the dashboard, painting him in molten gold. For a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath with us. Then we drive off.

Ahead of us, Stan’s red sports car rumbles. Through its back window, I spot Kaye laughing while Damon tackles her down into the backseat. Stan throws an arm up in protest.

Sterling sighs heavily beside me. The sound is equal parts exasperated and fond. I turn toward him, and the corners of my mouth pull into a smile without even trying. It’s impossible not to love them all in moments like this with their wild hearts on their sleeves.

Sterling catches me smiling and gives a reluctant smile back, the kind he only ever shows me.

Beside us, Lix’s bike roars to life and tears down the road in a blur of black and silver, fast and fearless like a bullet come to life.

Sterling shifts the car into gear, and we follow. The sun sinks lower, pulling the warmth from the sky. The road stretches out before us, smooth and endless, as if it’s daring us to chase it all the way into the unknown.

Without looking, Sterling reaches for my hand, the touch casual but certain. I thread my fingers through his, grounding myself. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and for a moment, everything fades into the background.

The future feels fragile, poised on a knife’s edge. But here, in this moment, with Sterling beside me and our family racing ahead into the gathering dark, I know we’re ready to face whatever waits in the shadows.

33

Sterling

The gala stands like a goddamn trap in front of us. Lights gleam against the twilight, the Song-Smith estate rising out of the coastal mist, a sight dredged from old nightmares.

Far up front, Lix slips through the slow-moving line of cars, his bike carving a clean path toward the front gates. Stan’s car crawls behind him. Kaye and Damon sit masked inside, already slipping into character. They’re the distraction. The noise. A screen we need. But I’m not walking Elle through the front door just to gamble on a checkpoint.

I veer off the main drive, taking a battered service road that cuts close to the cliffs. The ocean churns below the rocks, black water clawing at the base of the estate.

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror before I kill the engine. The mask Elle mended stares back at me. Blood-wine dark under the fading light. The lines that once snarled lost their sharpness somehow. It doesn’t carry the same weight it once did. It doesn’t feel like it’s trying to crush me. Now, it fits me perfectly, easing on my face like it was always a part of me. The new straps don’t pinch. They don’t dig. They hold like they’re meant to. Like she meant them to.

I see her hands in every stitch. I feel her in every reinforced line. This isn’t just my old mask anymore. It has pieces of her in it. I love it. I loveher.

I turn to Elle, speaking low and rough. “Stay close.”

She nods, sure as the sun that’s now set. Her fingers graze mine before she reaches for her own mask. Black lace goes over her eyes, delicate and dangerous, stitched with the same careful hands that saved me more times than I’ll ever be able to tell her.

I step out into the cold, the salt in the air sharp enough to bite. There’s no turning back now. Time to finish what we started.

The secret tunnels bleed into the guts of the estate. The air down here smells like old stone, salt, and sweat, every step thick with tension. Elle moves behind me, close and quiet. Her steps never falter. I clear each hall before she ever steps through. Every corner is a possible threat. Every hand on a doorframe is a silent prayer.

Don’t let anyone take her from me.

We take the stairs spiraling upwards, their edges worn smooth. I motion for Elle to follow, keeping quiet and low, while people and their noise gather around us, hiding us in plain sight. At the top, a thick curtain waits, drawn closed across a heavy rod, the velvet so dark it could hide us well.

I slip behind the billowing curtain, pulling Elle in after me, careful not to rustle the fabric too much. It’s heavy enough to muffle sound,deep enough to conceal us completely. She presses into me, close and warm. Her breath finds my neck. Her mask brushes my jaw.

Moments pass and more tension builds. Masked blue-eyed staff fill the top of the grand staircase. Black silk and twisted gold wrap around the railings. They’re preparing the area up here like a stage. I know who it’s for.

My hands find Elle’s waist without thought, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between us. I feel the quick stutter of her breath against my collarbone, the way her fingers clutch at my jacket. She’s shaking from nerves. I want to fix that.

I tilt her chin up. The lace of her mask grazes my hand. I lean in, close enough for her to hear my whisper. “You’re mine, Elle.”

She leans into me. I shove my mask up to expose my mouth. I kiss her hard, swallowing her surprised gasp. The curtain shifts with our weight, but the noise masks us. The growing crowd’s chatter, their clinking glasses, and the dark melody pulsing through the air like a warning. I ignore it all. It’s easy with Elle in my arms.

I slide my hands down her sides, greedy but careful, feeling every inch of her through the silk fabric of her black dress. I don’t know how much time we have before someone might rip the curtain back, before the world ignites, but I know this much—I want her right now. If the plan crumbles tonight, if blood paints the marble and everything goes to hell, I’ll at least have this last moment with her. Right here, in my arms, where she always belonged.

Her hands slide beneath my jacket. She clutches at me with her quivering fingers. She presses closer. Every inch of her says the same thing. She needs a distraction from this suffocating tension, from the fear of what might go wrong tonight.