Page 64 of Kill for a Kiss

I blink, my brows knitting. “What?”

“I should grab some, uh, firewood.” His body turns, a little too fast, shoulders rigid. He retreats toward the trees.

I watch him go, stunned for a second. Then I laugh, quiet and light, the sound catching me by surprise. After all of that, after everything I spilled, he’s fleeing like a man ambushed by affection. It warms me from the inside out.

He walks slower, shoulders stiffer, but doesn’t turn. I know he heard that little laugh of mine. And somehow, that makes me smile even more. I stand here, wrapped in his shirt, and realize I’m happy. Fully, freely happy.

18

Sterling

I slip my jacket off, feeling too damn warm. The leather drops. I don’t care. My head’s swimming with too many thoughts. A lot of it’s regret. All of it’s guilt.

Elle must not be remembering everything. She’s been looking at me like I’m not the masked man who dragged her through the vineyard. Like I’m not the one who almost stashed her in the shed and locked the door.

She smiled at me today. Thanked me, even. Gave a whole speech that made me want to take her in my arms and keep her in bed with me until she asks me to stop. Would she even want me in there with her? After everything I’ve done? Does she even remember all of it?

Fuck. If she remembered all of it, she wouldn’t be smiling. She wouldn’t be wearing my shirt, fumbling her fingers into the hem like it’s a comfort instead of a mistake. She wouldn’t be letting me in this close.

And I… I wouldn’t be aching like this.

I lied about the firewood. Said I was going to grab some. But I left without an axe, without a purpose, because I need air. I need space. Because I couldn’t stand there and look at her a second longerwithout wanting things I don’t deserve.

And she’s fine now. She can take care of herself. For a little bit, she’ll be alright. So I walk. Deeper into the woods, farther from her and the dangerous softness she keeps offering me.

It’s my fault she ever went through the horrors that she did. I should’ve stopped it. Should’ve never left the estate. I should’ve stayed and burned everything to the ground the second I saw Clo’s reach toward Elle.

But I ran. I disappeared into the smoke of my own bitterness and guilt, thinking I could sever myself from it all. And because of it, I left her behind. Left her to Clo. To Kys. To nightmares Elle should’ve never experienced.

Now she’s here. In my cabin. In my shirt. Wrapped in a scarf I pulled over her shoulders. And she looks at me like I’m something good.

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to banish the heat rising in my face. My fingers shake. I can’t tell if it’s from guilt or the fact that she said those things to me—me—like I was someone worth caring about.

I want her. God, I want her. But it’s not just that. I want to be the person she thinks I am.

But then a sharp crack breaks through the silence. I swiftly move without thinking. A bullet’s hit the bark of tree in front of me, a breath off from my head. I drop into a crouch, pulse hammering, instincts slicing clean into my mind. I’m being hunted. No, not hunted.Warned.

I walk quietly into the underbrush, breathing slow and even, letting muscle memory take over. I’ve survived worse. I’ve been tracked before. But I’m not letting this asshole get close to Elle.

I grab a dead branch and push it forward as a decoy. Another bullet slams through the leaves, just ahead of where I baited it.

It’s a sniper. And they’re missing onpurpose. I crease my brows, frowning. This sniper’s target was too close. The way he’s taking his shots, too familiar. I grit my teeth as it clicks into place. The angle. Thearrogance.

Then another shot rings out. This one embeds itself in the dirt near my knee. He’s not trying to kill me. Just trying to piss me off. And he’s succeeding.

There’s only one asshole who’d pull shit like this out here. One person who would track me all the way to the middle of nowhere, with his stupid sniper rifle, just to prove he could.

Stanley.Of fucking course. Because the second things start to feel like they’re finally settling for once—when I could almost have something for myself—he shows up. Always did have shit timing.

I let out a breath, slow and controlled. But the rage is there, simmering under the surface, sharpening every breath, thundering every beat of my heart. If it’s him—if this is Stanley—then this isn’t a warning. It’s a challenge. And I don’t back down from those.

My vision narrows. The ache of restraint coils tight in my chest. If Stanley wanted me dead, he’d have done it. But this is him playing games. Trying to remind me that she washisbefore I brought her here. That he had her before I could. That he got to hold her, to soothe her, to hear her laugh when I couldn’t even get near her.

He’s not just trying to get my attention. He’s taunting me.

My jaw clenches as I duck low, moving like a shadow through the trees. The terrain is rough, but I know how to use it. I’ve lived in worse, fought in worse. And right now, I want to make him pay. Make him bleed for even thinking for a second that he was worthy of Elle.

I strip off my shirt, tying it over my nose and mouth. From my belt, I pull two smoke grenades. I flick the pins with practiced ease. They hiss to life in my palms, and I hurl them in opposite arcs, thecanisters landing deep in the woods.