Page 94 of Kill for a Kiss

Again, I don’t answer.

He laughs. “Yup, you’d paint the town red. And I don’t mean with mom’s wine.”

He takes a dramatic bite of charred meat he picks right off the spit, still somehow chewing as if he’s in a five-star restaurant.

“Seriously though,” Stan continues, mouth full. “Damon getting married? I must’ve missed an entire season of family drama while I was off being mommy’s favorite errand sniper.”

“You didn’t miss much,” I say dryly. “One day, he’s the golden boy with no personal life. Next day, he’s married to Kayla Knight.”

Stan drops the meat from his hand. “In one day?!”

“Keep up.”

“I thought Damon woulddiebefore settling down. Isn’t he the one who turned down literally hundreds of insane proposals, like being in open marriages or being the trophy husband of some rich bitch?”

I shrug. “Probably.”

Stan throws his hands up. “Unbelievable! I’ddiefor offers like that. But leave it to Damon to do something like this. What happened? Did someone mix up a blood contract with a wedding license?”

“She’s surprisingly into him,” I say, stabbing a piece of meat and tossing it onto a tin plate. “And he’s different around her. She flipped a switch in him.”

“Yeah,” Stan mutters, grabbing the plate. “That’s what love does to people. Or witchcraft. Or both.” He glances at me over the fire. “You think Clo had a hand in it?”

I pause, letting the silence answer first. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Stan waits, chewing pensively.

“She needed Damon off the board,” I explain. “Needed someone as calculating as him distracted. Kayla’s a wildfire. He’s not built to resist that kind of heat.”

Stan leans back, chewing slowly. “So Clo gets her power back while Damon’s on a honeymoon with his head in the clouds. Or her legs, I guess.”

“And off comms,” I add. “Which is exactly how Clo wanted it.”

Stan shakes his head, that dramatic grin back on his face. “We’ve got one brother on his honeymoon with a human flamethrower, another pretending he’s not the most dangerous man alive, and me—half-dead and living on a couch that’s now most definitely cum-stained.”

I have to close my eyes and force myself to breathe after hearing so much of his nonsense at once. “You forgot the part where you tattooed Elle’s initial on your chest.”

“It’s called aromanticgesture, you jerk. Look it up, why don’t ya?”

I scoff, slowly opening my eyes to see him still grinning and wiping his mouth. The empty tin plate in his hand clatters on the grass.

He stretches out beside the fire, staring up at the smoke curling toward the stars. “Y’know, we might be the most messed up family this side of the world.”

I carve off one more cut of meat, toss the blade aside, and say flatly, “That’s the most accurate thing you’ve ever said.”

The fire’s burned low by the time my phone vibrates against the tin plate next to me.

I swipe to answer and hit speaker without a word. Stan glances over, brow raised. I tilt my chin toward the phone. “Stay quiet.”

“What a warm welcome,” comes the wry, familiar voice on the other end. “Miss me, rookie?”

“Keep it professional,” I say.

Stan leans in. “Rookie? I need that story.”

“Who’s that?” my contact says. “You know I don’t like extras onthe line.”

“You know him,” I say dryly. “The sniper muscle.”