Page 96 of Kill for a Kiss

I stare into the fire, the heat flickering across my knuckles. “We will,” I say.

The fire pops again, a sharp crack through the stillness, sending a plume of ember-glow into the dark. Stan settles back against a log, arms crossed behind his head like this is any other night. Like we didn’t just unravel years of silence between us. Like we’re not planning to take down our malicious mastermind of a mother.

He’s staring up at the stars again. But I keep my gaze low. The coals are easier to read than Stan’s expression right now. He’s not grinning anymore, looking lost. Maybe because of withdrawals. Maybe because of everything we’ve said and…shared.

Still, I don’t miss the way his eyes cut sideways toward the cabin now and then. It’s rare for him to be anything but noise, so when the silence stretches this long, I know he’s turning something over in his head.

I breathe deep. Taking in the scent of woodsmoke and charred boar, the whisper of cool wind against my skin. This moment grounds me. For the first time in years—maybe ever—I don’t feel like I’m carrying my burdens alone.

I never wanted help. Not from anyone. Especially not from my god-awful family. But Stan… I have to admit he’s not who I thought he was. And maybe that’s why this moment—sitting out here with him, watching the fire die, and plotting against the woman who raised us—isn’t so unbearable.

He knows. Now, he knows. About Kai’s secret. About Naomi. About me. About the truth of why I ran away. I said it all out loud.Finally. And the sky didn’t fall. The world didn’t crack. My chest only loosened. By a fraction, but it’s enough. I can breathe, knowing everything’s still alright. And I have a brother by my side, who isn’t the big idiot I always assumed he was.

There’s something strangely liberating about Stan knowing everything—even the ugliest parts of me, even when we want the same woman—and him still offering a hand.

Our familyisfucked up. All of this may be beyond repair. But for once, I’ve got backup. Even if it’s Stan. Even if it means sharing Elle. The thought scrapes raw inside me. But I don’t push it away. I don’t lie to myself either. Stan’s not going anywhere. So I’ll take it. Take the help. Take the shared weight. Because this time, we have a real shot at bringing Clo down.

The wind rustles the trees, and I let my eyes fall shut. Just for a moment.

“You look like shit, by the way,” Stan mutters so casually I almost think I imagined it. “You need your beauty sleep, Silver.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head lightly, smirking despite myself. “Fucking asshole.”

He chuckles like that’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever paid him. Maybe it is.

24

Elle

The next morning

The cabin is so quiet that I can hear the wind pushing at the windows, the creak of the floorboards, and the faint flicker of the fire winding down. Outside, the world is trees and nothing else. Only endless nature. Inside this cabin that’s become home, it’s warm and safe. Full of tension too, but the nice sort.

Sterling’s seated in his usual spot, right beside my bed, with his chin tipped slightly down. When he’s like this, he watches me with half-lidded eyes, ready to close at any moment. But he’s not willing to. I don’t think he sleeps much. Maybe he dozes. Maybe he just…waits.

Stan, of course, is the complete opposite. Through the open bedroom door, I can see Stan sprawled across the couch. He’s draped over the couch with one leg kicked up over the armrest, shirtless, as though modesty doesn’t exist in his dictionary. His withdrawal symptoms must be crawling under his skin, but he’s hiding it well with bravado. I know that pain. I see it in the twitch of his fingers when he thinks no one’s looking.

“Sleep well, Elle?” Stan asks when I finally sit up, stretching againstthe thin blanket.

His voice is rough, rousing from sleep, and teasing, which is typical for Stan. I glance toward Sterling, whose eyes move to mine, then back to the floor. I know that look. He was watching again, quietly reading the air between me and his brother.

“I slept okay,” I answer, glancing at Sterling again. “Though, it’s interesting to sleep with someone staring.”

“That your way of calling me out?” Stan asks, grinning wickedly. “Or him?”

I shake my head and grab the glass of water on the nightstand. It’s full—definitely Sterling’s doing—and I try not to smile. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

Sterling stands to stretch in that effortless, efficient way he does. His arm brushes mine as he passes the bed, enough to remind me how close he is.

Stan lets out a low whistle when I stand too. Then I spot Sterling’s flannel by my feet, already waiting for me. I slide it on, following Sterling, while Stan speaks. “Damn, look at you two. All those lingering glances and casual grazes. It’s like the world’s slowest porno.”

“Could you not,” Sterling says without looking at him, already at the stove, refilling the kettle for tea.

Stan grins. “What? You jealous I can say what she’s thinking out loud?”

Sterling says nothing, but his grip on the kettle tightens. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. It’s not funny. It really isn’t. But it’s also exactly what I need. This strange, messy tension—the three of us stuck in the woods with nothing to do but recover, talk, and argue about silly, harmless things. Stan’s humor might be crass but it works. He lightens the mood. He says the things I can’t quite find words for. He makes me feel normal, andSterling makes me feel alive.

“Hey, Elle,” Stan calls again. I step toward him and pull at Sterling’s flannel to completely cover my body, at least down to my upper thighs. “When you’re up for it, I wanna show you my new ink again.”