Page 146 of Rev

My entire being bursts apart at those two words. The burn behind my eyes turns white-hot, stinging. “Myka…”

I thrust up, one hand around her hip, the other between us, circling her clit—and she comes.

She grips my face, rolling on me through her orgasm, hot blue eyes wild, piercing me. Moving, slamming down deep and rolling her hips, grinding roughly on me, her fingers dig into my cheeks and temples, demanding my full attention.

“I love you, Rev.” Tears flow down her face, and she lets them. “Do you hear me? I love you. I love you. Iloveyou.”

I release, heat blasting through me even as the burn behind my eyes explodes. I can’t name the sound I make—a choked growl, a rough, disbelieving, coughed sob. “Ohhhfuck, Myka!”

She grips harder, fierce, rough. “Did youhearme?”

“Yes!” It’s a gasp, a teeth-clenched admission.

“Don’t you look away, Rev.” She’s moving, taking me, coming with me. “Iloveyou, Rev.”

Demanding it from me.

“I love you.” It’s a ragged, broken whisper. All I can manage as salt heat trickles down my face.

She kisses and licks my tears away, moving with me through our united climax, laughing and sobbing at once. “Say it again, honey. Please?”

I laugh, a wet sound. “I love you, Myka.”

Her face buries in the side of my neck, one hand still on my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone, through the wet.

Seated deep, flush, she touches her forehead to mine. Her eyes are so close they appear as one. “Home.”

“Home,” I agree, clinging to her, inhaling her hair. “I’m home.”

Epilogue: Heartsick

Kane

I’m not going anywhere. Just going. Getting away, far as fuck from Rev and Myka and their nauseating happiness. So fucking saccharine, goddamn. I know, I’m jealous. More than jealous, I’m sick from it. Jaw-clenching, gut-wrenching, skull-splitting heartsick.

It’s not their fault. Not Rev’s. Sure as fuck not Myka’s.

Butfuck, Myka looks just fucking like her.

First time I saw her it took every last shred of control I had to not throw up on my boots from the pure shock. Felt like I’d been gut-shot. I’d thought, for a split second, itwasher. But then reality came crashing back in—she’s dead. I killed her. And Myka’s a bit taller, a bit bigger in the chest and hips. Myka’s sweet and soft and gentle, andshewas…not. Wild. Luke always said his little girl was three-quarters wild child, one-quarter lunatic. And damn if it wasn’t the truth.

It’s just too goddamn hard to be around them. I need to get my shit under control.

So I’m on my 1948 Indian Chief, out in the desert, just scudding west through the heat haze, shemagh up around my nose against the heat and dust and bugs. Got a couple bottles of water in my saddle bags, along with a change of clothes rolled up tight, a heavy fleece-lined flannel, some rolls of cash, my Sig Sauer and a spare mag, burner phone and charger, KA-Bar knife, a piece of flint, a few protein bars, and a rain poncho. I’ve got a sleeping bag rolled up tight and tied behind the jump seat.

What else does a man need? Not a damn thing.

So, I just go.

The old Indian needs a break every couple hundred miles to let her old bits cool off, so toward the back end of evening I pull off the highway. Still hot as fuck, still as only a desert can be. Fortunately, this isn’t all that much like Afghanistan, so I’m clear of flashbacks. There’s only scrub and desert bushes and rocks, so I pull off the shoulder entirely, navigating carefully out into the nothing, till the ribbon of the highway is almost out of sight. Gather some brush and sticks, for later, when it starts getting cool, so I can start a little fire.

Sit. Watch evening slide to dusk, dark encroaching on the light, the heat ebbing.

The first star pokes out.

My thoughts are far away. North a few thousand miles, on a stretch of highway a lot like this, except surrounded by majestic mountains and thousands of acres of green graze land. Right about the 279-mile marker, there’s a cross. Off in the grass about twenty feet from the shoulder. That’s where my thoughts are, on that cross. The events that led me to that spot. To that day.

Thatfuckingday.