Page 19 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

F ootsteps. Light, but there. Far… but not far enough.

I grab Aspen’s waist and clamp a hand over her mouth, dragging us both down into the brush. “Shh. Someone’s coming.”

My eyes meet hers, fear and rage battling in her stare. I hold it steady until she nods. Then I release her mouth and draw my knife.

I have one gun and two bullets. That’s it. And I’m not wasting them unless I’m outnumbered.

Aspen grips her kitchen knife, still sticky with blood from the fucker she gutted. I nod once.

“Stay still.” I crawl forward to check the trail .

Seconds later, two men step into view. Young, barely out of their teens. Fuck.

Maybe they’ll pass by without seeing us.

One lifts his gun, eyes scanning the woods.

“They had to come through here, right?”

“I think so. I swear, I’m gonna gut whoever stabbed Rich.” The other spits on the ground.

My grip on the knife tightens. Keep walking. Just keep fucking walking.

They don’t.

Instead, they start creeping toward the trail that’ll lead them straight to the farm.

Fuck.

I grab a rock and hurl it deep into the opposite brush.

They freeze. One curses and rushes toward the noise, while the other spins uselessly in place, trying to locate anything.

He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t hear me.

Too busy scanning the trees, never thinking death might come from below.

I crawl up behind him, silent as a shadow. My blade flashes up, and I drive it straight into his foot.

He screams. Loud. Birds fly from the branches above.

The second guy spins back toward the noise.

He skids to a stop, confused. Idiot can’t even figure out what is going on.

I rise, yank my knife free, and before he can lift his, I shove the blade up under his throat .

He gurgles, blood pouring like a fountain. Gripping at his neck, panicking.

The other one tries to come at me, but I dodge him. Turning, I yank him back by the jacket and throw him to the ground. My boot slams down on his chest as I kneel.

And drive the blade through his heart.

They twitch like fish out of water. Aspen walks up beside me, breathing hard.

“That was… very impressive,” she says with a small laugh.

I look up at her, wipe the blood off.

“Right?” I deadpan, gesturing to the corpses. “And Max keeps saying I need to work on my fighting skills.” I feign annoyance.

She laughs.

A real laugh. Bright. Pure. And for the first time since everything went to shit, I feel something crack open.

Hope.

Her hand touches my chest, warm against the sweat and blood. I glance down; her eyes locked on mine.

She rises on her toes and crushes her mouth to mine.

I wrap my arms around her waist, pull her close, and kiss her back. Tongue sliding past her lips, tasting the sharp edge of her desperation and heat.

Fuck , she makes me feel like there is a chance we can get our life back. Our home.

She breaks the kiss, breath shaky, eyes dropping.

“We’re leaving a trail of dead bodies.” She grins.

I nod .

“Let’s cover it.” I grab one of the bastards and drag him off the trail. Aspen moves the other, slower, but steady. We arrange them like they were headed in the opposite direction.

Hopefully it buys us time if anyone finds them at all.

We start moving again. Faster. Quieter.

The sun is up, and we finally see the farm’s roof coming into view.

“Thank God,” Aspen whimpers, picking up her pace toward the house.

We go through the back door; Knox nailed the front shut.

“Easier to control,” he said.

She strides inside. It’s empty. I catch the flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“The guys won’t be here until tomorrow. They’ll travel at night; it’s safer.” I tell her.

She just nods.

The last contact I had was over the radio, right after I got Aspen to tell them about Bryn. The plan was for us to head here while the guys hit the town for rest and supplies. Rest during the day, move again at night.

It kills me not to be with them, but someone had to find her, and it had to be me.

She did her best to cover her tracks. Every step, every turn, like she knew we’d come looking.

I’m not saying a word about that to Knox. He’s already pissed as fuck. No idea what he’ll do if he finds out she tried to make it harder for us .

I glance over at Aspen. She looks wrecked, exhausted, and bruised. Her face is swollen on one side from where that bastard hit her.

“Sit on the couch,” I say.

She hesitates, eyes narrow, ready to argue, but I raise an eyebrow and point at it.

“Now, Aspen.”

She exhales hard but drops onto the couch.

I head to the kitchen, grab a cloth, wet it, wring it out, and walk back.

“Put this on your face. It’s not ice, but it’ll help.”

She takes it and rests it on her cheek. Her soft skin’s already bruising, purples blooming beneath her eye. She looks tired.

“You should get some sleep.”

Aspen nods, gets up, and walks slowly toward the bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

I let out a breath. Another fucked-up day, but at least we’ve got Dante back.

We’re almost together, our little, fucked-up family.

I pull my shirt over my head, unfasten the top button of my jeans, and lean back, legs spread, muscles burning from the miles we walked and the running I did to find Aspen before something went wrong. But our little fighter held her own.

She killed a bastard twice her size and came out of it with just a bruise.

Didn’t expect that, but it fits her .

My eyes grow heavy. I let them close for a second; I just need a little rest.

Gun in my lap, safety off. Just in case.

Don’t know how long I’m out before I hear footsteps.

My eyes snap open. I raise the gun toward the sound.

Only to see Aspen in nothing but one of Knox’s shirts, hands lifted, smirking.

“I come in peace. Promise.” She chuckles.

I exhale hard. “Fuck. Sorry.” I lower the gun and set it back on my lap.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispers. “Or rest.”

Her eyes stay locked on the floor, quiet, but her chest is rising fast. I notice the way her nipples press against the shirt.

Our girl’s still buzzing. That adrenaline’s curdled into something darker.

I spread my legs again and reach for her hand, pulling her into the space between them.

I lick my lips, lean back on the couch, eyes dragging over every inch of her.

“Take your shirt off.”

Her gaze snaps to mine.

“What?” she asks, cheeks flushing.

I smirk slowly. “Take your fucking shirt off.”

I bring the gun to the hem of the fabric, lifting it slightly. She gasps.

“Now, Aspen. ”

She bites her bottom lip. Hesitates a beat. Then pulls the shirt up, slowly.

Bruises mark her legs. The bandage is still on her thigh. Her breasts are full, nipples like perfect arrows aimed right at me.

And fuck, do I want to bite down until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine.

I palm my dick through my jeans, the ache impossible to ignore, and her eyes drop to it like they can’t look away. I smirk.

“You’re making me hard as fuck.”

She gives me a look, half amused, half wicked.

“Come closer.”

I spread my legs wider, giving her space to step in. When she does, I raise the gun and trail it softly along the outside of her thigh. Her skin jumps beneath the touch, goosebumps rising like she’s trying not to react but failing .

“Ryker…” she breathes.

But I’m not looking at her face. My eyes are locked on that perfect body, still carrying marks from the fight, from the road, from us. All I can think about is her taste… how fucking tight she is.

I drag the barrel up slowly, tracing the line of her stomach. Her breath hitches. When I reach her breast, I circle the tip of the gun around her nipple.

She gasps, her body trembling like a live wire.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Max was right. You’re fucking breathtaking.”

She lets out a soft whimper when I press the gun right against her nipple, just enough to make her feel it. She flinches, stepping back .

I react instantly. The gun snaps up. “Don’t fucking move.”

Her eyes meet mine. There’s trust there; she knows I wouldn’t hurt her, but beneath that trust is something else. She likes the fear. The tension. The edge.

She nods once. Then steps forward again.

“Good girl.”

I shift the gun to her other nipple, rolling the cold metal against the sensitive tip. A moan escapes her lips, soft and shaky. Her hands are clenched at her sides, knuckles white.

I trail the gun downward until I reach the waistband of her panties. I hook the edge with the barrel and tug them down. Her breathing kicks up, chest rising fast. I pull them to her knees. She steps out, panties pooling at her feet. My cock throbs at the sight.

“Open your legs.”

Her thighs tense, but she obeys, parting for me.

My muscles tighten. My heart pounds, loud and deep like a war drum. I lean forward and press a kiss to the inside of her left thigh… then the right… then the center.

She moans, soft and broken.

I breathe her in, the heat of her scent dragging something feral out of me. She’s soaked, swollen, perfect.

I dart my tongue out, tasting her, slow at first. She sways, and I use my foot to nudge hers wider.

Then the gun returns. I press it lightly against her clit, and she gasps, loud and sweet. I drag it higher, spreading her open for my tongue. She’s glistening, so wet it coats my mouth the second I lick .

My cock’s straining behind my zipper, hard enough it hurts. But I’m not done playing.

“Ryker… please.”

She whispers, the words broken at the edges. My eyes flick up, meet hers.

“It’s loaded,” she says, breath shaky, eyes locked on the gun.

I flash her a smile and tilt the barrel for her to see. “Safety’s on, love.”

Her chest rises. She doesn’t flinch when I slide the gun down, dragging it between her folds, pressing just enough against her clit to make her moan again. Her knees wobble, and I tease her entrance with the tip.

She stills. Tenses.

“Relax,” I murmur. “You can take it.”

I press the gun in slowly, easing it into her heat. She shudders, hands flying to my shoulders to ground herself.