Page 93 of The Lies We Tell

I turn my head so I can see him out of the corner of my eyes. He looks consumed. By me. It’s the headiest of feelings. To know you can do that to another human being. With our gaze connected, he slaps me again, and this time I come hard.

And as I do, Saint begins to move, thrusting hard. Holding me in place. My cheek scratches back and forth along the bedding.

“Fuck, Briar. Yeah. Make me come. Can feel you squeezing me.”

And with that, he comes deep inside me. He lets go of my hands to grab my stinging butt, the sensation bringing a third, milder orgasm. Or aftershock. I’m not sure which.

Either way, when he flops down on top of me with a grunt, I can’t help but grin.

“What happened to inside voice?” I say.

I feel Saint’s rumble of laughter. “Fuck it,” he says. “Don’t care who heard that.”

A few minutes later, when he’s disposed of the condom and I’ve found something to sleep in from our hastily packed bags, we curl up in Rae’s guest bed, I realize I don’t care either.

Because fear has a weird way of making you appreciate all the things that are life affirming. And this, with his arms around me and his lips on my neck, kissing me good night, is as life affirming as it gets.

33

SAINT

I’m praying that the code of silence surrounding undercover operations still stands, and that Jensen has no idea that I’ve blown my cover.

There is a message on my phone from Weicker telling me to call in or get my ass back to the office. I text a response saying I’m safe and I’m taking a couple of days. It’s all the time I need to plot my future and do one last thing that might save my life.

I step out into Rae’s garden. November is just around the corner, and there’s a cold bite to the air despite the muted early morning sun. I miss my cut. The leather was worn and kept me warm.

The borders of the yard are well tended and makes me wonder what Rae would think of the garden Briar and I started to build.

Dialing Jensen’s number, I wish I’d brought a cigarette outside with me. But I’ve decided to quit.

Again.

But I’m rethinking the timing.

Maybe I should quit when I know everything is settled.

“Jensen.”

“Hey, it’s Ryker.”

“Ryker. I was going to call you today.”

“Yeah. What gives?”

“One of those photos you sent me. He’s a cop.”

My mouth goes dry. “Yeah. Where from?”

“Crime Suppression Central Unit. A detective. Michael Callahan.”

“Has he got any form?”

“No. The opposite. He’s been Trooper of the Year. Honor above all honors and stuff. He’s squeaky clean. Is he your suspect for one of the two cops involved with this ring?”

“I guess so. Sit tight. Let me check in with Weicker.”

“Okay. I’m gonna check he’s not involved in the trafficking or any other ongoing investigation. Last thing we need is the guy who’s involved out there with warrants for search. Fuck knows what will go missing.”