Page 16 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

We froze. Voices in the hallway, closer than they should be.

The spell shattered. Reality came crashing back, and I remembered there were security guards, stolen files, and the very illegal thing we were doing.

"Shit." Hunter grabbed my wrist, pulling me away from the wall. His hand was still shaking slightly, but not from withdrawal this time. "Move."

I yanked the device free, shoving it into my pocket as we ran for the opposite door. Behind us, the footsteps grew louder, echoing through the corridor.

"This way," Hunter hissed, dragging me down a service hallway.

His hand was still wrapped around my wrist from the kiss, from pulling me away from the wall where he'd had me pinned. The contact burned through the adrenaline, through the panic of running from security.

We'd just kissed. We'd just fucking kissed, and now we were running for our lives, and I couldn't tell which one had my heart racing harder.

A guard rounded the corner ahead of us. "Hey! Stop!"

Hunter shoved me sideways through a fire exit. The alarm screamed to life. Emergency lights strobed as we burst into the cold parking lot. The sudden chill against my kiss-swollen lips was a shock. Hunter's taste was still in my mouth—cigarettes and fentanyl and something uniquely him.

We'd crossed a line we couldn't uncross, and security was thirty seconds behind us.

"My van," I gasped, fumbling for the keys.

Behind us, more guards spilled from the building. Radio chatter crackled. Someone shouted coordinates.

We reached the vehicle as police sirens became audible in the distance. Hunter threw himself into the passenger seat while I started the engine.

For a second, our eyes met across the console. His lips were as red as mine probably were. His pupils were still blown wide, and I knew it wasn't just from the drugs anymore.

"Later," he said, reading my expression.

"Later," I agreed, throwing the van into reverse.

But "later" was a promise. An acknowledgment that what had just happened in that clinic office mattered. That we'd talk about it. That this wasn't just adrenaline and convenience.

A security guard rounded the corner of the building, radio to his mouth.

I pulled out of the parking lot, forcing myself to drive normally despite every instinct screaming to flee. In the rearview mirror, the clinic blazed, security protocols activating throughout the building.

The performance continued. Calm driver. Nothing to see here. Just two people leaving a parking lot at midnight.

"Did we get everything?" Hunter asked.

I patted my pocket where the device sat. "Everything. Wright's entire billing system, participant records, and payment patterns. All the evidence shows he targeted homeless people and covered up adverse events."

"Enough to bury him."

The rush was incredible. We'd walked into Wright's domain and stolen his secrets, and I'd made Hunter lose control in the process. Two victories in one night.

But as the adrenaline faded, the implications sank in.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Somewhere safe." Hunter's expression darkened. "Wright knows we have his files. He's going to come after us."

My phone buzzed insistently, text after text from family members. I turned it off without reading them. Let them worry. They'd made their choice at dinner.

"Let him come," I said. "We're not running anymore."

But war had been declared tonight. Wright wasn't just some negligent doctor anymore. He was a man who had resources, connections, and everything to lose.

And we'd just painted targets on our backs.

Good. I'd always looked better being watched.

The clinic disappeared in the rearview mirror, emergency lights still strobing against the night sky. I forced myself to drive normally—calm, collected, just another vehicle on the road. But my hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to hurt.

We'd kissed.

I'd kissed Hunter Song in Wright's clinic while stealing evidence, and he'd kissed me back like he was drowning and I was air.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" Hunter asked finally.

"What's there to talk about?"

"Don't pretend that was just about proving a point."

My jaw tightened. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth would be nice."

"The truth?" I pulled off the main road, taking us toward the abandoned factory lot where we could hide for the night. "The truth is, I wanted to kiss you. Wanted it ever since I watched you fight. Since you let me inject you. "

Hunter went quiet.

"But wanting something doesn't change the math," I continued. "You'll always need the drugs more than you need me. And I'm too fucked up to be anyone's first choice."

"You're wrong."

I barked out a laugh. "Which part?"

"All of it." His hand found my thigh. "You think I kissed you back because you provoked me? Because I was proving something?"

"Didn't you?"

"I kissed you back because I've been thinking about it for days. Because watching you work, watching you steal that keycard, watching you push me..." He stopped, jaw working. "Because I wanted to. Even high, even knowing it's a terrible idea, I wanted you."

The confession hung between us.

"You just told me you're trans," he continued, "and my first thought wasn't 'oh, that changes things.' It was 'good, now nothing's stopping us.' That's how much I want this. Want you."

I pulled into the factory lot, killed the engine. In the sudden quiet, I could hear both of us breathing. Fast. Shallow.

"This is a bad idea," I said.

"Probably the worst."

"You're still using. I'm still broken. Wright's going to come after us. The Laskins will..."

"I know," Hunter interrupted. "All of that is true. And I still want to kiss you again."

I turned to look at him fully. In the darkness of the van, with only the distant glow of the factory lights, he looked dangerous and beautiful and entirely too tempting.

"If we do this," I said carefully, "if we cross this line completely, I need you to understand something."

"What?"

"I'm not interested in casual. I'm not interested in 'just sex' or 'just tonight' or whatever you tell yourself to make it feel less scary." My eyes held his. "I want everything or nothing. And I don't do halfway."

Hunter's smile was slow. Dangerous. "Good. Neither do I."

"I'm serious, Hunter. I don't want to be another thing you use and discard when it gets too hard."

"You won't be." He leaned across the console, close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. "You're already too far under my skin for that. Already making me want things I thought the drugs had killed."

"Like what?"

"Like mornings. Like someone to wake up next to. Like a reason to stay sober." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Like you."

The way Hunter kissed me back—desperate, hungry, like I was the drug he needed—made me wonder if maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe I could compete with fentanyl after all. Maybe I already was.

I closed the distance between us, kissing him again. Softer this time. Without the urgency of security chasing us or the adrenaline of theft. Just us, choosing this, choosing each other despite every reason not to.

When we pulled apart, Hunter's smile was real.

"We're going to talk about the trans thing. Later. When we're not..." I gestured vaguely between us. "When we can think clearly."

"About the trans thing. I meant what I said. Doesn't change anything."

The words hit harder than I expected. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for basic decency."

"It's not always basic," I said quietly. "In my experience."

His hand found mine in the darkness. Squeezed. "Then your experience has been shit. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."