Page 53 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Birdie

I lean forward into the camera, my hands steady now after an hour of trembling. The interviewer’s eyes are kind, expectant, waiting for my final words. The studio-style lights cramming my home office feel warm instead of suffocating for the first time today.

“To anyone out there who is made to believe the lies that you’re nothing without them, that no one else will ever love you, no one will ever believe you, that you deserved it—” I pause, feeling the weight of every woman who might be watching, every person still caught in that web.

“You are not alone. Your voice matters. Your truth matters. And when you find the courage to speak it, the whole world will shift to make room for your freedom. Don’t let anyone—not even someone who claims to love you—silence that voice again. ”

The interviewer’s eyes glisten. “Birdie, thank you so much for sharing your incredible story with us today.”

As the cameras stop rolling, I feel something I haven’t felt in years—lightness.

Martha practically bounces toward me, her heels clicking against the floor. Behind her, Tristan stands like a sentinel, his eyes scanning the room even now. Always watching, always protecting.

“Birdie, honey, you were phenomenal!” Martha grasps my hands.

“The phones started ringing before you were even finished. Seven of your books just hit number one on every list that matters, and,” she lowers her voice, eyes glowing, “I got the call twenty minutes ago. Provided that you’ll leave them out of your memoir, which by the way is being auctioned for a high seven-figure as we speak, the house will give you your rights back and ten percent over the number you wanted.

How crazy is that?” She muffles a squeal.

“What memoir?”

“The one you’re going to write very soon, silly.

” She waves a dismissive hand. “And guess what? Your new series, Butterfly Man, another house is interested, for double the original offer. They doubled it for crying out loud. And with the cinematic rights that are already in negotiation, we’re talking eight figures. ”

I blink, the numbers not quite registering. “Eight figures? For books I haven’t even written yet?”

“Yes, baby. It’s the least you deserve. You’ve been through hell and back, and we’ve all been oblivious.

I can’t imagine the amount of pain you’ve had to deal with every day for years.

He almost killed you, Birdie, and no one lifted a finger.

” Tears touch her gaze, but then she grins from ear to ear, brushing into her chirpy self.

“Enough of that. May he rot in hell. You have full control now. You’re free, Birdie. Financially, legally, completely free.”

Free. Another thing that doesn’t quite register. Not yet.

Tristan steps closer, and his hand finds the small of my back. The touch grounds me, reminds me I’m not dreaming. “You ready to get out of here?”

I nod, suddenly desperate for air that doesn’t smell like hairspray and television lights.

Outside, the Ducati gleams in the afternoon sun next to Tristan’s bike. “You had it shipped to Martha’s Vineyard, my filthy rich bodyguard.”

He laughs. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

My dream ride I wasn’t allowed to have. Without thinking, I put on the helmet. Luckily, I’m already wearing pants. “Race you to the cabin?”

“You bet.”

I swing my leg over the bike, feeling the familiar thrum of power beneath me. “Try to keep up.”

The wind tears through my hair as we speed down the island roads. Every mile puts more distance between me and the woman who used to apologize for breathing too loudly. Is this what freedom feels like? Is it the taste of fresh air and the roar of a beast that obeys only me?

For now, it is.

We arrive at the old safe house, the secluded cabin where Tristan and I shared a bed for the first time. The beach alcove stretches, waves crashing against rocks that have stood here longer than any of our troubles.

Tristan removes his helmet. “You beat my ass, Birdie.”

“C’mon, you let me win. Or is it the arm? Does it still hurt?”

“No, and no. You ride like you’ve been doing it all your life. You sure you haven’t touched a bike since you moved in here?”

“Even before that. Shane taught me how to ride, but I’ve never had my own bike.” I climb off the Ducati and wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you for this. It means a lot.”

“Anything for you.”

“I heard about what happened to Shane. Blake wouldn’t have done it, so I guess it was you?”

“There is no limit to where I’d go to protect you, Reagan.” His lips crush mine with a hunger I feel in my bones. His mouth tastes of devotion so intense it borders on worship.

We move against each other until my back vibrates with the Ducati engine. His hands map every inch of me. The kiss turns reckless, open, consuming.

“Want to ride the Ducati?” I tease.

“I wanna ride you on the Ducati.” His hands sneak around my waist and lift me on the leather seat. “Just like you let me be the Mad Dog to your Vixen, let me be the Dusty to your Cammie.”

I throb vigorously at how hard I came on Tristan’s cock while Blake’s dead eyes watched from hell.

I clench harder when I realize, for certain, Blake’s story ended with no chance of a sequel, and it’s all because of Tristan.

He killed Blake. He left the apartment spotless and dumped my dead husband’s body in a crack house, making his death look like an overdose accident.

My forbidden bodyguard takes off my pants, and I straddle my bike.

He pushes inside me from behind with untamed desire.

The wind whips my hair as he moves with a force that rattles through the machine and into my veins.

Every thrust is a claim, every groan a vow.

The roar of the ocean drowns out my cries, but I know he hears them.

“Look at you taking my cock like that. Such a good girl, taking it all for me.” He drives deeper, harder, twisting my hair around his fist and pulling it.

“My dirty little whore, my filthy queen.” He smacks my ass.

“God, I can fuck you like this forever, Reagan.” The savagery rising in his voice and thrusts drive me insane.

He takes me so fast and rough in the end until my body splinters around him, and I lose myself in the sound of my name ripped from his throat and the feeling of his cum inside of me.

Without pulling out, he holds me tight. His lips print little hot wet kisses on my neck. “I love you, Reagan.” His voice is jagged, almost broken. “I love you, and I will never stop.”

My body tenses beneath him. “Tristan, I…”

“I know you’re not ready to say it back, but I’ll say it for the both of us until you are.”

I clear my throat as I shift. He takes a hint and breaks our union. I put my pants back on, and he zips his, a frown on his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

My lips part, but the truth won’t come out straight. “No, you didn’t.”

“But?”

I brace myself because what I’m about to say will hurt us both. “I don’t think I’ll ever say it back, Tristan.”

His eyes flare, as if I’ve just cut his heart out with my bare hands. “Yes, you will. Of course, you will. After everything I’ve done for you… My cum is literally dripping from your pussy, Birdie. You’ll say it when you’re ready. You just need time, and I’m a very patient man.”

“Detective Ashford does have one sister,” I stare Tristan in the eye, “but her name is not Melinda.”

Tristan’s throat bobs with a swallow. “Did he tell you that? Because he’s lying.”

“Her name is Nancy, and she’s twenty-one, not twenty-three.

I know that because I signed a book for her.

I also know she’s never been in our school because the student list you gave me, the one on my computer, doesn’t have any Nancy Ashford on it.

That means you only added that made-up name, Melinda Ashford, to your copy of the list, on the spot. ”

He steps toward me. “Birdie, please.”

“The breach at the decoy safe house was staged. Blake was in Florida then, and it definitely wasn’t Reid. What, you had one of your men dress up as the stalker to get caught on camera?”

“No.”

“It was you, in Miami, isn’t it?” I drag myself away, lifting my hand between us to stop him from getting any closer.

“You texted me at the school, left me the notes in the cafe and led me to that courtyard where you’d texted Reid earlier from my phone to meet me there.

It was you playing the Butterfly Man game that day, not Blake. ”

He shudders with tears. “I love you.”

“You were going to kill an innocent man, Tristan.”

“Innocent?” Hatred spits from his voice like venom. “He was taking you away from me. When the stalker game was over, you were gonna choose him over me.”

“You didn’t know that.”

“Yes, I did! You wouldn’t have touched me that night if you hadn’t believed he was the stalker.

Because the truth is you would never choose me .

Don’t you remember our deal? You told me if he wasn’t the stalker, we’d go our separate ways.

You told me to forget all about you and never look back.

” One tear drops down his cheek. “I couldn’t let that happen.

I did what I did because it was the only way I could have you. ”

“Villains burn the world down to save the girl.”

“Yes,” he sighs in relief, as if we see eye to eye. “A thousand times yes, baby.”

“And they kill anyone in the way to have the girl.”

He swallows again. “Birdie, Reagan , I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Tell me what I can do. I’d do anything to make you forgive me, to prove to you that I will never do anything to hurt you ever again. Please.”

“I know you won’t hurt me, Tristan, but you will hurt others who did nothing wrong in the name of loving me.”

“So what, this is it? You brought me all the way here, let me fuck you one last time to say goodbye? Because I’m too fucking dark for you now?”

“You lied to my face. You manipulated me . How can I ever trust you?”

“I’m sorry. Do you want me on my knees?” His knees hit the sand. “For you, only for you, I’d beg for the rest of my life if I have to.”

My chest cracks with heartache. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t have feelings for Tristan. His darkness, his groveling… It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to succumb to his toxic love, the only kind I’ve known, the one I crave despite knowing how excruciatingly painful it always ends.

“Please, Reagan. I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Everything that I’ve done, every line I’ve crossed, was just to be with you. Don’t take that away from me. I can’t live without you.”

I throw my arms around him, embracing him with all my strength. My thumb caresses the scar above his lip, and I kiss it ever so gently. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. I didn’t break free from Blake’s prison to throw myself in another, no matter how beautiful the bars.”