“I can’t,” I said. “It’s too much to ask.”
His face went hard, all the humor between us fading into the night. “Ask me,” he whispered. “I’ll do it if you just ask. I came here because I share your wish, too. I’m ready for it.”
“I couldn’t. Last time we left, your father—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Of course you will, how else would I—”
“No. I’ll go with you.” Fire swirled in his pupils. “I’ll take you to your mother, we’ll leave, and none of us will come back. You, me, and her. I’ve got the money. If my father tries to cut me off, I’ll make sure I take out enough to get us settled first. We can go anywhere. We’d be safe.”
Safe with Kain. I adored that concept. But this was happening too fast, I’d missed something major. “The person that opened your mind,” I said quietly. “Who was it?”
“Lulabelle.” His fingernails slid down my bare arms; I was wearing too little to be having such serious talks with Kain at this hour. His full attire gave him armor that I didn’t have. “She helped me realize how crazy I was to keep you here. You deserve more than a cage, Sammy.”
He wasn’t lying before; he knew what I wanted, he’d thought it over . . . and he’d come here to offer it. But I needed to make sure he wouldn’t regret this.
I couldn’t be the one who ruined his connection to his family.
“Fran will want to kill us if we vanish. Your father might try to hunt us down. If we do this—Kain, you have to tell me you’re okay with the aftermath. I need to know. Be certain, be really, really certain.”
Like the slow crawl of winter turning into spring, Kain looped his fingers around my forearms and erased every chill. His lips could have met mine, we could have kissed again and again, but he chose to spill his heart instead. “If you asked me to, I’d slash and burn every connection to this place . . . just to plant myself somewhere else with you. Forever.”
He was offering me everything on a silver platter.
All I had to do was ask.
Standing on tiptoe, I teased my mouth over his. My teeth caught his tongue, my nose grinding along his cheek. I kissed him until I saw spots of light behind my eyelids, and then, I kissed him some more.
My voice was broken and hushed when I pulled back. “Take us away from here, Your Majesty.”
Kain cupped my cheeks, his breath tickling my eyelashes.
“Your wish is my command.”
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -
KAIN
A month had passed since I’d first kissed Sammy.
Yes, that was how I was measuring my time.
My father had talked again and again about the danger she was in—that we could all be in, though he clearly suspected this was all about her somehow.
And still . . . no one could come up with a reason why.
Each time I looked at Sammy, I tried to make sense of her. I’d see her clever green eyes, and I’d ask myself, “Who is she?” I’d watch her smoothing her wild hair, how she’d laugh so easily, and I’d tell myself it was all a mistake.
Brick Monroe was just a dangerous idiot.
That was all it was.
So why did I suddenly feel so uneasy?
I didn’t know. But I found comfort in slipping my gun under my jacket. I had no clue what we would face after tonight, I wanted to be prepared.
Sammy met me in the driveway, a backpack strapped over her white lace dress. I figured it was whatever small items she’d gathered since her time here. Her steps were light as she bounced toward me. Her ever-present smile told me she didn’t sense what I did.
Because nothing is wrong.
“I’ll have to mail this dress back to Fran,” she said, climbing up behind me. “I hope she isn’t too mad. It’s nice, though—nice and light with this warm weather. I was starting to think summer would come and go without any of those sweaty, nostalgic evenings.”
Under her casual chatter, I let my guard down. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure I’ve given you a few sweaty summer nights to get nostalgic over.”
Hiding behind the helmet, she just flashed me a thumbs-up.
Riding down the highway and out of Newport, we entered a stretch of road that was free of light pollution. Along my right side floated a field of black grass, the sky above glowing as if it were nuclear.
Sammy tapped me—then she did it again, insistent.
Turning, I saw what she wanted me to see. Breathing in, I gazed at the twinkling lights that bobbed over the field. It had been a long time since I’d noticed fireflies. In the serenity of a summer night that was often reserved for carefree kids, we rode along with our bodies pressing close, the engine vibrating our bones while our joy shook our hearts.
In my ear, she whispered a sentence. It shouldn’t have been loud enough to climb above the white noise of the bike, but sometimes words have a way of ignoring the rules.
“I know you can’t hear me, but I’m not mad at you anymore.”
I’d warned her before that the engine’s roar had a way of cutting up conversation and making it useless. But my ears were sharp, and she was so very close.
I smiled to myself, enjoying what she thought was a private confession.
“Actually, I think . . . that I might even love you.”
The front tire of my bike kicked up grass; I nearly spun us off the road. Every firefly for miles fled in our wake, the world rocking with the weight of her admission.
Yanking my helmet off, I twisted to face her. She’d pulled hers aside as well, fresh fear from our near spill creating apples in her cheeks. Or maybe it was fear from what she’d let slip from her lips.
“Kain.” My name was the single breath she’d had in her lungs. “I—I didn’t think you could hear me!”
I couldn’t break our stare, I was locked on and trying so hard to understand what she’d said—what I would say in return.
Suddenly, she sat up straighter. The doubt marring her lovely face changed into something that dared me to tell her she was wrong for admitting her inner secret. Again and again, this woman and I, we faced off to see who would win.
But looking deep into the starbursts of her eyes . . .
I realized I’d lost long ago.
Cupping her cheeks with a fury, I brought her to me. She was sweet and salty and more than my taste buds could make sense of. Love didn’t change who she was, it only made her more grounded. I was touching a woman who couldn’t be knocked down.
Sammy’s love for me was solid as steel.
Together we suffocated; oxygen was for the weak. But love doesn’t make you immortal, funny as that is.
She ripped away, gasping, with tears on the edges of her eyes. Was it from needing to breathe or from her emotions?
“Well?” she asked, her palms finding my jaw. She forced me to look at her. “Talk to me, because I’m about to feel really stupid if you don’t just say something.”
Say something? What the hell could I say?
The truth. Tell her.