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He can’t tell me he still hates this plan.
He can’t make me promise for the hundredth time that I’m not about to throw myself at Malgrave and hope for the best.
But fuck, I can see every one of those things on his face.
His thumbs slowly sweep along my cheekbones, and the frustration pouring through our bond is a living thing, a man trying to hand me every word Hell stole from him and finding his palms empty every time. His eyes search my face like he’s trying to memorize it, or maybe like he’s terrified this is the last time he’ll get the chance.
I understand enough.
I’ve always understood enough with him.
“Hey.” I cover his hands with mine and hold them against my skin. “I know what you’re not saying.” His throat works around a sound that never makes it out. “I’m not doing anything stupid today.” I hold his gaze so he can’t look away from how much I mean it. “I’ve spent years running from people who wanted to own my voice. I’m not about to hand it over to the Devil just because he asks nicely.” A faint, fierce smile pulls at my mouth. “I’m planning to piss him off instead, and come home with you tonight. That’s the whole plan… nothing more heroic than that.”
For a second, he stares at me. Then his forehead drops against mine, his hands tightening around my face as a silent laugh shakes through his chest.
I feel it against me and smile, sliding my hands around his waist.
He pulls back enough to look at me, and there’s so much worry sitting behind those amber eyes that my smile fades.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
Then he kisses me, his mouth lingering against mine before he finally pulls away.
I know what he’s trying to tell me.
Come back.
I curl my fingers into his shirt.
“I will.”
He kisses me again, hard and quick, his teeth catching my bottom lip just enough to leave the memory of it behind. When he pulls back, there’s a grin waiting underneath everything else, cocky, reckless, entirely him, like he’s already decided the Devil doesn’t stand a fucking chance against the two of us.
I grin back, because apparently that’s contagious now.
Boots hit the garage floor around us. Engines cough to life one after another until the whole building shakes, bikes lined up like a promise nobody is breaking tonight.
Carnage swings his leg over his Harley and holds a hand out to me. I take it, climb on behind him, and lock my arms around the only home I’ve found in twelve years of running.
The gates roll open.
And we ride out to whatever is waiting for us.
Chapter Twenty-Four
CARNAGE
The Kings tear through the mountain roads in a tight pack, engines roaring through the trees while Echo holds tight around my waist.
Echo is using that siren hearing of hers to pick through shit the rest of us wouldn’t even know was there. Somewhere beneath it all, she’s caught onto Malgrave, and now she’s following that bastard’s trail while the rest of us are along for the ride.
My bike eats up the road beneath us, hellfire burning through the markings etched into the frame and flaring brighter every time I push harder into a turn. Ahead, frost crawls across Raze’s machine in thin white veins, ice catching along the chrome before breaking away beneath the speed, while shadow crawls beneath Scar’s tires farther back and gold pulses along Sentinel’s tank whenever his engine climbs.
Just another completely normal fucking ride for the Kings of Anarchy.
Echo shifts behind me as we leave the highway and hit the narrower road leading toward the edge of our territory. Her grip tightens around my middle, her silver hair whipping past my shoulder as the forest closes in on both sides.
The farther we ride, the more my bike starts fighting something. The engine growls beneath me. Hellfire flashes through the frame, hotter this time, and the handlebars jerk once in my grip before settling.
