I can be hard. I can be cold. I can apparently be a killer. But I love Kane Mendez. He’s hard, too. He’s cold as ice. He’s forever in control. But he’s not those things with me. And it’s in this moment, for the first time ever, I realize how much I hurt him when I left him. Just how much I cut him.
“I regret every moment we were apart more than you can know. I’m not taking off the ring, Kane.” My hands settle on his chest. “Not ever. I’m not—”
His mouth closes down on mine, his hand on the back of my head, and just that easily, he reminds me I’m human again, capable of wanting, loving, needing, and forgetting all but the moment. But more so, he reminds me that he’s human. He isn’t always in control. He has emotions, torment I can taste on his tongue, even desperation he’d allow no other human to know he’s capable of feeling. I’ve pushed him away. I’ve hurt him. But I’ve always loved him and he doesn’t yet know that I’m done fighting against this, against us.
He just doesn’t know that.
And that’s a problem.
Kane picks me up and I don’t fight him. He has this thing about taking me to his bed, now our bed, as if that establishes some sort of ownership of me and us. Not that I could ever be owned, but deep down, I know we own each other. We always have. We always will. And if that’s what he needs, to feel that ownership, I’m not at war with him. I’m at war with Pocher and the Society. But he doesn’t take me upstairs and to the bedroom. He walks to the living room, neutral territory, and I understand his message. The tide has shifted. The demands have changed. Either I’m in this as his equal or I’m not in this at all. And neither is he.
He sets me down on the floor in front of the couch, and I don’t give him room to question where I stand. I undress and he doesn’t. He lets me stand there naked, and some might say vulnerable, but that’s not really me, and certainly not with Kane. When others fear him, he’s safe to me. And so, I stand there, comfortable in my own skin.
Seconds tick by and we just stare at each other before he drags me to him, his fingers tangling in my hair. “This time it’s all or nothing, Lilah.” He doesn’t give me time to answer. He kisses me again and in a rush of heat, we’re both undressing him. And my God, this man naked is everything. I shove him down onto the couch, and he takes me with him. He’s sitting and dragging me on top of him. Some might say that’s about Kane giving me control, but Kane never really gives away control. Well, maybe that’s not true. With me, he’s willing, he has. He really does.
He molds me close and I press even closer, our bodies swaying, and that dark part of us, the intense, wild part of us, is in control now. He tugs my hair. I tug his right back. He bites my lip and I bite his shoulder. There is no holding back between us. I touch him. He touches me. I kiss him. He kisses me. With Kane, I am lost and found. It’s wrong and somehow so very right.
I tangle my fingers in his hair and say, “Don’t you get it? The only time I can be me is with you.”
“But at what cost, Lilah? Isn’t that what you’ve always asked?”
“You haven’t lied to me, but I lied to you.”
He pulls back to look at me, his voice steel. “What does that mean, Lilah?”
“I was miserable without you. I lied every time I said I didn’t need you.”
“Oh fuck, woman,” he murmurs, and then he’s pulling my mouth to his, and the kiss devours me. He devours me. And some secret part of me has always needed these moments with Kane where I don’t have to hold back anything. And I don’t. I don’t hold back. And neither does he.
When it’s over, when we’re wild and free, and then exhausted in the best of ways, I collapse on top of him, my head buried in his neck until I can breathe again. Then and only then do I push off his shoulders to stare down at him, a realization coming to me. “We’re good together. We’re lethal together. We are dangerous to the Society. We know it. They know it. And I—” I pause, pieces of tonight, and my investigation, punching at my mind. “And I need—”
“You need to be in Purgatory, your so-named thinking room because you just thought of something related to your case.” He laughs, that low, accented laugh of his, and says, “I know, beautiful. And that I can live with for the rest of my life. Go. Be the badass FBI agent I know you are.”
I smile and kiss him, pushing off of him and grabbing my clothes before rushing to the hallway bathroom. I need to be dressed. And yes, I need to be in Purgatory thinking right now.
I’ve just gotten dressed when Kane, also dressed, steps into the doorway. “What did you figure out?”
“When I was driving home, I thought: what does the Society do to those they see as dangerous?”
“Kill them, or ruin them if they can. But you know, I’m sheltered by the power of the cartel, no matter my role, or lack thereof, and therefore we’re sheltered.”
“Right. I do. They do, too. And what good does it do for them to try to fuck with my head? I mean, they have to know by now that doesn’t work on me. Lord help me for giving him any credit, but I don’t feel on the fence about what I’m dealing with anymore. Pocher is many things but not stupid.”
“You really think this is a copycat Umbrella Man.” It’s not a question.
“I don’t think he’s copying him. I think he thinks he’s better than him.”
“Then why the blood in the jar?”
“It got my attention. It assured I’d be called to the scene. It said ‘game on and you’re the one I want to play with.’”
“And the wedding dress? There are no coincidences, right?”
“Andrew is still fucking Samantha. She didn’t leave town, which I’m sure you know.”
He arches a brow. “Why would I know about Samantha, Lilah?”
“Oh, come on. You’re you, Kane. You knew. You always know. And since it involves my brother, tell me next time. I’m not jealous of that witch.”
“Fair enough. And before you invite someone to Thanksgiving dinner, you talk to me. It’s our dinner.”
“Fair enough. Okay. I’m sorry.”
His brow shoots up. “Sorry? Did you just say sorry, Lilah Love?”
“Why do you say that like I never say I’m sorry?”
“You don’t.”
“Neither do you,” I counter.
“I guess we both need to work on that.”
“Yes,” I agree. “We should. And as per your comment. Bottom line. I’m sure Andrew told Samantha we’re engaged, so the whole damn town knows by now.”
“Then you’re dealing with a serial killer,” he says simply.
“Technically he’s only killed one person that we know of. That’s not a serial killer. But he’s not done. And neither am I. He wants my attention. He’s got it.”