And Alex found me. Now. Not because he was stalking one of my targets—but because he was searching for me.
Suddenly, I feel trapped.
I glance around the flashing club, wary of every set of eyes that look our way.
London could’ve subdued me. Grayson could’ve killed Alex.
They didn’t.
They want something.
And Alex is here to deliver it to them.
Raising my hands slowly, I link my arms around Alex’s neck. “We’re making a scene,” I say.
He’s hesitant, his muscles stiff, frame locked and unyielding. I draw closer to him, aligning my body with his, every contour and curve fitted seamlessly. My breasts rub against his chest, the friction tightening my nipples, and I try to ignore the hollow ache between my thighs at the feel of his erection pressing against my pelvis.
There was never a question of whether or not Alex and I fit physically. His leanly carved muscular definition suits my physique. He’s strong and can claim me on the side of a cliff, kiss me until I’m breathless under a waterfall—and it’s so easy to close my eyes and fall into him.
He’s familiar in a way no one else has ever been. Which makes it fucking confusing when my body is fighting need and my mind is battling with a heart that knows better, because he’s already broken any chance of trust between us.
But this isn’t about trust, or lust, or even love.
It’s about staying alive long enough to know what comes next.
Despite my treacherous emotions, some facet of me wants to fight, to live. Maybe not in spite of but because of them. A toxic conundrum I don’t have time to sort through right now.
I tip my head back and stare into Alex’s vibrant eyes, lit by swirling lights and lust.
I feel the second his fight dissolves. His bandaged hand palms my lower back as his other goes to my nape, fingers splaying into my hair.
“Blakely…” His tone is urgent, my name a plea.
I wish that were enough.
If I had been born this way, maybe it would be.
“Fight or fuck, huh. Those are my options.” I reach behind my back and latch on to his injured hand, digging my fingers into the bandage.
He recoils in shock, giving me enough time to grab hold of his shoulder and bring my knee up between his legs.
Only Alex catches my leg, slipping his hand beneath my knee and anchoring my body to his.
When his eyes meet mine, he smiles. “So predictable. Maybe you haven’t changed all that much.”
8
Enemies-to-Enemies
Alex
Life is a gift. But not in the way most assume, like it’s this miraculous chance to exist. That’s missing the most obvious point, which is not knowing what came before life or what’s to come after.
We started existing right in the middle—the present all we have to experience.
The absence of memory, that is the true gift.
Memory is filled with pain.
When you realize every day is a chance to be free of that misery, then you can truly start to live.
Otherwise, that debilitating past anchors us there, prevents us from taking leaps. That’s why we can feel lost, wandering pointlessly, uselessly, waiting for something to happen—for life to finally start.
It already happened. You’re here. That was your start.
When Grayson let me walk out of the condemned apartment, in essence, I was given a second start.
Not because he spared my life. Or because I have some new lease on my existence.
That fleeting bullshit doesn’t impact me or my choices, which were already so ingrained with the woman I’m obsessed with. Because of her, I already shed that layer of guilt; my only misery weighing on me is the absence of her.
Even when the prolific Angel of Maine was holding the rods to my temples with the threat of cooking my brain, all I could think about was Blakely.
How we don’t yet know how the changes will affect her long-term. How I need to be there for her, to help her adjust, to grow and evolve.
How she needs me to protect her.
A pure moment of clarity to sweep away any fears and doubts and spotlight my whole reason for existing.
Her.
She’s more than just the answer to my question—she’s my purpose.
Grayson had already taken away one woman from my life; I would be damned if I allowed him to take another.
The thought of damning my soul brings a slow, mocking curl to my lips. If there is such a realm as hell, then the devil is already welcoming me with open arms.
I have no soul to lose.
Or to sell, for that matter, but that didn’t stop me from making a trade with the fiend himself for more time. A bargain with my own personal devil. What choice did I have? Go after Grayson with blinding fury and fight to the death? Reap vengeance on my sister’s behalf? To what end?
Even if I thought slitting his throat with a scalpel would solve my problem, that grudge feels more like a distant memory than a need to sate. Too much has happened, too much has changed since Mary’s death, and my initial reason for the project has altered beyond that of a cure.
The most amazing scientific discoveries are sometimes by accident, a random chance.
A beautiful new start.
Like Blakely and I now, dancing to a tune of our own, tangled in a web of violence and blazing heat.
The gift of life started with an explosion, a literal bang amid the void, where all that is passion and chaos was born.
This moment here, this is our big bang.
We were created in a fiery collision, and if she needs to fight and draw blood within the chaos, then I’ll suffer her wrath, because I know the beauty that awaits us when our system aligns.
Hand fixed to the soft pocket of her knee, I draw her leg around my hip, fusing us together so she’s unable to attempt another attack. Truthfully, I’m not surprised or even hurt by her intended manipulation. I’m surprised she hasn’t Tasered me yet.
“I thought confiding my torture in you might gain me a degree of sympathy,” I say as I shove her back to the wall. She fits against me perfectly. We were designed for each other.
“I feel absolutely nothing for you.” Pure disdain masks her beautiful features. “No, that’s not true. Thanks to you, I know what unadulterated hatred feels like.”
The malice lacing her words sends a heated charge over my skin. I’ve missed her mouth, her touch, even the vitriol she carries in her gaze. Feeling the press of her body to mine is making it damn hard not to touch her, to taste her everywhere.
I thrust between her thighs, my entire body searing to feel her skin against mine. “You can lie pretty well now, too,” I say, grinding the shaft of my rock-hard cock along her heat. “But I can still read the truth in your body.”
Her hand flattens against my chest, her expression creased in a mixture of agony and yearning. “Can you read a fucking slap to the face?”
I don’t stop her. From this close proximity, the angle is awkward and it’s not a strong slap, but she backs it with enough force to leave a lingering sting.
I never drop her gaze. Her chest heaves, her emotions cresting right along with her cleavage over the top of her shirt. She’s the epitome of sin and temptation; my muse I can’t resist.
“God, you’re not even human anymore,” she says.