“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll support you, but I won’t help you murder someone.”
My mouth unhinges as I stare at him. He’s completely, one hundred percent, no doubts at all serious.
He traces his thumbs over my cheekbones. “Don’t get mad.”
“Don’t get mad?”
He gives me a small smile that’s so unlike him. “You’re better than us. I understand that you want to do this, but I’m not going to walk you into the fire, Kyla. I don’t want to take your hand and lead you into something you won’t be able to just shake off.”
“But K is a piece of shit. The world would be a better place without him.”
“I’ve killed many pieces of shit, and yeah, that’s the reasoning I use, but it doesn’t make a difference. You’ll replay the same shit every day. You’ll remember the look in his eyes, and even worse, you might even remember the spark of joy you felt when you were taking his life.” Magnum’s demons darken his hazel eyes. “It’s not something you do and you’re done. It haunts you, and what’s worse, you can’t move on, the ghost of what’s happened staying somewhere else. The tragedy of what happened is in your own mind. It’ll forever be with you. Every morning. Every night. Every—”
I raise my hand and press it to his lips. I turn my face into his palm that’s still cupping my cheek, and I kiss his hand. “I get what you’re trying to say, I do, but I am doing this, Magnum. You’re not going to be able to talk me out of it. I’m not just going to wake up one day and decide I can’t risk my soul or my mind. He never gave my parents a chance. He solidified my life when he murdered them. I’m not backing out because I don’t want to.” Vengeance has slithered in my veins and rooted. A bunch of pretty words aren’t going to kill off the vines.
He pulls me forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I get it.” He brushes his lips over my skin as he talks. “I understand. Just please understand when I say I’m not going to help you do it.”
I bite down on my lip. Even if it does feel like he’s chastising me, I can’t fault him for it. This was always my destiny. My fucked up murder adventure. I don’t need Magnum’s help. I don’t need any of the guys’ help, and honestly, it would probably be best not to get them involved. If this all goes to shit, they can continue without me.
I take a deep breath. I should probably put some safeguards into place, so that if something does happen to me, they can leave. I should show them where my car is. I should tell them how to access my accounts. I can even tell them who my aunt and uncle are and, in turn, tell my aunt and uncle if any extremely hot men show up on their doorstep that they’re there to help them at whatever cost.
It pains me to think about this because if that ever happens, it means I didn’t make it. But it also comforts me to know that they’d be taken care of. Maybe Oscar could use some of the money I have to pay for college. He could show someone who cares what he’s really made of. He could make it all the way to the NFL.
And Brawler, he only needs money to continue training. I can talk to Jax and Finn, and even though they might not be able to train him directly, I’m sure they could point him to someone who can.
Johnny? Well, if I don’t make it, it might be because of him, huh?
I change my train of thought because I just can’t handle that. Instead, I glance up into Mag’s eyes. “When you said you wanted to be yourself, what did that mean, Jacob?”
He shivers, and I have to admit, I used his real name intentionally. His walls are always up, barriers barricading him like a fortress. Calling him that makes them shake a little. He kisses my forehead again and pulls away. “I just want to be the person I was meant to be before the Crew entered my life and upended it.”
“Do you know who that person is?”
“Pieces, maybe,” he admits. “Finding yourself is hard to do when outside forces demand you’re something else.”
“So, when we leave the Heights, you just want to go all hippie and travel where the wind blows you?”
He smirks. The last thing I can imagine Mag doing is being a hippie. Although, all that glorious red hair would be nice. He chuckles. “No, not exactly, but it would be nice to see different things. Experience different things without the confines of the Heights and the Crew.”
“I think you might just be a hippie yet,” I tease.
He groans and buries his head in my neck. “Far from it.”
I hold him to me, loving the feel of the warmth of his body next to mine. “We need to come up with a way to get to know each other. Actually, scratch that. You know everything there is to know about me. I need to get to know you better.”
He shakes his head. “I have a feeling none of us have even scratched the surface yet when it comes to you, Angel.”
I shiver at his pet name. I really, really like it. It’s the way he says it too. Like a purr that rolls off his tongue.
“Why don’t we start with asking each other questions?”
“Hmm.” The rumble from his lips vibrates the nape of my neck. “Since I really want to kiss you right now, let’s start there. First kiss?”
I cringe. “I was thirteen, and it was awful,” I tell him. “I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. I had it built up in my head that it was going to be the best thing ever because I’d had a crush on the guy for the last few months. Well, it was slobbery, and the boy ended up telling everyone I tasted like fish.” Fucker. I was vulnerable in the new, rich kid school my aunt put me in. My classmates knew I didn’t come from money, and it turned out this boy was just playing me.
“You definitely don’t smell like fish. You smell like...” He breathes in deep, dragging the tip of his nose across the arch of my neck. There’s something so sensual about it that my toes nearly curl in my shoes. “...a garden in the summer.”
My knees go weak. It’s true that things get better with age. Magnum must have experience. Not that I want to know the ins and outs of said experience. I shiver. Fuck. I really don’t want to know the ins and outs because my jealousy will flare again.
Come to think of it, it’s kind of fucked that I want four guys to share me, but I don’t want to share. I shrug because, well, that’s me, so whatever.
“Don’t distract me,” I tell him.
“You’re easily distracted.”
I smile because it certainly seems like I’m easily distracted around them. I put some space between us, pulling back a little. “Your first kiss?”
“There was a girl down the road when I was six. I pecked her cheek.”
“No, no, no. Real kiss. With tongue.”
He groans. “Why don’t we just say that my kiss with you—with tongue—was the first one I’ve ever really enjoyed.”
He full-on distracts me then, moving in to cover my mouth with his, sending sparks of electricity through me as he claims my lips over and over again until I can’t even remember the boy’s name who pissed me off when I was thirteen.
11
Murmuring seeps into my consciousness. I extend my legs out on the bed, stretching like a cat, working the kinks out from the turtle position I’d been sleeping in.