Charring Bones (The KORT #4)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

GAGE

T hin Mints and a Modelo are the current source of Ainsley’s unshed tears. Liam set them in front of her, kissed her head, and bolted upstairs in search of his wife. The cookies are in response to a flippant comment Ainsley made as she walked into Theo’s cabin, but it’s clear she knows they mean a lot more than that.

Ask and you shall receive.

Her lower lip quivers before she bites it back. “Where the hell did he get these? We’ve been kind of busy.”

Natasha breezes into the kitchen, rubbing Ainsley’s back as she moves to load a glass in the dishwasher. “Daniel’s little girl, Amelia, is in Girl Scouts. He didn’t have any, but her troop leader had a freezer full, and Liam insisted they be here when you all arrived home.”

Ivy was right. Natasha is romantically involved with Daniel O’Reilly. They’ve still been quiet about it, not quiet enough for the rest of us to miss it. But it’s good. They both deserve happiness and a second chance at family.

Ainsley doesn’t respond. She just stares at the box, searching for something. And I watch her from across the room, soaking up the way this small gesture penetrates her armor. I’ve never been so grateful for Liam’s impeccable timing when it comes to getting the last word. Because we all saw it on the plane—the way she shut down and retreated into that protective shell of hers. The gloom that veils her bright eyes whenever she relives her horrors and fears that she’ll never escape them.

The three on that card smacked her across the face like a backhand from the grave. Like her father, Nick, Tony, and Theo won somehow. Liam and Wells assured her they’d figure it out, Ty reiterated his sentiment about us fighting for each other, and I enfolded her like a shield, barring her insecurities from gaining a foothold. But guilt and apprehension escorted her every breath. I’d be willing to bet she spent the rest of the flight mentally prepping herself to let us go, not because she wants to, but because some part of her is convinced she’ll have to.

Natasha grabs a tissue and gently dabs at Ainsley’s now-spilling eyes. “Oh, they got to you too. The men in this house bring out all the emotions in you girls. Get used to it. There’s no end to the doting around here.” She envelops Ainsley in a hug, aims her affection at me, and smiles. “That goes for your guy too. He’s a big, sentimental softy.”

That has a stilted chuckle falling from Ainsley’s lips as she swipes another rebellious tear. “That he is.”

And with the wisdom that only life can bring through years of ups and downs—the kind of comforting sagacity that Ainsley and I gravitated toward back in our years prowling around the senior recreation center—Natasha pulls back from her, smooths Ainsley’s unruly waves away, and utters the only truth needed. “It’s okay now, honey. You’re home.”

Other than George, no one has ever cared for Ainsley like that. Here, she’s surrounded.

I dip my chin to Natasha and pat my heart in appreciation. She knows what she means to me, to all of us. And she knows that the woman she’s embracing is the gift I never imagined having.

Ainsley nods and whispers, “Thank you, Natasha,” before squeezing her hand, plucking her cookies and beer from the counter, and sauntering over to me.

I wrap my arm around her and corral her upstairs, knowing I need to fuel my girl with that fight that drives her. We unwind in a hot shower together, sharing the beer and a few Thin Mints while shrouded by the steam. And I note the confusion on her face when I wash both of us without ravaging her like a rabid animal. Superhuman fucking strength. But there’s a method to my madness. After combing and braiding her hair, I kiss her on the cheek, and conflict lines her features.

Tender still hurts sometimes, so I’ll ease her into it.

She reaches for my cock—which is not conflicted in the least—stroking the hard length and teasing the head with a sultry moan as she coats her thumb in my precum. For a beat, I nearly cave. But if we jump into this now, she’ll keep her worries to herself. So, instead, I lay the kindling, plunging my fingers inside her and sucking them clean with my own groan of approval before I lean into her ear.

“You know the rules, Ains. If you want a taste, you need to beg.” With that, I smack her luscious ass and amble out to the bedroom without a backward glance.

Several minutes later, when she struts out with a towel coiled around her, I’m sitting in the chair in a pair of joggers, glasses on, feigning that I’m engrossed in something on my phone and not aching to devour her.

And then she sees it. The Scrabble word I left for her.

Wrath rolls off her so violently that it crashes into me as fiercely as her tsunami scent—coconut-seaside decimation. And I am a drooling surfer with a death wish.

“What the fuck is this?” she spits out, brows arched in challenge over her icy blues. “ Crawl ?”

There’s my girl.

“Yeah, I’m over the shit where you wage your goddamn wars in your mind, not consulting me. It’s one word, self-explanatory, and not up for discussion,” I growl back, and you’d think I threw something at her by the way her body jolts in response. I may actually be in fear for my life, but this would be a hell of a way to go out.

She’s ravishing when she goes all savage on me.

Chest heaving. Jaw tight. Eyes piercing.

Wicked.

“Agreed,” she trills, surprising the fuck out of me.

But I’m no fool. She’s growing horns, so there’s no agreement on anything. This is bait. So, I bite. Because all I want is to feed her fire and free her turmoil.

“Good, Ains.” I remove my glasses and set them and my phone on the table. “I’m glad we understand each other, but stop stalling. I don’t appreciate waiting.”

Yeah, if she had a weapon on her, I’d need to take cover. Somehow, she swallows both her bloodthirsty inclination and the indignant scoff she’s desperate to unleash.

“Oh, we understand each other,” she purrs, swaying her hips as she swaggers to the love seat, where she drops her towel and lifts one leg onto the cushion, affording me a delicious view of her pretty pussy. “You’re right. It’s not up for discussion.”

Well played. I’m stunned speechless at the sight of her.

Gorgeous.

She places one hand on the curve of her hip, the other on her bent knee, and her lips curl into a haughty grin. “Crawl to me, Big Guy. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll reward you with a taste. And lose the gray sweatpants. I want to see everything I own.”

Christ, I love this woman.

The guys were right. Her smart mouth is the product of her trust in me. That fiery spirit is who she was before those monsters beat her down, trying and failing to smother her flames. That’s what I saw on the plane—a glimpse of the hollowness that consumed her all those years we were apart. Thankfully, my mere presence seems to stoke her embers, reviving all her scathing glory. When my presence doesn’t get the job done, my mouth usually does.

And, fuck, am I here for it.

But aside from that, the everything-she-owns part of her order is my undoing. Because she does own me. Always has. The difference? It’s abundantly clear she wants to. She’s scared, but that’s because she can’t bear to imagine a life without me. She said as much after we went before KORT. I’m not sure I understood it fully then. I thought she refused to be claimed and asked for money because she needed an escape plan, which I hated but came to respect once I discovered all she’d endured.

That was only part of it though. The other purpose behind her request was so I grasped that I was her picture of freedom, which snakes its way into all the cracks and crevices I’ve been nursing since I was young. She put herself at risk that night so she could save me and prove to me that I was the future she wanted.

It was heroic and asinine and has us in a big fucking mess because if I had claimed her, this missing-card conundrum wouldn’t be nearly as dire. She would have been professing to KORT that she aligned first with them. As it stands, it may look like she’s hiding something or covering for someone. And the truth is, we have no leg to stand on. No way to refute it. No fucking leads on who has that card or where it could be. But we’ll find our way. We always do.

Everything else between Ainsley and me is far more life-altering.

Her going to such lengths to convey how important I am to her is more than I ever could’ve dreamed of in this life.

So, without hesitation, I rise, shuck off my joggers to reveal my hungry, bobbing dick, and get on my hands and knees. Her breath catches, causing her perky tits to bounce and her toned legs to shake. But she holds her own, her chin held high, her Arctic blues threatening to puddle, her heart thrashing around in her chest. I’m not sure about the last one, but mine sure as fuck is hammering my sternum.

My gaze latches on to hers as I haul my bulky, no-business-crawling frame into the first stride toward her. “For that pussy, I’d crawl out of a grave, across broken glass, and through the flames of a blazing inferno.”

Regardless of how awkward this is for me, the impact appears far greater for Ainsley, who is blatantly choked up. Bare and breathtaking, her posture exudes all the confidence she always carries. But there’s so much more behind that. Her pain and insecurities and fears. She can’t hide those from me. I know her heart, her eyes, the measure of her breaths and what the rhythm means. And like I’ve told her again and again, I want everything she is.

How could she doubt that I’d do anything for her? When will she get it? It’s always been this way. She says jump, and I ask how high. Because I’m under her spell? Whipped? Absolutely. And also because I trust that while my girl delivers every wicked fantasy I’ve ever had, she’s also my heaven. My home. My missing piece. Who wouldn’t jump for that? Or fucking crawl?

After the final plod of my hefty limbs, I kneel before her. She doesn’t give me another direction, can’t seem to find her words, so I seize my own liberties. My fingers creep up her toned thighs, a light graze that has shivers racking through her. Her breaths pant out—a silent order for me to take what I want.

Yes, ma’am.

I palm her ass and sweep my tongue over her cunt, gathering her juices and circling her clit, my gaze still glued to hers. “Liquid gold, baby. This is my orange. I want everything.”

She pets my head, her hand brushing over my smooth scalp, her chest rising and falling. And she rewards my subservience with more than a delectable taste.

“I’m scared,” she confesses through a ragged breath.

“Tell me,” I order after another leisurely lick. And as a reminder of how even her darkest wounds are mine to carry, I dust kisses over her inked burn—the fusion of what was stolen and the pieces we still hold.

She studies the gesture with rapt cognizance of all it represents, but anticipating her next request, I return to my post between her thighs.

“Make me forget first,” she whispers, a desperate plea swimming in her blues. “Please. Just be with me. I need you. Then we’ll talk.”

I smile against her pussy, my tongue flicking with a tease while I thrust two fingers inside her. “You’re so pretty when you beg me.”

Smacking her clit hard enough to elicit a shriek, I chuckle, grip her round hips, and spin us so I can toss her on the bed. Without allotting her a second to breathe, I dive back in. Long, languid strokes of my tongue that drive her crazy, but don’t quite deliver what she needs. To rev her up further, I work my fingers into her ass, swiftly breaching the ring of muscles and relishing the way she wiggles and writhes in search of more.

“What do you want, Wicked? Name it, and it’s yours. You summoned me, and I’m here to worship.”

“Everything,” she hisses. “You. Your tongue. Your cock. Please.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” I praise, but not without the sprinkling of degradation she enlivens for. “My greedy slut. I’ll get you everything you need.”

That has her bucking her hips against my mouth, fucking my face, carnal and crazed. “Jesus, Gage. That mouth. So good. I’m close.”

Moving with the beat of her hips, I prod her clit from the side, quick circular swipes in tune with the tempo she’s dictating. And my wicked dream explodes before me. Shaking and sweating and panting nonsensical musings.

She’s so fucking stunning. Radiant. An eternity of watching her come for me would never be enough.

At the tail end of her aftershocks, I slam my steel-hard cock inside her. Rough and unhinged, the way she craves. Her back bows off the bed, and she clasps my arms, her nails etching crescent moons into my flesh. The piercing tingle evokes my own begging.

“Fucking mark me, baby. I want every last inch of my skin to shout that you own me.”

A tear cascades down her cheek. “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Christ, that flays me open.

I bend her in half, so her ankles are bracketing my neck, her knees kissing her shoulders, our chests melded to one another. My arms cocoon her, my mouth caresses hers, and everything slows so I can hammer her with truth. “Don’t you fucking do that. That’s them. Their words. They don’t get any part of this. You. Are. Everything. Perfect. Strong. Beautiful. Mine. And you deserve the world.”

She nods with a whimper because despite this unhurried pace, I’m hitting all the right spots in this position. “You’re my world. You’ve always been my world.”

“And I always will be.” I nip at her plump lower lip, licking the seam as I maintain my steady thrusts. “Nothing will ever separate us again.” I pepper kisses along her jaw and up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Not even death, Ains. My love for you is bigger than that.”

My mouth trails over the column of her throat, down to the dip above her collarbone, and across the swell of her breast to suck her peaked nipple. “I’ll slaughter anything between us.” Pump. “Conquer it all.” More. “Dust to dust.” Pound. “Ashes to ashes.” Deeper. “So, you don’t fucking give up.” My lips return to hers, my teeth issuing the kind of stinging bite that revitalizes her spirit. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” she rasps, her nails puncturing my flesh, like I requested, dragging tracks down my arms. “I love you too.” Her blue eyes waltz over my face, sharing a confession seconds before she graces me with it. “Even more than I did back then. I didn’t think that was possible. But I’d die before I gave you up.”

Even though I saw it, felt it, knew it was true, hearing those words wrecks me. I pull her flush with me, so no space remains between us, and bury my face in her neck. My heavy breaths flow over her sticky skin as I thrust with all I am. “Same, baby.”

We don’t say anything after that. We fall into each other, moving in a cadence that might finally be healing. Not because the world isn’t crumbling around us—because it sure as fuck is. But if it buries us, we’ll still be holding on to each other. That’s enough for me.

And when we fall apart, it isn’t feral or fast or wild and reckless. It’s a slow dance of cradling the here and now. Living forever in the only guarantee we have.

Unwilling to pull out or release her in any capacity, I roll us so she’s sprawled on top of me, my fingers skating up and down her spine, drawing circles on her silky skin.

“Do you think maybe we’ve come as far as we can? Not you and me together. Our time on earth.” Her voice is small with that question, tentative, like she’s sharing a secret, like she’s already decided on the answer and she’s terrified to put it out into the universe.

“I refuse to fucking think like that,” I tell her honestly. “You should too. You’re too much of a warrior to cop to defeat.”

“Maybe that proves my point.” She dusts her fingertip across the nasty scar on my stomach, the one that nearly had me bleeding out right before I escaped the war camp to find my whole world had gone up in flames, wishing I had never survived. “You don’t hear about old warriors for a reason.”

“Because we’re the legends people fucking fear.” I state that unapologetically. I have no intention of leaving this earth anytime soon. But my response was gruffer than intended, so I tack on a humorous, “Those who shall not be named.”

She forces out a hushed chuckle, but her fear is what I hear when she speaks. “I want to believe I can be that for you. I feel like I was that for our son, even though my fight was in the shadows and worthless since he was already gone. Still, it was there. But I’m not sure anymore. I’m so tired.” Her tears seep into my skin, spearing me with all the brokenness she’s still carrying. “I’ve been outrunning the Grim Reaper—that stupid clock and all it represents—for as long as I can remember. Maybe I need to accept the truth it portrayed.”

“Which is?”

“My time is fleeting,” she says, sniffing through her distress. “When I was strategizing to get our son back, there was this conviction inside me that everything I was doing was what I was meant to do. That even though I couldn’t be his mom in person, I was going to make damn sure he was okay. I felt weak and ashamed, but also strong and determined. But now—this card, the KORT deal—even when I think I’m gaining footing … it’s been one disaster after another. Constant defeat. And I’m taking you all down with me.”

I lift her chin, forcing her spilling glacial blues up to me. “We’ve been over this. Your time is eternity. With me. With our family. Even if we surrendered right now, we’d do it together. Because in this life or the last or all the ones to come, we’re a unit. That’s what separates us. That’s what will lead to us becoming those wrinkled warriors.” I kiss her forehead and cuddle her tighter. “But as far as what we do while we’re still on this earth, you leave that to me. I fucking carry it, and you rest.”

Her craggy breath crashes out, but she smiles and closes her eyes. And at least for tonight, she rests.

Ainsley slept so peacefully all night long. Eight hours of being tangled up with her, immersed in her beachy scent. It’s like lying out in the sun, on the goddamn equator, with a foil antenna attached to me. Because, as I suspected long ago, she’s a damn furnace. How something so tiny can radiate that sort of scorching temperature is beyond me. And while this has been an ongoing thought since she first began sleeping in my bed, last night was extra steamy because we were more than entwined. I never pulled out before she drifted off, so I spent the night blissfully sweaty.

I wouldn’t change a single second.

Three separate times during the night, our bodies began moving in a salacious rhythm of their own accord. Without fully rousing from our slumber, we succumbed to it, giving in to our subconscious cravings, only to drift off once again. The entwined furnace led to both rest and multiple orgasms.

Best fucking night of my life.

Since she’s still dead to the world, even though I’ve been bustling about and making a small commotion, I sneak out of our room to get us some coffee and pastries. I texted Ivy earlier, and she assured me she was handling our morning baking with the extra pastries we had in the freezer. I also exchanged some texts with Wells. He gave me the day off. No workout. No a.m. meeting. Only an order to pamper Ainsley until he contacts me. I know what that means. Nothing good. But I choose not to dwell on it right now.

When I return, Ainsley is stirring, and I’m impatient. So, I belly flop onto the bed, the mattress dipping and shaking as I melt into the space beside her. She opens her eyes—or tries to. There are two slits of icy blue glaring at me.

But then she swallows that waking-up rage and attempts a lopsided grin. “Why in God’s name are you so chipper? The sun isn’t even happy yet.”

“How the fuck do you know I’m chipper?” I bite out. “I didn’t say a goddamn word.”

She yawns while studying me. “Your eyes are … dancing.”

That makes me laugh. They might be, so I don’t bother debunking the statement. “Get up. I’ve been awake for over an hour. You’ve been sleeping for more than nine. And the world is about to be orange.”

“Orange,” she mumbles through her sleepy haze, but still musters the strength to argue. “You said my job was to rest.”

“This won’t be strenuous.” I lay one of my T-shirts on her. “Put that on, or I’ll ravage you.”

She arches a coy brow. “And that’s bad?”

“Fuck no.” I snake my hand beneath the sheets and tweak her nipple with a groan. “But the coffee will get cold, and the crossword is waiting.”

Her twinkling eyes widen. “We’re gonna do a crossword puzzle?”

Jesus, this woman. She’s like a geriatric villain in a sexy, feline package. Her love language? Carnage, climaxes, and crosswords. A goddamn fantasy.

“Yes, baby.” I peck her on the nose, dragging her upright. “As soon as you get your scrumptious ass out of bed.”

She throws the shirt on, and when her bedhead pokes through the cotton, her jaw falls open as she catches sight of another surprise I have for her. Her gaze swings to me. “A fort?”

It’s a tepee with lights and pillows inside. I was going to make one out of blankets, like we had done back in the day, but I saw this in a home magazine that Celeste bought for the shelter a few weeks ago. And it looked cozy.

“All your favorite memories happen in forts, right?”

A muffled chuckle escapes her. She’s no longer shocked that I remember every damn nanosecond we were together. But I think she’s touched.

“I’m not sure that’s true since the best moments of my life have happened recently and there’s been no tents involved. But I do love nostalgia.” Her Arctic blues ping-pong around the room before settling on me. “And you. I love you so much for so many reasons, including whatever the hell this is.”

“Good. I love you too,” is all I manage to get out because my nerves are sizzling.

I scurry into the tepee, and Ainsley climbs in beside me a few beats later. My heart is racing, but I lean casually against the stacked pillows, handing her a cup of coffee with her peppermint creamer and a muffin.

“Are we just hanging out in here for breakfast?” she asks. She must sense my anxiety because her face is twisted in bewilderment.

I’m being fucking weird. It’s like I’m back on that sidewalk the first time we talked, willing my legs not to buckle. So, I default to the grumpy asshole she knows and loves. “Not just for fucking breakfast. Doing a damn crossword puzzle.”

“Right,” she says with a stilted giggle, but she takes the folded newspaper, sets her coffee down, and snuggles up beside me.

We work through the clues together, drinking our coffee and eating our muffins in a lazy display of what life should be but rarely is. I hold the pen, writing the words in when we figure them out.

“I dreamed of this,” she confesses, nuzzling her head into my side. “Doing crosswords together.”

“I know. The girls mentioned that,” I rasp, pointing to sixty-four down, which is, Lennon’s woman . “Yoko Ono.”

“It was the normalcy,” she explains, and I feel the weight of it. “When I thought you were gone, my biggest wishes were for the small moments.”

You and me both, baby.

We keep going, but there are only five answers that really matter. I make sure to write those a little bolder so they stand out.

We don’t complete them in the order they go, and of course there are others we solve in between, but it starts to take shape.

“Two letters. Stand by … ”

“Me,” she says. “Easy.”

“Four letters. Last testament .” I drum the pen on the page, as though I were mulling that over, before we both sing out, “Will,” in unison.

A few minutes pass, and she taps the clue— Stephen Schwartz musical . There’s already a W and a C filled into the correct boxes, so after a beat, she excitedly announces, “ Wicked . That’s funny, huh?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle, calling attention to the next prompt. “ It’s not blank ; it’s me .”

“You.” She scoffs. “Some of these are so elementary today. Maybe the lead crossword guy is on vacation.”

I ignore the way that slams into my ego because my heart is thrumming so violently in my chest that I fear it may vacate my body.

And that’s the precise moment her eyes scan the four words I’ve written in bold, which fall in the correct order on the puzzle, aside from the one missing— Wicked, Will, You, Me —before landing on the last clue with quizzical suspicion.

She bolts upright, knocking her nearly empty coffee cup over in the process and muttering the final hint. “ Merge . Five letters.”

She’s practically hyperventilating, so my lungs decide to empty themselves in solidarity. But then her glossy blues flick to me, and I nod.

“Marry,” she whispers.

“Please,” I wheeze, holding out her ring. It’s a cushion-cut citrine diamond, which is technically yellow but appears orange. And it’s surrounded by smaller white diamonds on a rose-gold band.

She bypasses the ring and leaps on top of me, kissing me as though this were our last kiss and she wants to give it everything she’s fucking got. Or maybe it’s the excitement over the prospect of tomorrows that she’s licking into me. Both could be true. Nothing is guaranteed, and yet I desperately need confirmation.

“Yes,” she finally breathes against my lips. “Hell yes.”

Jesus, I feel dizzy.

“Thank fuck,” I heave, sliding the ring onto her slender finger and cradling her face in my hands as both of us dissolve into laughter. “If you’d said no, I would’ve had to burn this goddamn tepee.”

“That would have been a travesty.” She twines herself around me, lifting her fingers into the air to examine the ring. “It’s beautiful, and that was the perfect proposal.”

“You’re beautiful,” I say, pecking her mussed hair, which has mostly fallen free from last night’s braid. “I’ve waited so long for this. I was so scared …”

She pushes off my chest and surveys me. “I’m sorry I made you question. I …” Popping up, she raises her index finger to me, ducks out of the tent, and hustles away, returning a minute later to plunk back down on the pillows. “I have something … from before. And I wanted you … just read the last two paragraphs.”

I take the folded note she has in her hand, realizing it’s one I sent her. “You said your father burned all of them.”

“He did. But this was the one you sent the day before …” She stalls there, no doubt thinking about George, but she pulls it together. “I still had it tucked in my pants pocket, so he missed it.”

And she kept it. My chest aches. I unfold it, noting the places where the ink is smeared and the paper is worn, as though she cried while reading, which wrenches my gut further. It’s not super long, and the first three paragraphs are all about training, so I skim those and move on to the last two, like she suggested.

I’m good at this, Wicked. I feel it. I’m going to be something for you. There are countless opportunities ahead. Whether things pan out with your father or not, I can build us a life now. I hate being away from you. It’s killing me. The days are busy, but the nights are excruciating. So, I dream about us. Everything from the small moments, like working puzzles and cooking dinner together, to big ones, like the family we’ll have someday. Miniatures of you and me running around. I hope that’s not scary. I know we’re still young. It’s just something I’ve realized I want. And, fuck, I love you so much.

I used to be terrified when I thought of having kids. I was sure it was a terrible idea, but you’ve changed that. Being here has changed that. Now, I can’t wait. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m more than where I came from. Sometimes, I even feel grateful for this time apart because I’m going to come back to you as enough. As a man with a solid future to offer you, a future you’ll want, even amid all the shiny ones your family dangles in front of you. I’ll be everything you need, Ains, like you are for me. Your missing piece.

Forever yours,

Josh

She waits for me to be done, and when my eyes coast to hers, she exhales a trembling breath. “I wrote you the letter about the baby and gave it to George the same day he gave me this. While it isn’t the only reason, it’s part of why I didn’t want you to claim me when we went before KORT. I’ve read these words so many times that I have them memorized. They haunted me because I thought you’d died, thinking … and I couldn’t risk that again. I needed you to know that I was with you because you were the only future I ever wanted, not because I was trapped. You have always been more than enough. Everything. My missing piece. We were just—”

“Robbed,” I finish.

“Yeah.” She nods, but her focus drops to her ring.

“Why didn’t you show me this the night after the KORT meeting, when I was pissed? The night with the bottle of Knob Creek,” I clarify because even though I was livid, the image of her naked and staked to my desk will live rent-free in my brain until the end of time.

“I considered it.” She licks her lips, still nervous, but when I sweep my knuckles along her cheek, she continues, “Things were still new. We’d only had a few good days in this alternate reality without fighting. Plus, this was only part of the reason I couldn’t agree to the claiming. I needed you to hear the other part—that I couldn’t be your property. And I didn’t want to use anything from before to justify that decision. It felt manipulative. The letter—that was Josh. I wanted my actions to be enough for you—as Gage—to understand, for you to see how much I loved you , to trust that claimed or not, I was yours.”

“You succeeded.” I kiss her forehead. “I wouldn’t have risked asking you to marry me if I didn’t feel it.”

“Good,” she whispers. “I hate that you believed I was doing the same thing as your mom—”

“I shouldn’t have compared you to her.” I cut through her apology, hating that I was such an asshole to her when she first arrived. “That was cruel. I was just so … hurt.”

“Of course you were. And what you endured with her leaving you with the Morelli Mafia of all people”—her eyes roll with outrage—“I know that’s as deep of a wound as the scars I can see. I’m so grateful we got this chance, so you know that you’re all I’ve ever wanted and worth fighting for.”

She isn’t wrong. Those wounds run deeper than I ever let myself acknowledge. Being thrown away by my own mother is a devastation that contributed to who I am, but it never pierced me like losing Ainsley did. She was always my home. My wholeness. And between her and the family, who has always shown up for me, my painful childhood is a distant whisper.

“Me too, baby.” I tuck a honey tendril of her hair behind her ear, watching it deepen the richness of her chocolate strands and hoping she hears how much she’s healed me. “But don’t think about any of that anymore. That was another life, and you’ve made this one a hell of a lot better.”

My mind wanders to the chaos that Wells and Liam are likely weeding through, the uncertainty that awaits us with KORT and this missing card. Our reality is eerily similar to the one from over a decade ago. We’re in love and together, but the world we’re a part of threatens to plunder that happiness. This time, family is on our side though. Still, I choke it all down and envision this tent as our fortress, blocking out the mayhem.

I pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. Her fingertips ghost over the nape of my neck with a feathery touch. Mine dig into the shimmery skin on her hip and the silky strands of her hair. And when our lips collide, I feel it. This woman rules warmth and cold, satin and stone. No wonder she owns me. She owns everything. So, we’ll find our fucking way.

“My biggest wishes were for the small moments.” That’s what she dreamed of when we were apart. It’s what she still yearns for now. And one way or another, that’s what she’ll have. Even if I have to burn the whole goddamn world to deliver it.

“They robbed us, Ains. But we stole it back. Sometimes, endings are beginnings.”