Tracing Scars (KORT #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RENA

M y fingertips graze over the injection site behind my ear. It’s itchy, which is often my body’s initial reaction to a piercing, so I suppose a tracker is a similar intrusion in that regard.

Or maybe this coming-out-of-my-skin sensation is due to the awareness that I’m being watched. Even though it’s in my best interest, it still feels violating. Not so different from the reality I’m accustomed to, but more in my face—or in my neck.

It’s more disarming than lurking here in the shadows—my current position.

But I’m guessing the true culprit of the itch is due to the instructions Ty and I received this afternoon, via a KORT courier. Well, the first set of instructions. Let’s start there.

Rena and Tytan,

Your trials begin today. To be clear, while there have been exceptions, most are unaware that they are undergoing a trial. This cognizance is a courtesy extended due to a request made by Tytan.

In response to said request, both of you will be evaluated. However, unlike many of our trials, these are not merely tests. You will be embarking on KORT business—jobs that will serve a greater purpose for the organization.

High risk. High stakes. High reward.

You will receive three tasks to conquer together. Should you succeed in all three of your endeavors—proving yourselves worthy of KORT-level clearance—you will both be invited to attend a final challenge in order to be welcomed into the organization.

The Rules:

Do not share the contents of your envelopes with anyone unless directed otherwise.

Do not investigate further than mandated.

All instructions must be carried out precisely. Should any of the orders be violated, the penalty is immediate failure.

A whole lot of fuckery was laced into that cordial invitation—more like a summons or death warrant. If I had any doubt about that, Ty’s response to my initial inquiry cleared it all up.

As soon as I finished reading, I shot him a quizzical glare. “This is fucking weird,” I murmured, to which he grunted in agreement while I probed further. “What happens if we fail?”

He huffed a repentant sigh, peering at me. “Neutralized.” The word tumbled from his lips with a heap of regret and guilt, as if he hadn’t been carrying enough of that already.

So, I did what I do.

Deflected.

“Chilling,” I quipped while mimicking the sentiment with a theatrical whole-body shiver, followed by a mocking curtsy to keep things light. Then, I assured him I was fucking ready. Born ready. He tried to encourage me to open up, but I was intent on avoidance. Stuffing all the questions I’d been harboring for the past three days since Wells, Ivy, and Celeste had left with Felicity into an I’ll-explore-it-later crevice of my mind.

But later is now. Because we’ve got twenty minutes of a boring-ass stakeout to go before the action, and the quiet makes me anxious.

“Are they all just sick in the head?” That seems as good of a place as any to start.

Ty chuckles. Fuck, he’s sexy in his thievery gear. Dressed in all black—a fitted leather jacket stealing the show—sleek and strong and prepped for destruction. We’re around the corner from our target, shrouded by some gangly trees, behind an abandoned warehouse. I’m perched on the parked motorcycle—a Kawasaki Ninja H2R, which is freaking sick—while Ty paces leisurely beside me. It’s more of a countdown than a stakeout. And he’s been cool as a cucumber. In his element.

“There she is.” He halts his stride and grins victoriously, obliterating the dark in a single gesture. “Are we actually going to talk about this?”

“Yes,” I wheeze the concession with an eye roll. “The silence is killing me.”

Refusing to dig into my emotions about this whole ordeal was bugging him, and for some reason, I enjoyed that. Being the youngest of six cements some bratty tendencies. What can I say? But Ty plays fucking dirty sometimes—like cuffing me to a pillar. This time, he shackled me with quietude. I prefer the cuffs.

“Nothing like waiting until the eleventh hour,” he jeers before toggling our comm microphones off and addressing my are they sickos question. “Yes and no.” He mounts the bike, facing me, his gloved knuckles sweeping across my cheekbone, evoking genuine chills. “The KORT founders transformed organizations involved in despicable criminal activity into a primarily legitimate business. Now, we hold the majority of power throughout the country, and we take care of those who serve under us. To an outsider, it would appear evil, but in the crime world, we’re only wicked when cornered. There’s even a moral code of conduct as part of the bylaws.”

He barks a hushed but dubious laugh, as though he doubts his own assessment while dragging a hand down his face. “It’s twisted. But you already know you’re not in bed with a saint. If the guys and I didn’t have a modicum of respect for KORT, we wouldn’t have pursued seats. And Ivy certainly wouldn’t have gone for it.”

“That answers the no part. Tell me about the affirmative to my sicko query,” I quip, allowing my hands to peruse his solid thighs.

He hedges for a second, but there’s an authenticity to his tone that fuels me. He’s confident I can handle this. “It’s not so different from how your brothers do business. KORT is testing us because they need to know we’re with them no matter the cost. And if we aren’t, they won’t risk the organization as a whole. So, they don’t see neutralizing as evil. They view it as a necessary protection for those counting on them.” His brows pinch, like he’s mulling that over. “It’s still fucking sick. Cross them, and it’s brutal.”

“Okay,” I breathe with a nonchalant shrug—maintaining the lightness my accelerated heart rate is desperately attempting to dispel. “I’m going to rapid-fire all the questions I tucked away so I can wrap my mind around this before we get to it. Ready?”

“Give ’em to me.” He grips my hips with a seductive smirk, but there’s a veneration in his cognac beauties that stills me. It’s clear that Ty will protect me, shelter me even, like my brothers have. But he perceives something else. Competence. A craving I must have snuffed out long ago, but that awakens under his admiring gaze.

“You mentioned a recording to Ivy. What was that?”

He nods. “I had hoped that if KORT saw you chose to be with us despite your brothers’ objections, they’d let it go. Or at least compose a mild loyalty test. They aren’t always the same because they’re based on the threat level the new member poses. Plus, the head of the family usually has the biggest say in the matter. For us, that’s Ivy. You’re being brought in by the O’Reilly family. Anyway, we recorded your reactions the night your family arrived, hoping that would be sufficient.”

“It wasn’t,” I surmise.

“No.” He shakes his head on a swallow, that guilt he so often wears cloaking him again. “It fucking backfired. I’d guess that’s primarily Balzano’s doing.”

“Right. Dear old Dad hates me.” I’m not sure why I care. I hate him more for what he did to my mother, but it’s a devastation I can’t quite describe, knowing there’s a part of that monster inside me. Right up there with my other father insisting I didn’t have what it took to be a Noire.

After verifying our time on his watch, Ty tows my legs over his, sliding me closer. “He hates us all. And he doesn’t even know you. If anything, he’s afraid of you. He’s a fucking cheater who doesn’t want any reminders of his affair around because he’s a worthless piece of shit.”

“Okay.” I peer around the empty space, listening to the drone of traffic in the distance. “Moving on. Is that the connection that Ivy mentioned KORT is concerned about?”

“I’m not sure.” His wheels are plainly turning with that admission, which is a tad alarming—at least one of us should understand what the hell is going on. “I don’t know if Balzano’s affair has been revealed or not. Last I heard, it hadn’t been. And once everything with you got set in motion, Wells became tight-lipped. But regardless, being a Noire doesn’t work in your favor. Your family is powerful. It’s a conflict to be an heir to an organization that isn’t affiliated with KORT.”

“Makes sense. So, I’m starting out at a deficit,” I return.

“Essentially.” His lips hitch up, but he shakes his head, studying me. “We’ll get through this. Together. True north, baby girl. I won’t let anything happen to you. But it’s going to be rough. I feel like I’m choosing between your soul and our families’ lives. Or maybe I’m sacrificing your soul either way. ”

“I’m good. They’re all in danger if we bolt.” It’s not a question, but merely a summary of this mindfuck.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “We’re both considered the highest threat level. I’m privy to all the inner workings. The only way out is death, so if not me, then everyone I love until I show myself—pulse points. And you … since you’re a Noire, they believe you have every incentive to sink a cabal that your family organization is not aligned with.”

“So, all we have to do is pass, and everyone is fine,” I reiterate.

A pensive frown tugs the corners of his mouth down. “Should be. My family serves them—is them—and yours minds their own business. So, once this is done, it’s done.”

Minds their own business. That may not be true, but I won’t ask the what if they don’t question. The answer to that is obvious.

Bobbing my head in acceptance of our delicate situation, I note how full and bright the moon is tonight. “How long do we have?”

“Seven minutes until we can move in.” He pecks my nose and dismounts, resuming his casual pacing.

Suddenly, the crackle of his boots on the asphalt is deafening—a drumbeat of the anxiety I missed earlier. He’s in his element, but slightly outside of his comfort zone. He’d prefer to be perched somewhere he can play God, but that wasn’t the assignment.

Instead, Liam and Gage are stationed as lookouts. They aren’t permitted to intervene, only assist at a distance. That was in the fine print.

Task One:

Rena and Tytan. You may work as a team.

Retrieve all hard drives from the address listed below.

Upon the conclusion of the second shift at eleven p.m., enter the premises. The electricity is linked to a silent alarm that is also on a backup generator. Any disturbance will alert a security team, and a cage will lock you in. There is a forty-five-minute window before the cleaning crew arrives.

From the designated time of entrance to the time of hard-drive destruction, you are granted two hours. No investigation into the business or viewing of hard-drive information is permitted.

Liam and Gage may only assist from afar or in an instance where you are made.

Address: 2192 Rocky Cove

When the three guys read the assignment earlier, they broke into hysterics.

“Fucking child’s play,” Liam howled.

Gage just shook his head, rubbing his fingers over his lips, bald head scrunched in rumination. “The fuck is the point of such a pansy-ass job?”

“Who the fuck cares?” Ty grinned with a sigh of relief. “We’ve got this, Little Moon.” He winked at me, which made my cheeks heat as he tacked on, “One day at a time.”

That last sentence lingers as a reminder that tomorrow’s job might not be so agreeable, but nothing in life is guaranteed. Might as well bask in the gift of the present, and live.

And at present, my husband is reaching for me. “C’mon, baby. Time to get into position.”

We creep behind the warehouse toward the office building as the din of excited voices echoes around us, crouching down with our backpacks on, guns in hand, and our comm microphones operating again.

Ty leans in and captures my lips for a brief yet consuming kiss. “You’re amazing, handling this so well. You know that? Follow my lead, okay?”

Before I can answer, Liam’s voice filters through the comm. “Occupants are vacating slowly. Hold your position.”

The last three days were daunting, tense with waiting, but the anticipation only intensified the bond I’d been forming with all of them.

I kept busy, swimming and working out with the guys. It was all good until they taunted me for quitting early on the first day—which I had to do because who can work out like that? Exhausting, but also excruciatingly boring.

Lunge and sweat and run and lift. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

In response to their mockery, I sprinted into a back handspring, back tuck, and challenged them to do the same in order to make me continue. Fair is fair. If I’m forced to endure their bullshit workout, they can master mine.

They all stared. Silent. Smirking. Blinking. The three men who were Navy SEALs in their former lives, and are trained assassins and cabal leaders now, were stumped. I’m not gonna lie; that was a good freaking moment. I think Liam and Ty would have caved and gone for it—maybe broken their backs or died trying. But Gage immediately became a staunch advocate in permitting me to retire. There’s no way the Big Guy was flipping anywhere. Liam howled and claimed I was dangerous because I’d defeated them with a circus trick. And Ty beamed proudly.

We played music the rest of that day, alternating between our favorites. Liam likes some great classics—mad respect for some of his picks. Gage enjoys a wide variety, including jazz and reggae, which I love. Who would have freaking known? He was thrilled because no one shares his passion for Miles Davis or John Coltrane—both godfathers of jazz. And when we spent an hour listening to Bob Marley, he was in his glory. But the kicker was when I suggested Matisyahu, a more contemporary reggae artist. Apparently, that’s his current obsession, so I struck gold.

And Ty is a ’90s groupie—much like Axel and Ryker—and a lyrics hoarder, like me. But I had already gathered that from the way he related to me through songs.

I even taught them some insider card tricks to beat Celeste next time they play since she kicks their asses at every damn game. That scored me royalty points. It’s probably against girl code or something, but even the queen needs to let someone else carry the crown on occasion.

It was fun and a taste of home. Similar to my easy days with my brothers yet a whole different vibe. Ty got us sushi, tacos, orange chicken, and egg rolls for dinner. All my favorites. And I drank my fill of Liam’s beer.

The next two days followed suit. All of it made my heart ache. Because there was a fragility to those moments, everything teetering in the balance. I didn’t need the walls to pulsate or the lights to buzz with warning. It was in the very molecules of the air haunting me. Hovering over us like a humid blanket—one intent on smothering. One that I knew would descend on us, no matter how much I ignored it.

“Final two occupants are descending the stairs,” Liam informs into the comm before Gage tacks on, “Four vehicles remaining in the parking lot. Continue to hold.”

The way they communicate is so fluid that it’s both intimidating and reassuring. It seems there’s a valid reason for their laughter this afternoon.

But like always, the wait is the worst, so I ease it. “We need a theme song.”

Ty spares me a glance with one cocked brow. “What?”

“A heist theme song,” I whisper back. “How about ‘Today’ by The Smashing Pumpkins?”

He considers this for a moment, his eyes scanning our surroundings while his features pinch in contemplation. “You know Billy Corgan wrote that song about a day when he was suicidal?”

God, I freaking love that he knows music.

“True.” I beam. “Maybe it doesn’t fit since neither of us has any demons.”

My sarcasm is not lost on him, so in the midst of the shadows, weapons drawn, crouched to pounce, we live. For this one moment, Ty and I live, which is all I’ve ever wanted. The reality isn’t a fairy tale per se. And outfitted like a cat burglar—all-black attire, a sleek Kevlar jacket, and hair tucked up tight in a beanie that is folded down to be a ski mask, which has comfortable openings for my eyes and mouth—I’m not exactly nailing the princess role anymore. But the low chuckle seeping from the depths of him is … everything.

“We’ve got some pussy convo near a grocery-getter eating up our goddamn minutes,” Gage barks into my ear. “Stand down.”

Since we have another beat, I explain my reasoning. “I like the dichotomy of that song. I don’t know exactly what he meant, but it seems he was broken but fighting. Grieving but grateful for the day. Hope weighed down by hardship, but still blooming. The upbeat tempo and the dark lyrics, mixed with periods of whimsy. It’s this. It’s us.”

He rolls his head toward me, nodding on a ragged breath as he pulls his hat over his face. “It’s exactly us.”

“Great. It’s playing in my head.” I smile, partly because all of life’s grand events deserve a soundtrack and because I want Ty to see that I belong. That no matter how dark this life is, I won’t stop shining for him.

“All clear,” Liam announces. “It’s go time.”

“Roger that,” Ty responds before tugging my wrist. “On me, Little Moon.”

We scurry through the alleyway, skulking in the shadows until emerging beneath the bright glare of the parking lot lights and ascending the steps to the main entrance of an office building. Ty whips out his handheld RFID code reader/writer, which looks like a chunky phone. The guys showed it to me earlier. They have a slew of fascinating toys.

He steadies it in front of the alarm system, taking a reading before enabling it to write that code onto a key card, similar to what the employees use to enter. But when he swipes the card, the numerical pad beneath it blinks.

“It’s a two-step entrance,” Ty says into the comm. “The card codes are backed up by a password. Could be an employee birthdate. I’m sending the encrypted code to you. Can you match it?”

“No names are listed for this business,” Liam mutters, the pecking of his search filtering in during the pause. “Looks like they have employee numbers. Give me a minute.” Seconds tick by in the eerie stillness. My heart rate ratchets higher, and dread courses through my veins until Liam’s confidence breaks in. “Try this password with the code you just sent—94117 pound 283.”

Ty swipes the card again prior to punching the numbers in, and the keypad glows green with a beep and a click of the lock. “We’re in.”

Swinging the door open, he guides me inside. There’s a landing before a bi-level setup. We can either go up or down. He pushes me against the wall, instructing me to stay as he flicks on his headlamp and evaluates the bottom floor.

After only a brief inspection, he heads back up to me. “That’s storage. What we need is upstairs.”

When we reach the second floor, Ty’s arm flies out, curling around my waist, his focus trailing three small boxes adhered to both sides of the entrance walls.

“Fuck me. Security beams.” He slides his backpack to the floor, digging as he hisses into the comm, “What the fuck is this place? It’s got a three-beam barrier.”

Impressive. I would have never noticed those.

“That’s fucking overkill for that dingy little building,” Gage volleys. “Got your smoker?”

“I don’t think so,” Ty returns, still rummaging through his pack with a slight hint of panic. “I packed light, so we had room for the hard drives.”

“What’s a smoker?” I ask, studying the room beyond the security beams. It’s dark, but there are small lights peeking out from shelving units that line the walls. Those must be the server cabinets the guys told me to expect.

“We can’t avoid the beams if we don’t know where they are. So, we use a smoker to see them, but none of us could have predicted this shithole would be guarded like a goddamn fortress.”

“I’ll leave Gage to keep watch and head back for one,” Liam offers. “It’ll put us fucking tight, but maybe we can run a diversion for the cleaning crew.”

“No need,” I say, and Ty’s eyes flit up to mine before I drop my bag. “I have something we can use.”

“What?” he asks, hopeful and frenzied.

Knowing this will be received with skepticism, I avoid eye contact and simply grab my handy tools from the front pocket of my bag. “I’ve got a joint.”

Ty rubs his jaw, but a ghost of mirth veils his face. “You brought a fucking joint on a job?”

I shrug as Liam and Gage laugh in my ear. “Sometimes, butterscotch doesn’t cut it.”

“Fucking classic. Toke away,” Liam quips. “We’re at T-minus twenty-eight.”

With that encouragement ringing, I flick my lighter on and peer at Ty for an official confirmation.

“Don’t inhale too deeply. I need you lucid for this.” He grins on a disbelieving exhale and points me in the right direction. “Blow it right there, baby girl.”

I pull a small drag and release a pall of smoke into the threshold that the beams are guarding. It immediately illuminates two, which form an X at about shoulder height, but that cloud misses the third.

“Okay. Another one,” Ty rasps, gesturing to the lower half. “Down here.”

After my second hit, the plume cascades to the floor, lighting up a beam at about knee level.

“Good,” he commends. “We can army crawl. You ready?”

“Yeah.” I squeeze the tip of the joint to snuff it out and stick both it and the lighter inside my jacket pocket while I ponder options.

He tosses his bag through the opening in the middle before taking mine and throwing it over as well. “I’ll go first.”

He drops to his belly as I switch on my headlamp and wait for him to give me the go-ahead. Once he slithers underneath the lowest beam, I step easily through the middle opening, which garners an irritated groan from him.

“That’s not what I told you to do.”

“I know,” I say, heaving my bag onto my shoulder. “But I’m smaller than you and better on my feet.”

No response. Just a disgruntled scowl.

Smoke still wafts through the air. And the scent of the pot melds with leftover body odor and stale coffee for an unfortunate stench, but I try not to dwell on it.

Meandering through the office space, we ensure that the server cabinets are only on the far wall. There’s another set of security beams back here, shielding the hard drives we need, so we rinse and repeat.

Drag and blow. Slither and step.

Popping the hard drives out is a simple process of releasing the two side pins holding them in place and pulling them out. There are ten, which Ty remarks is an absurd amount of data for this office. The unknown is clearly wearing on him. We have no idea who we’re stealing from or what the point of this is. But what looked to be an inconsequential pillage appears to be a high-stakes heist.

“Thirteen minutes and counting,” Liam reports as we carry out our entrance acrobatics in reverse.

“Looking good, Little Moon. Let’s jet,” Ty croons as we slink back to the main landing and click off our headlamps.

He hauls me toward him, nibbling on my lower lip and licking at the seam, his cognac hypnotizers capering all over my fabric-covered face with unspoken adoration. He obviously thrives in the rush of this life he’s made for himself. And I feel on top of the world to be by his side. Freaking invincible.

“We’ve got company,” Gage barks, shattering our celebratory union. “Cleaning crew is early.”

“Motherfucker,” Ty snarls, snatching our backpacks from the floor. We slip them on, and he grabs my hand, towing me down the stairs .

By the time we emerge before the main door, Liam’s voice greets us, “Going in for directions. Hold until we’re in position.”

We wait, hearing the squeal of truck tires that most certainly belong to Liam and Gage. As soon as we hear Liam asking the cleaning crew how to get somewhere, Ty cracks open the door and ushers me back outside. Both of us bolt around the entrance and through the alleyway, guns drawn, breath held, footsteps light until we materialize before the bike.

“We’re out,” Ty reports, sliding my helmet on before his own.

In a flash, we’re zooming through the back streets—my arms tucked tight around his ribs, chest melded to his back as he holds me close—heading back to the house to destroy the loot, as directed. But Ty surprises me when he veers off course, taking a sharp turn and parking in a field beyond a batch of wild palm trees that seems to be battling Mother Nature for survival. Everything out here is clinging to life.

He leaves the bike running, but hops off, dragging me off in a rush as well. It makes me wonder if I zoned out, missed something on the comm. His whole body is vibrating with intensity as he drops his backpack and shoves mine to the ground with it. After ripping off his helmet, he unbuckles mine. I yank it off, breathless and on edge.

“What the hell is happening?” I gasp.

He ignores me for five agonizing seconds, tapping something out on his phone while my stomach cramps with worry.

Wrenching his knife out of his pocket, he flicks it open. Wordless. His fingers curl into my waistband, extending the fabric of my leather pants and silk panties away from my body while my heart thrashes against my sternum. In a deft swipe, the blade sinks into the material of my clothing, splitting it open right at the crotch, which is confounding.

He doesn’t explain himself, just taps his phone again. But with the hunger rolling off him now and the itch burning in my bones, I think I’d be amenable to him burying me in this desert if his dick were involved. And when the opening notes of “Today” pipe into the desolate field, I smile so big that it hurts.

He tucks his knife away, rips that small slit into a generous hole, whips off my beanie, and hoists me into the driver position of the bike.

“Fuck,” I wheeze, my bare clit exposed to the warm roar of the engine.

“Thought you’d like that, Little Moon,” he boasts in harmony with his zipper and the hope-drenched sorrow drifting from his speaker. “You’re so goddamn sexy.” His tenor is husky, brimming with a gravelly, crazed desire. “I need to fuck you right now.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, avid yearnings blasting through my bones. “I’m good with that.”

He climbs on behind me, and his palm smooths over my spine, flattening me so that my ass tips up to him. “That’s it. My dirty girl. Depraved and desperate. Just like me.”

Something about that has me wiggling, squirming, eager to be as filthy as his deepest fantasies.

He teases my opening with his piercing until I’m a frenetic mess of unmet cravings.

“Always so fucking wet. Your perfect pussy is weeping everywhere,” he praises, fisting my hair so that my back arches and my clit smashes further into the juddering motorcycle. “Look at you, trembling, aching for my cock.” A guttural groan billows out of him as he issues his order, “Beg me, baby girl. Tell me what you want.”

“Please, Ty,” I purr without a trace of shame. I am desperate. “I need you inside me.”

“Need what inside you?”

“That mammoth, pierced cock.”

“Yeah? Not yet,” he rasps, and the sound of his sultry voice, along with the weed in my system, the high of the heist, and my quivering clit could do me in. But he ignores my request and plunges two fingers inside me for a solitary dip, removing them quickly and sucking them with an inciting slurp. “Your cunt is glistening so pretty for me. I needed a taste. So fucking sweet, baby girl.”

“Ty,” I snarl, growing impatient. “Now.”

“So greedy.” He huffs a haughty chuckle. “You want to be my good little slut, getting fucked in a field?”

God, that does something to me. Far more than when he calls me a good girl. A feral moan tears from my lungs.

He continues perusing my opening, encircling the rim but dangling what I begged for out of reach. He’s obviously lost to the buildup, and ordinarily, I’d support that. Foreplay is fantastic. But I’ve had my fill, so goading is in order.

I shimmy my hips, relishing the added friction with a whimper. “Own me, sexy sailor. But don’t take all night about it, or I’ll become this bike’s whore with or without your cock.”

His boisterous laugh bellows into the night as he finally drives inside me, ramming into an organ I’ll need to take off my donor list. “There’s the sass I crave. Jesus, you’re a fucking dream.”

The way he fills me up is intoxicating—infiltrating the unseen, mending my scars, seeping into my bloodstream to consume every crevice of my being. Like I’m not quite me without him. The jolts and pinches of his piercing hitting my inner walls are euphoric, hauling me to the summit.

He curls his fingers over my hip bone while the other hand remains fisting my hair, and he lies on top of me, pressing me into the quaking engine as he sucks on my ear. “My beautiful brat.”

Pump.

“You were brilliant tonight.”

More.

“One of us. Ours.”

Thrust.

“Calm, smart, sexy.”

Harder.

“You’re more. You hear me?”

Pound .

“You’re fucking everything, Rena.”

Again.

“And you’re mine.”

Slam.

“My fucking wife,” he growls with a shuddering tremble, his breath cascading over the nape of my neck to shower me with tingles.

It’s as though he’s reminding himself, so in my heady state, I muster the strength to volley it with an added sentiment—one I want him to embody with all he is.

“Yours, Ty. Always yours. This is living.”

And his words and the friction, his breath and his passion—it all cocoons me in a deeper belonging than I’ve ever known. His belief in me is the salve to a lifetime of burns I didn’t realize I was nursing. Wounds of not enough . Never enough .

But tonight, I was. Tonight, I wasn’t impulsive or reckless or someone who needed to be handled.

So, right here, in the dark of night, beneath the canopy of stars, and the withering foliage, I become. Not just Ty’s. I become me. More. Enough. Theirs.

Blooming in the desert instead of blueberry fields and rain.

And as we float and fly and revel in our untethered ecstasy, he enwraps me in his warmth and whispers, “You make me want to live,” into my ear, which is probably the hardest and most profound statement Ty’s ever spoken.

And he said it to me.

We hustle back to the house afterward with only twenty-two minutes to spare. The guys waste no time, spreading the hard drives out and smashing them to bits with the meat tenderizer before throwing them into the fire—all while I change my pants.

Finally, Gage glares at us. “Where the fuck were you two?”

Ty declines to answer, sipping his Kraken and Coke with a silent gloat, but where’s the fun in that?

“He fucked me in a field on his motorcycle,” I say before taking a pull from my Modelo .

Liam cackles, Gage smacks Ty on the shoulder, and my husband? He shakes his head in embarrassment, but can’t hide his smile. He’s happy.

Proven further when he drags me into his lap, crooning a tribute to our theme song. “Today really was the greatest day I’ve ever known. Every day with you is.”