Epilogue
MAVERICK
“Hopper didn’t kill that bicycle rapist last night, did he?” Boone asks, sounding exhausted.
“Nope. Hop was with Bailey, teaching her how to swim.”
Boone’s chuckle warms me, even through the phone. “How did that go?”
“She picked up on it so fast, and then we could barely get her out of the water for her bedtime.”
Liam and Hopper have officially moved to Austin, taking one of the penthouses in our building. I’m told the rest of the New York gang is considering setting up residence here as retirees, and…I’m pretty sure that’s a good idea.
Possibly.
Maybe.
“That’s good to hear,” Boone says.
What were we talking about?
Oh. Swim lessons and dead assholes.
“What’s this about the rapist, hon?”
“Ugh.” The thunking sound means Boone is knocking his phone against his forehead again. “Messy. So messy. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Hopper because his kills are always way neater, but I had to double check, just in case he was in some sort of rush or something.”
“I wonder if it was one of the victims,” I ponder, easing back into my seat as the cabin lights dim, still buzzy from wrapping on Ru’s shoot ahead of schedule.
“I don’t wonder that,” he says with a grin I can hear. Lowering his voice, he says, “In fact, between you and me, it seems like there’s a lot of dead ends to this case.”
Oh how the tables have turned.
I tsk. “Sounds like you’ve been compromised, Detective Hitchens.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, his voice dirty like a dream, “I would love to compromise you later on tonight.”
I chuckle. Sex with Boone is the best I’ve had in my life, and that’s not just the girth talking. He’s become a dedicated student of my body, and I gotta say…he’s definitely on the honor roll.
That said…
“Can we use your apartment so my cousins don’t complain?”
For as loud as some of them get, I think they’re being a bit hypocritical.
“Sure. Hopper’s upgrades mean I can make you scream, and no one will hear you.”
I laugh, hard. “Not sure you meant for that to sound as sister as it does.” I roll my eyes. “Sinister.”
“Baby, all my thoughts for you are sinister,” he growls. “In fact, I think we should go for a record.”
“A record of what?” I ask, wary. “Minutes you won’t let me come? Times you make me come, even when I swear I don’t have another in me?”
“Both.”
That one word drips with promise, and if there’s one thing I know about my man: he keeps his promises.
“Sounds like a plan.”
We say our I love yous and hang up. The engines hum beneath me, steady and familiar.
Thinking on it again, I pull up Hop’s number.
“Maverick! Are you coming into the warehouse today? Bailey wants to show you the sculpt she’s working on,” he says, his accent warm and vibrant as always.
Hopper teaches little kids how to work with clay now, and it is the funniest thing on the planet.
Even better? He’s really good at it.
He’s also shown Boone and me the basics of pottery, and Boone insists that one of these days, he and I are going to recreate a scene from some movie about a ghost.
Not sure what that means, but I’m excited to find out.
As for the kids’ classes, we’ve learned to keep Angela Lansbury home on those days, but Patch the Great Dane doesn’t mind it when the little ones hug him with muddy hands.
“Might stop by on my way home from the airport. I can’t wait to see it, Hop.” I hesitate. “I do have one question though…”
“Shoot.”
“You didn’t kill that bicycle rapist last night, did you?”
Hopper curses, and for half a second, I worry that I steered Boone in the wrong direction.
“Are you telling me,” he asks, his boots loud on the warehouse floor, “someone got to that dickhead before I did?”
My uncle created a lot of trouble with those art kills, and now he’s acting put out? Ha. We finally called Uncle Luca to get him to stop arranging the bodies into artistic poses.
Even after that, making the John the Baptist stories go away was a beast of a project, and in the end, we had to frame some rich jackass from Gina’s list.
Ugh. That asshole.
He made his money off forced prostitution and sweat shop labor, and he was the kind of guy who rented out galleries to showcase his deeply mediocre paintings. His rich friends lapped it up like fine art.
Barf.
Those shitty paintings are worth a fortune now that he’s died so scandalously. I wonder how much they’d be worth if people knew he cried like a little bitch when Dad, Silas, and I showed up at his mansion.
Which reminds me…
As an official Guardian, I kick so much ass. After taking down a linebacker hopped up on meth and bad decisions, Holmes and Honoré asked me to introduce them to Professor Davi. Now he’s kicking their asses too.
Heh.
Oh wait.
I’m in the middle of a conversation.
“What was that, Uncle Hop?
“I said, did someone get to that fucker before I did?”
“Uh, yeah. Looks like it.”
“Ah, man,” he says, disappointed as a little kid finding out their favorite flavor of ice cream is sold out. I can practically see the poopy-kick.
“Sorry, Hop.”
“Well. Bailey’s gonna be an Olympic swimmer and a world-class sculptor.” He sighs, sounding so very dreamy. “Not a bad consolation.”
I think that’s a lot to expect of a four-year-old, but then again, what the hell do I know? I only just convinced Boone to let me upgrade his wardrobe for this season’s charity balls.
He looks as unfairly hot in thrifted clothes as he does in a custom-fitted suit. Since he fulfilled my fantasy nineties movie makeover moment, I let him take me to bed and do all sorts of untoward things to me.
I’m generous like that.
By the way, do you know how hard it is to get dried cum out of curly hair?
A nightmare, I tell you.
Refocusing on the conversation at hand, I laugh. “Yeah, Hopper. A talented, smart daughter is one hell of a consolation prize.”
“You know what I mean. So, are you joining us?”
“Yeah, for a little bit.”
“Has Boone thought about Rami’s suggestion of going into politics?” he asks, switching gears.
Having a man on the inside of APD is useful, but having another Wildling in the state house would be something else.
“He loves what he does too much right now, but there is some appeal to the idea. Just a guess, but he’ll probably stick with the police department through his mid-thirties and then work his way into politics.”
“A reasonable solution,” Hopper says. He chuckles. “How did I end up with two brilliant kids?”
“I don’t know, Hop. Just lucky, I guess.”
BOONE
I roll into my gorgeous complex, smiling. Hopper hated my living arrangements, but Maverick agreed that the location was fantastic. I may have taken him on romantic midnight walks to the mall to seal the deal and have zero compunction about cheating on that front.
I’d agreed to limit my smoking to our walks, but then Maverick got one of his Elijah Energy cousins to engineer a high-quality, noncarcinogenic tobacco after my favorite blend. Now they’re rich all over again and he’s pretty smug about the whole thing.
More importantly, he says my cigarettes still smell magical in the late-night fog.
As for the living arrangements, Hopper went around us and bought out the entire complex, plus the creepy one next door, then paid for one of the Wildlings’ aunts to upgrade both.
I pointed out that I could’ve done all that with the money from my trust, and he laughed long and hard about that.
His response? “I’m allowed to do nice things for my son.”
A sure sign he’s been converted to the Loyal Hitchens school of affectionate manipulation.
I declined to point out that “nice things” usually mean buying someone dinner or a new set of tires, not turning an aging twenty-four-unit complex into a luxury six-unit property, or paying to move the displaced residents into the now super family-friendly modern complex next door.
Hop made sure I got the unit with the best light, though he did warn me that I still had to show up with Angela Lansbury at his foundry on a regular basis.
As if that would be a hardship.
Maverick is waiting for me as I walk in the door, and we go to each other, as we always have. Our lives are forever shifting around the family and the work he’s doing with the Guardians, but we are rock solid. He hasn’t told his cousins yet, but he’s agreed to move in with me.
I suspect it has to do with the fact that I now own multiple walk-in closets with fancy lighting.
Or possibly the fact that the few nights we don’t spend together are torture for both of us.
Either way, I can’t wait.
When I think about that brave teenager and his wilted bouquet of flowers all those years ago, I’m grateful for where we ended up.
Joni retired last month and maintains that I was one of her favorite detectives to mentor.
I’m second in command of our homicide team, and the Guardians keep me pretty damn busy.
I initially struggled with the ethics of murder-for-good, but the conclusion I’ve come to is that the government probably shouldn’t be in the business of avenging people, and the justice department, with all of its changes, does a pretty good job of taking care of the average criminal.
For the above-average criminal, however, they still struggle.
On that front, I have no problem bringing in the Guardians.
Maverick drags me to our massive en suite, and we shower together, running our hands all over each other, caring for each other, washing away the remnants of a long day. After soaping him up, I take him in my arms and pull our cocks together, jacking us ever-so-slowly.
A little light teasing, if you will.
“Please, Boone. Please let me come.”
“I will,” I say with a grin. “But you’ve gotta answer one question first.”
“You’re frying my brain cells,” he whines. “How the hell am I supposed to answer correctly?”
“Don’t worry, love. It’s just a yes-or-no question.”
I continue jacking him with one hand as I feel around behind the soap with the other.
My fingers land on metal, and I hold up the plain gold band as I speed up the intensity of my strokes.
His eyes, half-closed and glazed with lust, take a moment to focus.
When they do, he gapes at me, dumbfounded and, as always, gorgeous when wet.
I raise a brow. He curses.
“That’s not the answer I was looking for, darling.”
“Yes,” he chokes out, coming all over my hand. “Fuck yes.”
“Good answer,” I say, licking my hand clean as I kneel before him. The water pounds down on us, and we’re both breathing hard, staring at each other.
“I have no regrets about turning you down all those years ago,” I say, slipping the ring on his finger. “But now I hope you’ll be willing to let me love you until the end of my life.”
He pulls me up to standing, stroking me slowly, kissing me with everything he has. I’m close, so close.
“And I will love you,” he whispers, sending me over the edge with a smile, “’til the end of mine.”
Thank you for reading Unlawful Desires!