Chapter 45 Raine
Raine
The storm finally broke by the time they hauled us back to town.
The rain left everything smelling like mud and iron, the air heavy with smoke from burned-out engines and gunpowder.
The medics had patched my ribs, Adam’s arm was wrapped tight, Hawk and Russ were under observation, and Blade had vanished like a shadow the moment the troopers turned their backs.
By the time I closed the motel room door behind us, my body ached in ways I didn’t even have words for.
Exhaustion pulled at me, but adrenaline still hummed in my veins, and there was Adam—alive, standing in the dim yellow light, stripped down to his T-shirt, every line of him carved with strength and weariness.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The quiet between us was louder than gunfire.
“You should sleep,” I whispered, though the words caught in my throat.
His eyes locked on mine, storm-dark and burning. “Not without you.”
Something inside me broke open. Five years of missing him, five years of convincing myself I hated him, five years of silence—all of it crashed down in that single heartbeat. I crossed the room in two steps, and then I was in his arms.
His mouth crushed against mine, fierce and desperate, nothing tentative. His hands slid into my wet hair, down my back, gripping like he could anchor me there forever. I melted into him, fingers clutching his shirt, pulling it up, needing skin.
“Raine—” His voice was ragged against my lips. “God, it’s been so long.”
“Too long,” I breathed, tearing the shirt over his head. My palms mapped the scars I hadn’t seen, hadn’t kissed, hadn’t healed. Every line told a story of survival, of the man who’d never stopped living inside my chest. He had as many cuts on him as I did.
We stumbled to the bed, tangled in sheets and urgency. His weight pressed me down, solid and real, and I arched against him with a sob of relief. Heat flared where his hands gripped my hips, where his mouth claimed the hollow of my throat.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I whispered.
His answer was a growl, low and guttural, as his body surged into mine. “Never again.”
The world outside disappeared. There was no storm, no gunfire, no blood—just us. Two people who’d waited five years for this night. Every kiss was a promise, every thrust an apology, every shuddering breath a vow we hadn’t dared speak.
When release tore through me, it was like breaking open after years of silence. His name ripped from my throat, and he followed me into the dark, his voice raw, his hands clutching me like I was life itself.
After, we stayed tangled together, slick with sweat, our breaths uneven. His forehead rested against mine, his heartbeat pounding against my chest.
“Five years,” he murmured, voice rough but tender. “I’ll never waste another day.”
I touched his cheek, traced the scar at his jaw. “Then don’t.”
And in that quiet, wrapped in the wreckage of survival, I knew neither of us would ever let go again.