Chapter Eighteen #2
I feel the warmth of her knee pressing against mine beneath the blanket.
I don’t move away, nor does she. I tilt my head slightly, studying her profile in the dim glow coming from the kitchen.
“For the record,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear, “ I wasn’t watching the movie either.
” My fingers brush the edge of the blanket near her thigh—not quite touching but close enough that she knows the offer is there.
“If real life worked like that…I wouldn’t need ninety minutes to decide.
I’d burn the fucking world down for you, simply because you’re mine. ”
Lila stretches dramatically, arms reaching toward the ceiling like she’s trying to touch the sky. “Alright, I’m calling it. If we stay awake any longer, we’ll start making terrible choices.”
Cam reappears from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand. “That ship sailed yesterday.”
“True,” she concedes.
Kiera finally looks at me. Her eyes are tired. The kind of tired that goes deeper than lack of sleep. “You okay if we crash?”
I nod, holding her gaze for a moment longer. “Yeah. Let’s go get some sleep.”
She hesitates, mouth opening like she’s about to say something else, then just smiles. “Okay.”
Cam and Lila peel off down the hall, Lila talking quietly while Cam answers in tired monosyllables. Kiera stands and stretches, arms reaching toward the ceiling. When she looks back at me, her eyes are softer than they’ve been since I met her. “You coming?”
“In a minute,” I say. She nods once and disappears down the hallway into the bedroom.
I stay where I am a moment longer, staring at the dark, empty screen.
The echo of the movie’s fake happy ending still clings to the room—easy confessions, grand gestures, a kiss that magically fixes everything.
I know better. Tonight wasn’t about believing any of it was real.
It was about remembering what it looks like. Maybe in a different life.
I head toward the bedroom, letting the quiet follow me.
Kiera is already in bed, dressed in an oversized shirt, her hair pulled up into a messy bun that looks like it gave up halfway.
She’s propped against the pillows, scrolling her phone, looking up when I stop in the doorway.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I admit, leaning against the frame.
She laughs, unguarded, and I want to ruin her.
"You have dangerously low standards." She has no idea.
I'd burn the world down for the sound of that laugh.
I'd drown her in violence; in every dark thing I've kept locked behind my teeth until now.
I'd ruin her so completely that she'd fucking thank me for the wreckage.
If she were a different person, she could wake up years from now, safe and sane and loved by some better man, and still feel my ghost between her thighs, my name in her throat, my ruin humming through her like a second heartbeat.
Could, if I were ever going to give her up.
“Dangerously low,” I agree. "Lucky for you."
She rolls her eyes but shifts over, making room without a word.
The invitation is casual. Intentional. I kick off my shoes and clothes, sliding in beside her, careful not to crowd her space.
The bed dips, the mattress adjusts like it’s already learned our shapes.
She rolls onto her side, facing me, blanket tucked up under her chin. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“For the movie?” I ask.
“For letting tonight be easy,” she replies. “I don’t get a lot of those.”
I nod. “You should.” And one day she will. With me. Because of me. Despite me.
Kiera studies me for a moment, like she’s deciding whether to say something else.
Then she reaches out, her fingers resting lightly against my arm.
Casual. Dangerous. I glance down at her hand, then back at her.
“You know,” I say, keeping my tone easy, “for someone who was so dead set on being too broken to be loved… You make it stupidly easy.” To want you.
To love you. To have you broken underneath me.
Her brows lift, a grin already forming. She shifts closer, clearly enjoying this. “Sterling Ryder Wraith,” she says, dragging out every syllable, “are you saying you love me?” She thinks she's won. She has no idea what she's asking for.
I snort softly and shake my head. “Not love.” She gasps, pretending to be offended.
“I’m saying,” I continue, cutting her off before she can protest, “that you’re very hard not to be obsessed with.
Which is why I'm going to keep you." I lean in, close enough to taste her fear, her want, her confusion about which is which.
"I'm going to keep you so thoroughly that you'll forget what air tasted like without me in your lungs.
You'll wake up screaming my name and not know if it's a prayer or a curse.
" I tighten my grip, just enough. "And when you finally understand what I am…
when you look at me with real fear, the kind that doesn't excite you,” I pause, letting the silence stretch.
“You'll already be too ruined to leave.”
She laughs, really laughs, and the sound cuts me open. Clean. Precise. She nudges my shoulder like we're friends. Like we're easy. Like she didn't just hear every dark thing I offered her and choose to make it small. “Coward.”
The word lands softly. She means the deflection—the almost-confession.
I left my hand on her jaw instead of her throat.
She's wrong. I catch her wrist before she can pull away.
"You want brave?" I murmur. I don't smile.
I let her see it now; all of it, the hunger, the ruin.
"Brave is what happens when you stop laughing, Kiera.
When you look at me and finally understand I'm not playing.
" I lean in. Close enough that my lips brush her ear, that she feels the shape of my next words before she hears them.
"Coward is me letting you leave tonight.
Coward is me pretending this is banter when we both know," I tighten my grip, just enough to bruise, just enough to last, "I'm already inside you.
Not physically. But here." I press my free hand to her chest, above her heart, and feel how hard it's hammering.
"Here, where you can't scrape me out. Where you'll try to forget me and wake up at three a.m. with my name in your mouth. "
I pull back. Let her see my face. Empty.
Honest. Final. "So, laugh. Call me a coward.
Pretend you don't feel how true it is.” I release her wrist. Watch the blood rush back, pink and alive and marked.
“But when you come back to the truth—and you will, because I've already made sure you can't want anything else,” I smile.
It doesn't reach my eyes. It doesn't need to. “Remember this moment right here.”
She rolls her eyes but leaves her hand where it is, fingers warm against my arm.
I don’t move away. Not ready to say anything, but done pretending this is nothing either.
She slides closer, resting her head against my shoulder.
“Let’s just make it through this before we start making love declarations. ”
A quiet laugh slips out. “Whatever you want, Thorn.” I reach over and turn off the lamp. The room settles around us, soft and dark, no expectations pressing in. We let the silence finish the night for us, and eventually, sleep takes us both.
A single hard knock startles me awake. “Sterling,” Cam calls through the door, voice low and clipped.
“We’ve got a message.” That’s all he says.
I’m upright before the words register. Kiera stirs beside me, already half-awake; her fingers curl tightly into my arm for a brief second.
Like her body knew something was wrong before her mind caught up.
I pull on my sweats and open the door. Cam stands in the hallway, laptop open, the cold blue glow illuminating his face in a way I don’t like at all.
“It came in three minutes ago,” he says.
“Direct. No warnings or alarms were set off.”
Kiera’s behind me now, hoodie pulled on, eyes sharp and clear, despite the hour. “Show us.”
Cam doesn’t hesitate. He steps back, letting us see the screen. Six words surrounded in black staring back at us.
Good morning.
Did you sleep well?
My jaw tightens. “That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it. There’s no entry point. It didn’t set off any alarms,” Cam confirms. It just appeared.”
Kiera leans closer, eyes scanning the words, almost like she’s looking for a hidden meaning. “They know where we are,” she says quietly.
“They know you’re here,” Cam repeats. The screen flickers. Another message appears, slow and deliberate.
You’re building something new.
Be careful what you lock out.
Kiera, lost in thought, reaches unconsciously for my hand. Even in her own head, she’s searching for something to ground her. “They want attention.”
Cam swallows. “And they want you two to remember.”
I stare at the screen again, pulse steady, voice calm. “Then we give them attention.” I pause. “On our terms.” The message doesn’t change. But it doesn’t disappear either. Cam looks at us, waiting to see which way the weight falls.
Kiera’s the one who breaks the silence. “Reply,” she says, her voice firm. No hesitation.
Cam’s fingers hover over the keys. “You sure?”
She nods once. “If they wanted to play, so let’s play.”
I angle myself closer to the table, one hand still wrapped around hers beneath it. “Short,” I add. “Nothing emotional or reactive.”
Cam exhales through his nose. “Minimal and precise. Got it.” He starts typing, deletes it. Tries again. Deletes that too.
“Stop thinking like they’re smarter than us,” Kiera says calmly, her voice steady and ice-cold.
“They want fear. Give them confidence instead.” Cam looks at her.
For a long second, something shifts behind his eyes.
Then his shoulders settle, the tension easing just enough for whatever clicked into place. He starts typing.