37. Future
Temper
I 'm still staring at the TV, jaw slack, trying to process what the fuck I'm seeing, when Bones walks inside my house.
"Ria sent you some weird-ass cake to try from the shop, baby," he calls casually, like the world isn't currently losing its shit on live news.
I don't even acknowledge him. I can't tear my eyes away from the screen.
"Baby?" His voice dips lower, more alert now. A second later, his fingers are under my chin, gently turning my face toward him. "What's wrong?"
I don't answer. I just lift a hand and point at the TV.
The bold, flashing headline slashes across the screen in big, capital letters.
MASS EXECUTION IN PRISON — 43 MEMBERS OF CRIMSON RIDERS DEAD OVERNIGHT.
Forty-three. All of them.
I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "Bones... what did you do?"
Do I celebrate? Do I panic? I don't fucking know.
He glances at the TV for half a second, then his attention is back on me, completely unfazed. "Served justice." His voice is even, calm, like he's telling me about the weather. "It was in the works since day one. Over five years of planning. Waiting. Greasing hands to move around cellmates until the right ones were in place. Then waiting some more — years — before giving the order."
My stomach tightens. Five years.
This wasn't impulse. This wasn't planned in a few months. This was patience. Precision. A whole-ass mass execution. I knew about Jinx. But to plan for just one man can't even compare to planning for forty-three.
I gulp. "What if they connect it to you?" My voice is hoarse. Fuck.
His lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Impossible, baby." He leans against the couch, arms crossed, watching the news with detached amusement.
"The attackers are tied to multiple gangs. No connection between most of them. Chosen carefully. None of them know why their bosses gave them the command — they just got paid." His grin widens, flicking his gaze back to me. "Hell, not even their bosses know it came from me. They have instructions to give only one name when interrogated."
I already know before he says it.
"Jinx." His smirk sharpens. "He's officially a fugitive, after all. A criminal with a shitload of connections before he went to prison. Connections apparently powerful enough to help him escape and erase him without a trace. Who's to say he also didn't have money stashed somewhere? From all those illegal activities of his?"
He tilts his head. "Maybe the FBI missed something. Maybe Jinx felt his so-called brothers knew something that would help the FBI trace him."
A thought slams into me. My eyes snap up to his. "They called me, you know. The FBI. After he was declared a fugitive."
His grin doesn't waver. "I know."
I narrow my eyes. "How the fuck do you know that?"
He shrugs, all easy amusement. "Because it's protocol for them in these situations, baby."
Suspicion curls in my stomach. "Are you listening to my fucking calls?"
At that, he bursts out laughing. "No, baby. No. I may be a crazy stalker, but even I know what limits I can push with you without losing my fucking balls."
The tension in my chest loosens. Just a little. And then, before I can think about it too much, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight, his warmth enveloping me.
This man.
He would literally burn the world down for me. That's not just a figure of speech with him. He'd grab all the gasoline he could find and light the fucking fire without a second thought if I wanted him to. If I needed him to.
The feeling inside me — the one that's been gnawing at my ribs for weeks — pushes up, up, clawing at my throat, refusing to stay silent anymore.
I lean back just enough to look up at him. My arms circle his neck, and I press my lips softly to his. His forehead rests against mine, smiling.
"I love you so fucking much, baby. Now let's eat that weird cake Ria sent over."
And I can't keep it in anymore.
"I love you too, Bones," I whisper.
He freezes. His breath hitches. His arms go rigid around me. When he leans back, his eyes — fuck, his eyes
— are wrecked. Wide with awe.
"I didn't think I'd ever hear you say those words again." His voice is quiet, reverent. Like he just witnessed a miracle. He swallows hard. "Say it again. Please, Temper. Say it again."
I smile, tilting up to whisper against his lips, "I love you, Bones."
A quiet, broken sound escapes him, and then his mouth crashes into mine, his arms locking so tight around me I can barely breathe. But I don't fucking care.
"I didn't think I'd ever say those words again, either," I murmur against his lips when we finally pull back for air. "But here we are. When you put your mind to something, you really plow ahead." I smirk at him.
His lips twitch. "That's a polite way of calling me a stubborn asshole."
I step back, looking at him. "I have something for you, a surprise."
He raises a brow, amused. "Baby, you just gave me the greatest fucking thing ever. Nothing can top that."
I roll my eyes. "Shut up and wait here."
I run to my home office, open the drawer where I've been keeping his gift, and return with a sheet of paper. I hand it to him.
"It's a tattoo design," I say, suddenly feeling a little nervous. "Similar to mine. Just... manlier . So you don't lose any badass biker points." My fingers trace the ink on his throat. The mark of his guilt. The weight of his self-punishment. "It's time, Bones. Time to cover this. Turn something ugly into something beautiful. Just like you once told me."
He stares at the paper. His hands tremble slightly. And then he looks at me, haunted.
I can see the battle in his eyes. The words stuck in his throat.
I touch his face, smiling softly. "Step into our future with me, Bones. Leave the past where it belongs. Take the lesson with you, but don't let it keep you chained."
He exhales sharply, then cups my face, pulling me in again, holding me close like I might slip through his fingers. When he leans back, his forehead presses to mine. His voice is raw.
"I love you. I'll always love you." His lips brush mine, just a whisper of a kiss.
"And I'll step into our future with you."