Page 60 of Hell On Heels
“I don’t know if it’s true,” he said quickly. “Vicious and Sherlock are looking into it.”
Lottie dropped her gaze, jaw tight enough to show the muscle working there. “But itcouldbe yours.”
“It could,” he admitted, voice low.
He pushed to his feet, unable to stay still anymore, pacing the narrow stretch of floor between them. Each step was controlled, restrained—like if he moved to fast, something in him might snap.
“Per her contract, she was supposed to be on birth control,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “She was supposed to be seeing the club’s physician.”
He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “But if she wasn’t…”
He didn’t have to finish. Didn’t need to. The silence between them filled in every ugly possibility on its own.
“You don’t have to explain that to me,” she said, her voice steady but low. Measured, controlled. Like she ws holding something fragile together by sheer force of will.
He reached for her hand, hesitating when she didn’t immediately give it. The silence stretched, fragile but not empty. Heavy with everything unsaid, everything hanging between them.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were clear. Calm on the surface, but unreadable underneath.
“I’m telling you because I don’t want lies between us,” he said quietly. “No secrets.”
His thumb brushed against her knuckles, steadying himself more than anyting. “I don’t know how this is gonna shake out,” he added, voice roughening at the edges. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. With you.”
The room sat silent, only the faint hum of the stove in the kitchen breaking the stillness.
Finally, Lottie nodded once. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” he asked softly.
She drew in a slow breath, letting it out through her nose like she was steadying herself on the exhale. “What do you want me to say?’ she asked. “That I’m not pissed? I am. That I’m not scared? I am.” Her gaze held his, unwavering.
“But I also know you told me,” she added. “And you didn’t have to.”
Seconds past before she spoke again, “That means something.”
“If she’s lying, we shut it down. If she’s not…” He paused, the words catching like grit in his throat.
“We figure it out,” Lottie finished for him.
“You’d stay?” he asked quietly.
She gave him a look—wounded but steady. “I don’t run easy, Razor,” she said. Not from things that matter.”
That landed hard. He reached for her hand again, slower this time, like he didn’t trust the moment to hold. She didn’t pull way. This time she reached for him to.
Her fingers were warm, grounding. Razor nodded, tension finally easing out of his shoulders slowly.
“I’m sorry this is happening—to us,” he said quietly. He’d barely gotten them back to where they needed to be, and now this.
Razor leaned in, dragging a hand through her hair before threading his fingers into the heavy weight of it. His grip tightened just enough to tug her closer. The kiss was meant to be soft. Quick. Something quiet after everything they’d just said.
Instead, the moment her mouth touched his, restraint slipped. He pulled her against him, the hand at her hair steady while the other settled at her hip. What started gentle deepened fast. Slower than desperate, rougher than careful. The kind of kiss that carried too much behind it. Relief and fear. The need to hold onto something good before life found another way to take a swing at it.
He drew back just enough for his forehead to rest against hers, breath uneven.
“C’mere,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along her jaw.
Lottie moved closer without hesitation, hands settling against him as he leaned back against the couch. His fingers drifted through the loose strands of her hair again, lingering at the nape of her neck as she shifted between his knees, close enough that he could keep hold of her.
