Page 33 of Cruel Kiss

Two men who have both, in their own crooked, criminal, impossible ways, thrown themselves between these two children and the dark. Looking at each other across a parking lot full of minivans.

I turn back to Todd.

And I give him the truth. Not the easy version. Not the kind version. The one I haven't said out loud to a single soul, not even to myself, not in the mirror I threw a soap dispenser at, not in the dark at two in the morning.

"Yes," I say. "He's better to them than I ever thought possible."

To his credit, he takes it on the chin. His eyes go glassy. He nods, quick and tight, and looks away down the block, blinking hard.

"Good," he says. "That's what I wanted to hear. I mean it. That's the best news you could've given me."

He looks at his children one more time.

"Take care of yourself, Cal," he says. Then he turns and hustles away, quick and hunched, hands jammed in his pockets, keeping to the shade of the buildings. He's around the corner and gone before Isabella has any idea her father was ever there at all.

I stand by the SUV for a second.

My legs don't feel entirely attached to my body. I just put a hand on the warm metal of the door to remind myself which way is up.

"Mommy!" Isabella has been released and is barreling toward me now. "I made a crown! Look! I'm a princess!"

"I love it," I say in the most normal voice I can muster. "It's the most beautiful crown I've ever seen."

Ronan opens the back door and swings Isabella up into her booster seat. Hayden climbs in the other side, still yammering a mile a minute. I get into the passenger seat as the kids get all buckled in and situated.

When Ronan is done double checking the seatbelt straps, he shuts the door and slides behind the wheel. Quietly, so the kids can't hear it, he asks:

"You alright?"

I look at him. Gray-blue certainty, that firm jawline, the stubble, the ferocity, the perfection, the infuriation. All of Ronan Akov, right there to be seen and admired all at once.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm alright."

And then I reach out and take his hand.

Just for a second. Just to hold onto something.

After a millisecond of hesitation, his fingers close around mine. "Hold on tight, kiddos," he says with a smile. "Let's go home."

10

CALI

Whoever chose the alarm sound for my fancy new front door certainly knew what they were doing.

I'm awake all at once, sitting up, heart pounding before my eyes even crack halfway open. In this state of semi-consciousness, I have all the grace and lethal potential of a drunk wombat, but that doesn't stop me from stumbling into the hallway and fumbling around for any kind of weapon I can get my hands on.

I do in fact find something dangerous.

It's hard. It's hot. It's solid.

It is, unfortunately, Ronan's crotch.

I know it right away, but my brain still splutters up excuses and possible alternatives. Hoping—no,praying—that it's not what I think it is. My hand freezes.

A door handle? A flashlight? The banister?

None of those.