Page 102 of Fuse

And yeah, I’m even going to remember the dire, consuming relief of this moment too—as she finally joins me in the Rover’s back seat, tumbling into the car headfirst as Foley guns the engine, peeling the tires in the peaceful Palos Verdes night. Every blue-hair in every other estate on this block has likely scribbled the car’s license and reported us to the police by now, but I don’t give a flying fuck. If I’m never welcomed back in this neighborhood again, it’ll be too soon. I only want to get to our ridge again. Everything I need is there.

Correction.

Everything I need is finally, finally, back in my arms again.

My sweet Bunny.

My perfect Velvet.

My astounding angel.

And now, truly, the magnificent more of my world.

What an adventure this is going to be.

I can’t fucking wait.

Chapter Six

Emma

The drive up the canyon back to the ridge has never been more incredible or magical.

The air, blowing in through the open windows because Reece insists on it, is redolent with sage and lavender and night jasmine. A little bit of ocean damp mingles with the canyon’s lingering warmth, even at this late hour. As the earth spins and officially kicks over the time from one day to the next, there are distant spurts in the sky. Despite the hell that LA has endured over the last few days, Angelenos across the land insist on giving the Consortium a giant fuck-you by celebrating our nation’s independence as they’d originally planned.

It’s perfect. So perfect.

Freedom.

It’s the ideal designation for the new road Reece and I are now looking toward. As I gaze up at him, with my head against his shoulder and my hand against his blanket-covered chest, I see that truth gleaming in the gorgeous silver lights in his eyes and in the golden outline around his tousled hair. The halo is so much thicker around him than anyone else—an anomaly I first attributed to the stampede of my adrenaline after securing Faline to the floor by melting the ends of some zip ties around her wrists and ankles.

But even as I’d left her that way—after our brief but meaningful “girl talk”—and was safe in Reece’s embrace, I almost shouted at Sawyer to stop the Rover so I could go back and end things differently at the mansion. End her differently.

Another misnomer, since I chickened the hell out and haven’t “ended” her at all.

So freedom isn’t really the most perfect tag.

But maybe freedom for now will be okay?

I don’t freaking know. And can’t come to any kind of peace about that. And because of that, can’t seem to settle comfortably, no matter how magnificent the night or ideal the occasion.

Damn it.

“Hey.” Reece’s gravelly prompt, along with a gentle slide of his thumb across my cheek, are the ideal incentives for focusing back up to his devastating stare. “What is it?” he urges, drawing my attention to his full, strong mouth. The color’s returned to both his lips, as well as the masculine burnish to his cheeks, though his jawline still seems more rugged than usual, and his thick hair clings to sweat from our ordeal.

But now more than ever, he takes my breath away. So much so, I’m having trouble summoning an honest answer. Maybe any kind of an answer. I mean, is he for real? The man’s been through another round of that bitch’s hell, and yet here he is, beseeching me to go ahead and boo-hoo with my issues?

Beautiful, unbelievable man.

Devoted, daring hero.

But does he still want to be my partner too?

Does he still respect me, after every irrational decision I made today? Does he perceive me the same way at all? And do I have any right to even ask him that, just an hour after he staggered off Faline’s magical mystery lab table of horrors?

“Emmalina…” He goes for a reproving edge now, and I slice him short with a resigned sigh as Sawyer slows the Rover in front of the house. The second we stop, ’Dia’s already got the front door flung open and is all but flying out to greet us, followed in short order by Trixie, Joany, Chase, and Angelique. From the lab’s side of the driveway, Alex and Fershan escort an exhausted but grinning Wade, still blatantly basking in his moment of being the hero returned from battle.

But even as we’re immersed in warmth and embraces and concern, the ox next to me remains…well, an ox. He’s reading my thoughts better than ever, damn it. Revision. He’s probably always been this annoyingly clairvoyant; I’m just really aware of the talent now.