Page 30 of Malice

“Incredible,” he finishes, a hint of a smile breaking through his tough exterior, his lips barely curving.

I grin back, laying my chin on his bare, tattooed chest. “So what the hell happens now?”

His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together like they belong there. “Whatever the fuck you want,” he says, no bullshit. “I’m not going anywhere unless you shove me out.”

His words land somewhere deep in my chest and damn it if my eyes don’t sting with unshed tears. I kiss the heat of his skin, trying to pull myself together.

“Good,” I whisper, raw honesty spilling out. “Because I’m not fucking ready to let you go.”

His arms squeeze around me, anchoring me to him like I’m the only thing in his fucked-up world that makes sense. I shut my eyes, letting his steady breaths rock me toward sleep. Safe? Hell, the last time I felt anything close to that was in the courtyard, running for my goddamn life. It’s not the deadbolt on the door, it’s him. His arms are fucking solid, holding me like he knows I’m not broken, just something worth keeping.

As I drift off, I feel him press a kiss against my forehead—light as smoke, surprisingly gentle. Fuck, I didn’t know he had it in him.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes against my skin, voice low and rough. “Always.”

For the first fucking time in weeks, the words don’t feel like bullshit.

Chapter 9

Carter

Morning light drifts through the curtains, casting golden stripes across her skin. I’ve been awake for hours, just watching her sleep with her head nestled on my chest. Her hair tumbles over my arm in soft, tangled waves. The only sound is her breathing, a gentle rhythm that’s kept me company since dawn.

She’s breathing slowly, each exhale a small, warm pressure against my ribs. I’ve been awake long enough to notice the exact rhythm of it, the way her shoulders have dropped from their hiked position. She looks like someone who’s put down something heavy, and I find myself wondering what she’d say if she knew I was cataloging all of this. Probably tell me to go to sleep.

I should move. My arm has gone numb, my back protests from holding this position all night. But the thought of waking her makes my ribs feel too small for my lungs. She needs this unguarded rest more than I need circulation in my arm.

I shift carefully, easing the pressure without waking her. She murmurs softly, her hand gripping my skin before settling back into deep sleep. The bruises on her shoulder catch the light, yellow-green reminders of what she’s endured. Anger flares in me, not at her, never at her, but at the world, at those who thought they could break her, at myself for not being there to stop it.

I trace a bruise gently, barely touching, as if I could will it away. She doesn’t flinch. Her trust in me, with her vulnerability and peace, is a weight on my chest.

Last night changed everything. Not just the physical connection, though God knows that alone floored me. But the way she looked at me after, like I was something worth holding on to. Like she wasn’t scared of who I am, what I’ve done, what I could do.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it, squinting at the screen. It’s Matthew. Of course.

She okay?

I type back with one thumb: Sleeping. She’s fine.

The response comes immediately: And you?

I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen. How do I put any of this into words? Holding her is like finally coming home to a house that’s on fire—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, yet there’s the absolute terror that I could lose it all in a second.

I’m where I need to be, I finally type.

His response is a single thumbs-up. Matthew’s version of approval, hard-won and more than enough.

I set the phone down and return my attention to Trixie. Her face is relaxed in sleep, free from the tension she carries during waking hours. The slight furrow between her brows that appears when she’s concentrating is gone, leaving her features soft and unguarded. I want to burn this version of her into my memory—the one that exists only for me.

She stirs, her hand sliding up my chest, fingers spreading across my heart. Her breathing changes, growing slower and deeper, and I realize she’s waking up. I hold perfectly still, not wanting to rush this transition, this moment where she exists between sleep and awareness.

Her eyes flutter open, dark and unfocused for a moment before they find mine.

“Hey,” she whispers, her voice rough with sleep.

“Hey yourself.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Sleep okay?”

“Better than I have in weeks.” She stretches against me, her body warm and pliant, and the movement sends blood straight to my cock, and I have to grit my teeth. “You didn’t have to stay awake all night.”