“Ronan—” His name is a broken cry as I shatter beneath him, the orgasm ripping through me like wildfire, burning me from the inside out. My vision goes white, stars bursting behind my eyes, and still, he doesn’t stop. He drives through my release, taking every last ounce of it, forcing me higher, wringing every tremor from me until I’m gasping, shaking, undone.
He buries his face against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, his breaths ragged and uneven. “Berk—fuck—I’m—” The words dissolve into a growl as his body goes taut, the tension in him coiled so tight it vibrates through me. His hips snap once, twice, and then he breaks with me, his release crashing into mine, violent and consuming.
The sound that leaves him is raw, guttural, a man undone in every sense of the word. His body jerks against mine, every muscle straining as he empties into me, and for a moment the world narrows to nothing but the two of us, locked together in the fire of it.
We collapse into each other, bodies trembling, slick with sweat and blood, breathless like we’ve just clawed our way backfrom the edge of oblivion. My chest heaves against his, our hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm, a drumbeat that feels more like a war cry than an ending. The surrounding air is thick, humming with the aftershocks of what we just unleashed—like the storm hasn’t passed so much as settled into our bones.
Ronan lowers his forehead to mine, and for a moment the world softens. His lips brush mine, not demanding, not desperate, but reverent, a kiss that feels like worship, like a vow carved straight into my soul. There’s a quiet awe in his touch, in the way he holds me as though he can’t believe I’m real, that I’m here with him. And maybe I can’t believe it either.
But what I do believe is this—whatever battles are still waiting, whatever enemies rise out of the dark, whatever hell we’re about to march into—we’re not doing it alone. Not anymore. We’re stepping into it together. Blood on our hands, fire in our veins, and a love too savage, too relentless, too unbreakable to ever be torn apart again.
He’s still inside me, his breath warm against my temple, the heat of him anchoring me to this blood-soaked reality when everything else feels like a dream. His chest rises and falls against mine, steady but fierce, like his heartbeat is syncing with mine. His hand slides into my hair again, possessive, tender in its own brutal way, and his mouth brushes against my ear. “You’re coming with me to our safe house,” he says—not a question, not a plea, but a command edged with certainty. His safe house. Their world. His claim. The words ripple through me, heavy and inevitable, but instead of fear or defiance, laughter bubbles up, light and startling,slipping past my lips in a giggle I can’t contain. Ronan pulls back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes narrowing, head tilting like a predator caught off guard. “What’s so funny, Pix?” The pet name in his gravel-rough voice only makes the laughter slip out again, softer this time, threaded with something dangerously close to joy.
I shake my head, letting the secret dance in my smile as I meet his gaze. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Eight
Emerson
The phone buzzes in my hand, sharp and insistent, and before I even look, I know it isn’t good. My lawyer’s number flashes on the screen. I answer on the second ring, jaw tight, shoulders braced for whatever shape the news will take. His voice is steady—too steady—which makes the bottom fall out of my stomach before he finishes his first sentence. “Emerson,” he says, clipped. “Police removed Kimber from the house tonight. She’s in protective custody at the station. They’ll hold her until you can pick her up—bring ID. We already have the guardianship papers ready. Get there fast.”
The words land like a punch. Kimber. My little sister. The name hits a nerve so deep I taste metal at the back of my throat. For a split second, everything turns loud—blood rushing in my ears as the house tightens around the low whir of the air conditioning. Relief rips through me because she’s out of that place, and terror crashes right behind it—what if Bryce’s crew tries to intercept? What if they’ve got men positioned by the station? I force my breath slow, count to five, focus.
Then the other voice in my head pipes up: How the hell did that actually happen? We’ve been fighting for custody for a year. The lawyer must hear my thoughts because he answers before I ask, “I don’t have an explanation, Em. I checked the file this morning—nothing new. Somebody pushed it through. The station said paperwork was served, and they acted on a welfare concern. It’s odd, I agree, but we’ll take the win.”
That small, pragmatic admission twists my relief into something complicated. Whoever moved the paper did us a favor—intentional or not—and for once luck or leverage or whatever shadowy thing finally tilted our way. I don’t have time to parse whether it’s a setup or a miracle. The only thing that matters is the girl in state custody and getting her to safety. “Don’t hesitate,” the lawyer repeats, and then he’s gone, the line dead and the hum of the phone loud in the sudden quiet.
I look up, and Rowan’s already watching me from across the room, reading my face like he always has. He doesn’t ask; he just waits. My voice comes out flat, sharper than I intend. “Kimber’s out. Police pulled her from the house tonight. She’s at the station, waiting for me to pick her up.”
Rowan’s chair screeches as he bolts upright, his whole body snapping into focus. For a second, there’s hope on his face—then it shifts, hardening. “It’s a trap,” he says. His tone isn’t panicked, it’s practical. “Or it could be. If one of our fathers wants Ronan dead, we have to assume we’re all on the list.”
He’s right. The thought sinks into me like ice. It’s clear now—every move they’ve made has been about control. About cutting us down. Kimber isn’t just my sister; she’s leverage. A pawn. And tonight, we’re pulling her out of the game.
“We go together,” Rowan says, stepping closer, steady as stone.
I nod because I don’t have the strength to argue. Truth is, I don’t want to. My throat feels raw as I speak. “We get her, and then we go underground. No more lingering, no more leaving ourselves exposed. We cut ties, burn what we have to, and hit them hard from the shadows. It’s time to bring the walls down.”
Rowan’s gaze holds mine, fierce and certain. “Then that’s what we do.”
We can’t lead anyone back to the fallout house. No one knows where it is—Ronan made sure of that. He scrubbed our phones, burned every trace, turned us into ghosts in a world that thought it owned us. If they’re hunting, they’ll find nothing but shadows.
The drive to the station is a blur of red lights and clenched fists. My chest is tight, my knuckles white around the steering wheel, but the second I see her—my little sister, sitting in the waiting area with her knees tucked up, clutching a paper cup of water too big for her small hands—I nearly lose it. She looks up and her face lights like the sun, and I’m gone. Done for.
“Emmy!” she says, voice high, full of relief, like she was holding her breath until I showed up.
I kneel in front of her, my throat thick. “Yeah, Bug. It’s me. And guess what?” I hold up the papers the officer just handed me, guardianship sealed and stamped like a miracle. “You’re coming home with me. Just us. No more mom. No more dad.”
Her smile wobbles, eyes watering, and she whispers, “Really?”
“Really,” I promise, scooping her up like I used to when she was little, settling her against my chest. She tucks her face into my shoulder, and I know right then I’ll burn the world to keep her safe.
The officer gives me one last rundown—papers, signatures, all legal—and I don’t wait around to test fate. I carry Kimber out into the night, buckle her into the backseat of the ditch car, and we’re moving.
A few miles into downtown, I pull outside a candy shop, neon lights buzzing overhead. Kimber blinks at me, confused, until I grin. “Detour. Can’t go to a safe house without supplies.”
She giggles, the sound cutting through every ounce of fear still riding me. Inside, she grabs a bag and fills it with gummy bears and chocolate, her little hands moving fast like she’s afraid it’ll vanish. When we step out the back door, Rowan’s already there, leaning against the car, eyes scanning the street.
“Nice choice,” he says when he spots the candy bag, his voice low but carrying the faintest smile.