Page 121 of Trapped Truth

“Starting a gunfight in broad daylight sure is desperate.”

The level we’re standing on is deserted with nothing but old bottle-filling machines and a few dusty crates. I listen for the hum of the others talking, but Warner snatching my wrist forces my attention back to him.

“Em, we’ll end this. One way or another.”

“What if we can’t win?” I dare to vocalise the fear that’s suffocating me.

“I’ve been backed into a corner more times than I can count in this job. The last thing you’ll see me do is give up on the case or our family.”

“Warner—”

“Do you trust me?”

“It’s not about trust.”

“Answer. Do you trust me?”

His widened baby blues implore me, deeper than the furthest depths of the ocean floor. Crushing gravity drags me into the darkness, beyond human exploration.

“Of course. Always.”

“Then trust us to see this through. Trust our team. Our strength. And our resolve.”

“How can you be so sure?” My breath sputters and fails.

He smiles, totally drained but as reassuring as ever. “Because I have the best reason in the world to fight for the future I want. And love? You’re it.”

Surrounded by the discarded remnants of a time long past, the boy I’ve spent decades loving tugs me close to lay a sweet kiss on my lips. The sort of kiss the teenage version of me dreamt about receiving, year after year.

I allow myself to melt into the velvety cushion fastened onto my mouth. Tender and coaxing, he entreats my compliance with touch alone, soothing the jagged edges of my breakdown without saying another word.

Fragrant patchouli and fresh pine ensnare my senses. Even in our current states, his scent clings to him, carrying me back to memories of the home we lost. Only it still exists. In his arms is the one place I can glimpse that reassuring place again.

I press myself against his firm body, needing more contact. Hip bones aligned. Feet planted. Arms coiling around his neck so I’m close enough to feel the pounding of his heart, ready to tear from his skeleton at a moment’s notice.

“Em.” My name is a moan, low in his throat.

“If I’m supposed to be thankful we’re still alive, show me why.”

“Right here?”

“I don’t need romance and roses, Warner. I never did. All I’ve ever wanted is to be yours.”

He searches my face, incisive and steadfast. “I’ve always belonged to you.”

“And I’m glad I know that now.”

“I should’ve told you years ago. We wasted so much time, love.”

Pecking his stubble-circled mouth, I rock my pelvis into his. “Then let’s not waste any more.”

Our lips seal together tighter than a closed tomb. When his tongue swipes out to seek entrance, I open up to him, greedy for more. The wet, dominant force brings me one step closer to the relief I desperately need.

Warner’s palm cradles the back of my skull, locking me in a trap I’m all too happy to be in. He can plunder the darkest recesses of my soul, and I’d still thank him for the privilege. I need him. His touch. His steady, unshakeable faith that all will be well.

Something hard collides with my spine when I’m frogmarched backwards, the hardness tenting his cargos effectively pinning me. He’s aligned perfectly with my core. Even through our clothes, I can sense every last throbbing inch begging to be unleashed.

“I need to sink myself inside your perfect cunt,” he growls breathlessly.