Page 87 of Vows of Ruin

She shakes her head, catching my hand and pressing it to her lips. “It’s nothing,” she says, her breath warm against my knuckles. “You didn’t mean it.”

“But I did it.” The words are heavy, sharper than I want them to be. “That’s what matters.”

She leans closer, her lips brushing mine, soft but deliberate, like she’s trying to pull me out of my own head. “What matters is you stopped. You came back to me.” Her hand slides down my chest, resting over my heart, her touch steady where I’m anything but. “You always come back.”

My throat tightens, and I kiss her again, slower this time, tasting the truth in her words. It’s not about heat now, it’s about needing her, needing this, needing something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s slipping. Her tongue brushes mine, and I groan softly, my hand sliding to her hip, pulling her closer until her legs tangle with mine.

“You make it sound so easy,” I murmur against her mouth, my fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her thigh. Her skin is so soft, warm, alive and it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.

“It’s not,” she says, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “But it’s us.” Her voice is quiet but fierce, the same fire that’s always burned in her, even when the world tries to snuff it out. “We don’t get easy. We get real.”

I swallow hard, nodding, because she’s right. It’s always been like this with us, messy, raw, unbreakable. My hand slides up her back, tangling in her hair as I kiss her again, deeper, hungrier, like I can pour everything I can’t say into the way my lips move against hers. She arches into me, her nails scrapping lightly down my side, sparking heat that’s softer this time, less desperate, but no less real.

“Wrenley,” I breathe, rolling her beneath me, my weight braced on my forearms. Her legs part instinctively, welcoming, and I settle between them, my lips finding the pulse at her throat. “I don’t deserve you.”

She laughs, low and throaty, her hands framing my face. “Good thing I decide that, not you.” Her hips shift, teasing, and I groan, already hardening from her touch. She feels it, and her smile turns wicked, her eyes glinting with that spark that’s always been my undoing.

“Careful,” I warn, nipping her jaw, my voice rough with want. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like to burn,” she says, her nails digging into my shoulders as she pulls me closer.

That’s all it takes. I slide into her, slow and deliberate, savoring the way her breath catches, the way her body molds to mine like it was made for this, for me. We move together, unhurried, every thrust a vow, every gasp a reminder that we’re here, alive, and together. Her hands roam my back, tracing scars and ink, grounding me in her touch. “Cum for me,” I rasp in her ear. When she does, it’s quiet, soft, her lips pressed to mine as she trembles beneath me. I follow her over, releasing a low groan against her neck. My arms tighten around her like I can keep the world at bay.

We stay like that, tangled and breathless, the storm of what’s brewing outside fading to a distant buzz. She presses a kiss to my shoulder, her fingers threading through mine. “We’re okay,” she whispers, and for the first time tonight, I believe her.

Morning hits the mansion like a truce we didn’t ask for. Light filters through the blinds, soft enough to pretend the night never happened. For a few heartbeats, the house almost feels normal, quiet footsteps, the smell of coffee, the faint scrape of silverware against plates.

Wrenley’s hand slips into mine as we walk down the hall. Her fingers are small but steady. The bruise on her cheek has faded to a shadow. She catches me looking and smirks. “I’m fine,” she says.

I nod. “I know.”

Downstairs, everyone’s already gathered. Wrecker is halfway through a plate of eggs, Riot’s arguing with Elias about something on the tablet. Margot’s pretending not to listen while she hides a smile behind her mug. Torque’s at the coffee pot. When we step into the room, his shoulders go rigid. He doesn’t speak, just looks over, that unreadable expression in his eyes, then turns back to pour another cup.

Wrenley brushes her thumb across the back of my hand before letting go. I lean down, press a kiss to the top of her head. She squeezes my fingers once before crossing to Max. He pulls her chair out, the two of them settling side by side, their easy rhythm slipping back into place. I watch them for a beat longer than I should. Then I cross to Torque. He doesn’t move when I stop behind him. The smell of coffee, metal, and guilt fills the space between us.

I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hey.”

He stiffens, glances at me, then looks away. I give his shoulder a squeeze, firm enough to make him turn, and before he can say a word, I pull him into a hug. Full-on, bone-tight. The kind that knocks the air out of both of us.

“I’m sorry we traded punches,” I say quietly against his ear. “You’re always there for me. I love you, brother.”

It takes a second, but his arms come up. He hugs me back, hard. “I know,” he mutters. “I just worry. That one was… bad.”

“I know you do.” I pull back, hands still on his shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. We protect each other… from everything.”

Torque doesn’t respond, but he nods. The corner of his mouth twitches into something almost like a smile. Across the room, Wrenley glances over. Max meets my eyes and gives me a small nod, the kind that says we’re good. For the first time in days, the air in the mansion feels lighter. Not safe. Never that. But steady enough to breathe. For now, that’s enough.

As I slide into the seat next to Wrenley, Elias stands at the head of the table with his laptop open. His eyes ringed dark from no sleep. Margot’s beside him, scrolling through a tablet. The air is thick with tension, even under the smell of breakfast.

“Alright,” Elias says, pushing up the glasses he never wears unless he’s been on the computer all night. “Here’s what we pulled from Tiffany’s confession and the system logs.”

The table goes still.

“She didn’t just feed him basic intel. Sebastian had access to coded transport routes, warehouse keys, some of our financials. He knows how to hit us where it hurts.” He pauses, glancing at the screen. “And—someone else had to be helping her. The timestamps don’t line up with her login history. She or Lena didn’t have clearance for half of the data she accessed.”

A quiet curse leaves my mouth. Across the table, Max’s jaw flexes.

Elias keeps talking, each sentence landing heavier than the last. “And one more thing, Torque’s brother, Cyrus, keeps showing up in the relay data. Not directly, but close enough to smell the smoke.”