Page 67 of Grave Intentions

The microwave hums as she heats our dinner. I grip the counter’s edge, remembering how Mr. Wilson complained that his food wasn’t at the perfect temperature. How his rage would build over the smallest things.

But killing him... the violence of it floods back. The way Talon’s knife slid into him and mine, the gurgling sounds he made. We should have planned better and been more careful. What if someone saw something? What if they find evidence we missed?

“Sit, dear.” Mrs. Wilson sets the steaming plates on the table. “You must be hungry after the journey.”

I sink into my old spot across from where Mr. Wilson always sat. The chicken marsala smells rich and buttery, but my appetite has vanished. Each bite feels like sawdust in my mouth.

“I just keep thinking he’ll walk through that door,” Mrs. Wilson says, pushing food around her plate. “Demanding his dinner, complaining about work...”

The weight of our actions settles over me like a heavy blanket. We acted on rage and impulse, and now we must live with the consequences.

41

TALON

Iwatch the video feed intently as Lena helps Mrs. Wilson prepare another bland casserole. My fingers drum against the steering wheel of my parked car, three blocks from the Wilson house. Every muscle in my body tenses when Mrs. Wilson gets too close to Lena with that kitchen knife.

"Just chop the onions finer, dear," Mrs. Wilson instructs in that saccharine voice that makes my skin crawl. I hear rhythmic chopping sounds through the hidden microphone in Lena's necklace.

The weekend crawls by at an excruciating pace. I barely sleep, constantly monitoring the feeds. Mrs. Wilson cycles between weeping dramatically about Richard's disappearance and passive-aggressive comments toward Lena. The detectives come and go, asking more questions. Lena plays her part perfectly—the concerned foster daughter who just wants to help find Richard.

My hands clench the steering wheel tighter when Detective Chen suggests Lena stay longer to support Mrs. Wilson. Relief floods through me as Lena declines, citing college commitments.

"I really should get back to college," Lena tells them. "But please call me if you hear anything."

Finally, Sunday evening arrives. I trail the Uber safely as it winds through the streets toward Boston. Lena stares out the window, her shoulders relaxing with each mile that takes her further from Salem. The hidden camera in her coat button gives me a clear view of her expression as the coat is tossed on the seat beside her—a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

I always keep three cars between us, watching carefully for any signs of surveillance. But the detectives seem to have bought her story. They're looking in all the wrong places, just as planned.

The Uber pulls up to our building. I park across the street, hidden in the shadows, and watch through my windshield as she exits the car. Her steps are steady as she walks to her door. She is almost home, safe, and almost back in my arms, where she belongs.

I slip out of my car, following Lena's silhouette as she approaches the apartment entrance. Her keys jingle in her hand, echoing through the empty hallway. My footsteps are silent against the carpet as I close the distance between us.

She fumbles with her keys at the door, and I seize my moment. In one fluid motion, I wrap my arms around her waist from behind. Lena lets out a surprised squeal that makes my heart race.

"Miss me?" I whisper against her ear.

She spins in my arms, her hazel eyes bright with recognition. "You scared me half to death!"

I capture her lips with mine, feeling her body melt against me as she responds with equal fervor. Watching her from afar has left me starved for her touch. With one hand, I help her unlock the door while keeping her pressed close.

We stumble through the doorway, neither willing to break the kiss. I kick the door shut behind us, echoing through our apartment. Lena's fingers thread through my hair as I back her against the wall, deepening our kiss.

"I hate being apart from you," she breathes against my lips.

"Then let's never be apart again," I respond, pulling her closer.

The weekend of pretense falls away, replaced by the raw truth of us—together, united, exactly as we should be.

I kick the door shut, my eyes never leaving Lena's. Hunger consumes me as I take in her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the desire burning in her eyes. She wants me as badly as I want her.

My lips crush against hers, claiming her mouth with an urgency that reflects our separation. Her fingers tug at my hair, sending a ripple of pleasure down my spine. Every kiss, every touch, ignites the flame between us. I push her toward the bedroom, needing to feel her skin against mine.

Inside the room, I push her gently, and she falls onto the bed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. I climb onto the mattress, pinning her beneath me, reveling in the feel of her curves against my hard frame. My hands slide under her sweater, my thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of her waist. Her breath catches as I lift the fabric over her head, baring her to me.

"You're so fucking beautiful," I whisper, capturing her lips in a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. My hands explore the soft contours of her body, reveling in her responsiveness. She arches into my touch, craving more.

With gentle force, I roll her onto her stomach, running my hands over the curves of her hips and thighs. I bind her wrists with a soft silk scarf from the dresser. She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes flickering with surprise and something more—a spark of desire fueled by surrender. I secure her arms behind her back.

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