Page 83 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

The space feels deceptively homey—a gleaming kitchen island, a plush black leather couch, and matching chairs arranged arounda sleek coffee table, and a large dining table set to one side.

“Hungry?” Cade asks, his gaze still locked on the dark woods. He gestures toward the kitchen. “There’s plenty of ready meals.”

I choose a pack of pre-cut tropical fruit, perfect chunks of mango, pineapple, and watermelon lined up like bright jewels. Something about the neat order of them settles me for just a moment.

Carrying my food back to the living room, I perch on the edge of the sturdy wooden table, not bothering to pull out a chair.

“Want some?” I offer, holding it up. The words are a feint, a test to gauge his mood before I dive into the real questions.

“Later.” He moves to the couch and powers up his tablet. The blue glow hits his sculpted face and the short waves of his dark blonde hair, making him look otherworldly.

“What are you always studying on there anyway?” I ask between bites.

“Blueprints mostly.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Blueprints.For his next hits.

I set aside the half-finished food as my stomach tightens. “Who is Scar?”

He looks up at me with an expression I’ve never seen before. “You don’t want to know.”

“Come on, Cade. You two were talking about me.”

He puts his tablet away and unfolds from the couch. My breath catches as he crosses the room and then stops in front of me. His hand lifts, slow and deliberate as if giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

Warm, callused fingers tuck my hair behind my ear, brushing against the shell. Back and forth. Slow. Hypnotic.

That simple touch throws my entire system into chaos. My heart trips over itself, my belly flips with mad flutters, and heat pools low between my thighs.

I’m in so much trouble.

His pure green eyes search mine. “There’s another hailstorm there, princess. You sure you want that story now?”

He remembered my comment about dumping jarring information on me. Damn him, he almost sounds like he cares.

I can handle Cade’s sharp edges and assholery. But this? This tenderness? I have no defense against it.

I grit my teeth against the part of me melting under his touch and jerk my face away. “Fine,” I snap. “Maybe not right now . . .”

“Sure.” As if sensing I need space, he returns to the couch. “I’ll tell you something else instead. We’re headed to a place called Harmony. Population one hundred fifty thousand. My sister and I grew up there. Her old man still lives there.”

I blink, caught off guard and more than placated by this voluntary offering. “You and Sophie don’t have the same father?”

Cade leans back and folds his arms behind his head as if settling in for another round of questioning “No. But Phoenix Kellan is the only man alive who calls me his son.”

Phoenix Kellan. The name lands heavy with history. A large chunk of Cade’s childhood. His humanity. Cade somehow feels more real now, sprawled on that couch, his posture open and . . . inviting. Part of me—the stupid, reckless part—wants to curl into his lap and pretend I can trust him.

“Does Phoenix Kellan know . . . about the killings?”

“Yes.”

“And Sophie? Does she know?”

“No. It’s just Phoenix. And you.”

Me.

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