Page 118 of You Owe Me

The question is whether she can love that version, too.

“And what exactly is that?” she fires back, trying to sound defiant, but it’s breathy. Shaky. Wrecked in all the right ways.

I pull her in closer, my mouth brushing her ear. “A man who’s done pretending he’s not the one pulling every fucking string.”

Her breath catches. Her spine arches. She leans into me like her body can’t help it.

The admission hangs between us like a loaded weapon. I’ve just told her that everything—Carter’s threats, the IRS investigation, the academic fraud evidence—it’s all been orchestrated. Managed. Controlled.

I’ve been pulling strings since the moment Carter first said her name.

“Say it,” I murmur, dragging my lips down the line of her neck.

She shudders. “Say what?”

“That you trust me to end this.”

Her fingers dig into my shoulders. “I do.”

The words carry weight beyond their simplicity. She’s not just trusting me to handle Carter; she’s trusting me to handle the consequences. The fallout. The version of me that emerges when someone threatens what’s mine.

I lean back, letting her see the weight of my conviction, the cold clarity that’s been humming in my veins since I walked out of that hospital.

Her expression fractures—eyes glassy, lips trembling, mascara faintly smudged from the heat or maybe from blinking too hard against the intensity.

“Maverick…”

I grip her jaw gently, just enough to anchor her. “You want a future with me? This is part of it. This is what it looks like when I fight for what’s mine.”

Because there will be other Carters. Other threats. Other people who think they can take what belongs to me without consequences. If she’s going to be part of my world—really part of it—she needs to understand what that protection costs.

She’s silent for a beat, and I can feel her whole body trembling now—but not with fear.

With want.

With fury.

With love.

“Then ruin him. Burn every piece of him that ever touched me.”

There it is. The moment she stops being a bystander and becomes an accomplice. The moment she chooses me—all of me, including the parts that destroy people.

I don’t smile.

I don’t saygood girl.

I just press my lips to hers, slow and searing, a quiet brand that says you’re mine and I’ll prove it.

And when she finally pulls back, breathless and dazed, her phone’s still in her hand.

But it’s no longer heavy.

It’s loaded.

And Carter Mills?

He’s already ashes.

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