Page 73 of Buried in Blood
He’s too close now. His breath is warm against my cheek. His jaw is tight. And I can feel that pull again—the one I’ve been fighting since the first time he cornered me in the pantry.
“You think I’m breaking?” I whisper.
“I know you are.”
He cups my face.
And I should pull away.
But I don’t.
Because the truth is—this place has drained me. The silence. The fear. The constant calculation. And Reese? He feelsalive. Like friction. Like heat. Likechoice.
His lips brush mine before I even register the movement.
I kiss him back.
Desperate. Shaky. Bruised.
He tastes of redemption laced with lust. I feel the electricity pulsing through my veins.
Foreign heat floods my core. But it doesn’t last.
Because when his hand slides beneath my shirt, when his thumb brushes a scar near my ribs—hisscar—my body stiffens.
He feels it.
And everything changes.
“You still want him,” he says quietly.
I blink. “No.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice is a whisper now. Taut. Dangerous. “You flinch when I touch you because I’m not him.”
Ishove him back. “Don’t flatter yourself. I flinch because I don’t trust anyone.”
“But you let me in.”
“Only because I have no one else.”
That lands harder than I meant it to.
His eyes narrow. “Right. Just a placeholder. Good to know.”
“Reese—”
“No.” He steps back, voice still low. “You made your choice.”
“It’s not a choice!” I hiss. “It’s survival.”
He nods once. Cold and mechanical. “Then survive. But don’t come crawling to me when he’s finished breaking you.”
I open my mouth to argue. But the door across the hall creaks.
We both freeze.
Soft footsteps. Brooke. Awake. Listening.
