Page 23 of Edge
Drift smirked. “Wouldn’t that be a mercy for the gene pool?”
Kane’s gaze cut to me. “They’re coming for you now. Not just your weapons. You.”
The words should’ve set something cold in my gut. Instead, I felt the heat burn hotter.
“Let ’em try.” My voice was low, calm, and fucking lethal, a wicked smile curving my lips. “I’ll carve up every one of them into a fancy doodle.”
9
EDGE
The hum of the engine on the ride home lingered in my bones, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. My knuckles were split, tacky with blood, and my cut carried the metallic reek of it, soaked into the leather where I hadn’t had a chance to wipe it off. My jeans were stiff in spots, darker patches mapping out the places where other men’s mistakes had sprayed me.
By the time I keyed open the lock on my apartment, I wasn’t calm. I was coiled tight, balanced on the edge I’d crossed hours ago and not sure I was ready to step back. The lopsided smile still curved my mouth, sharp and twisted, because blood on the floor always had a way of stripping life down to the bare truth.
And the truth tonight was simple—I’d told Rye’s crew no. They hadn’t listened. Now they were fertilizer in a warehouse district.
The door creaked open, hinges groaning low. I stepped inside, my boots heavy on the floor, and paused when I saw her.Shit.It was late, and I’d expected her to be in bed, giving me a chance to calm down and clean up before she saw me.
Callie was on the couch, legs tucked under her, the throw blanket pooled useless at her side. She’d left a lamp on, lighting the worry carved into every line of her mouth, every shadow under her eyes. She’d been waiting—probably the whole damn night—and the second she saw me, her body jolted upright like a string had been pulled tight.
Her eyes went wide, flicking over me, catching on the stains smeared across my shirt, the dark streaks drying against my skin, and the wild glint in my eyes I knew I hadn’t shaken. For one heartbeat, I half expected her to shrink back, to flinch like any sane person would.
But Callie didn’t hesitate.
She crossed the room quickly, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood. And before I could unlace a single thought, she threw her arms around me.
“I don’t care what happened,” she whispered into my throat, voice trembling but fierce. Her arms locked harder, holding on like I might disappear. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Her warmth bled straight through me, soft skin and steady heartbeat seeping past the chaos still raging inside my head. My expression softened, the twisted edge dulling for the first time since the fight. My arms came up slow and deliberate, circling her small frame and pulling her close until her body was anchored against mine.
The blood, the screams, the bones snapping under my hands—it all clung to me still. But Callie didn’t care. She didn’t recoil. Didn’t ask for distance. She just held me tighter.
And fuck, I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that until right then.
Her heartbeat pounded steadily against my chest, a rhythm that cut through the chaos still thrumming in my blood. I lowered my head, breathing her in—she smelled like homeinstead of the graveyard I’d just walked out of. Not trusting myself to let go, my grip tightened.
“Come with me.” It wasn’t a request.
Her hand slid into mine without hesitation, her fingers swallowed in my larger palm. I led her down the short hall, and once we were in the bathroom, I stripped my cut from my shoulders, tossed it aside, then peeled my ruined shirt over my head. The fabric stuck in places, stiff with blood, and Callie’s breath hitched at the sight of the mess I was.
She didn’t say a word, though. Just reached for the faucet and turned the water hot, steam billowing fast. When I pulled her into the shower with me, her hands moved over me, slow and steady—washing the fight off my skin, rinsing red away in spirals that bled down the drain. Every touch gentled me, piece by piece, until I could breathe again.
By the time I carried her out, wrapped in nothing but damp heat and my arms, the high had burned itself into something else. Something I’d never fucking felt before. Something I never wanted to lose.
I laid her on the mattress, then followed her down, and the way I touched her wasn’t how I’d touched anyone ever before. Not brutal. Not feral. Still intense—always—but threaded with something reverent. Worshipful. Like I’d walked through blood just to earn the right to have her here, open and soft and mine.
Her breath caught on every thrust, her hands clutching at my shoulders like she didn’t want to lose her hold on me. And I let her see it all—the hunger, the need, and the edge I never let anybody touch. Because she wasn’t anyone. She was Callie. She was mine.
Afterward, I stayed buried deep, refusing to let even an inch of distance come between us. My mouth found hers, slow and claiming, heat and softness tangled until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
When I finally pulled back just enough to look at her, the words ripped out before I could stop them. Rough, raw, and absolute.
“I love you.”
Silence stretched between us, thicker than the heat still clinging to our skin. Her Prussian blue eyes went wide, lips parting, but no sound came out.
For a split second, the wrong kind of tension coiled in my gut. My chest heaved, jaw locking tight.
