Page 39 of Edge
“All of me.”
Her walls fluttered around me, pulling me deeper, and I groaned, holding back just to make it last, to give her everything she deserved.
When we came, it was together—her scream muffled against my mouth, my groan torn raw from my chest, both of us shaking apart in each other’s arms. I held her close, staying inside, kissing her tears away while the world slowly came back into focus.
The phone buzzed on the nightstand. I cursed under my breath, reaching for it, ready to rip whoever was calling a new one. But the name flashing across the screen made me pause. Cage.
I thumbed it on. “Better be important.”
“It is. Your girl’s blood test came in.” A beat of silence. Then, blunt as always, he said, “She’s pregnant.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. Then laughter tore out of me, wild and shocked, joy spilling over so fast, it felt like my chest might burst. I looked down at Callie—wide-eyed, tears brimming, hand pressed to her mouth again—and kissed her hard, rough with emotion.
“You hear that, baby?” I growled against her lips. “I knocked you up. Fast.” A grin cut across my face, smug and awed all at once. “Didn’t waste any fucking time, did I?”
She laughed through her tears, wrapping her arms around me tight, and for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what forever looked like.
EPILOGUE
EDGE
The warehouse lights bled into the night sky like a false dawn, flooding the stretch of cracked asphalt that doubled as a track for anyone willing to risk their life in pursuit of speed. The air smelled like scorched rubber and high-octane fuel, alive with the roar of engines and the murmur of a crowd who knew they stood on the edge of something wild and illegal.
A month had passed since Callie had been taken, a month since I’d painted a message in blood and buried every doubt I’d ever had about her being mine. Now she stood in the pit, leather vest snug on her shoulders, hair tied back in a way that showed the stubborn tilt of her chin. The bandages were gone, the bruises faded, but her eyes still lit up like they were the only thing I’d ever race toward.
Her hands toyed with the hem of my cut as she watched the track, the way someone might fiddle with worry beads. She wasn’t scared, though. She was buzzing with anticipation. Her body practically vibrated with it.
This was her first time watching me race. Not just a warm-up or a test run. Not the shit I did on private tracks when Kane wanted to keep me from getting bored. This was underground.This was me with my foot to the floor, pushing until the world blurred.
“You nervous?” I leaned close, letting my breath brush her ear.
She shot me a look, cheeks flushed. “For you, yes. For me? No. I’m just excited.” Her lips curved, soft and teasing. “Besides, I think I can handle watching you drive. How bad can it be?”
Kane’s groan rumbled behind us, deep and gravelly. “Don’t feed him that shit, Callie. He’s reckless enough without you encouraging him.”
I grinned over my shoulder. My brother stood with his arms crossed, green eyes sharp under the dim light. His beard looked darker tonight, the shadows clinging to him the way authority always did. Savannah had perched herself on a folding chair near the back, her presence softening his lethal edge just enough to keep him from scaring off the kids who’d crept too close to the pit.
“Reckless?” I flicked my knife open with a snap and leaned against the driver’s side door of the car parked in the shadows. “No, brother. Reckless is what you call it when somebody doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing. I knowexactlywhat I’m doing.”
Callie laughed softly, the sound wrapping around me like sunlight on stone. Kane grunted but didn’t argue, which told me he was more worried than he wanted to admit.
Then the crowd shifted, heads turning as one of the crew rolled Reaper’s Edge out of its spot.
Even under the floodlights, she looked dangerous. Matte-black panels kissed by silver streaks, frame low and lean, every angle a promise of speed. I’d stitched her together myself, a Frankenstein of parts nobody else would’ve had the balls to bolt in the same chassis.
McLaren carbon fiber skeleton. Twin-charged Hellcat V8 I’d stripped down to the bones and rebuilt with my own hands. My gear-shift override—a thing of beauty that spat in the face of regulation. No limiter, no traction control, and no safety net. Nobody raced it but me.
Kane had even banned it from the official circuit. It was too fast, too unpredictable, and only someone who lived on the “edge” would drive it.
She was a predator wrapped in steel, and tonight, she was hungry.
Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. “You brought Reaper’s Edge?”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, grinning wide enough to show teeth.
“You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“Guilty.” I slid into the driver’s seat, the car growling to life like she’d been waiting for me all night. The vibration climbed up my legs, into my chest, a second heartbeat syncing with my own.
