Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)
I blinked up at him, wanting to cry. At this moment, I didn’t know if I’d ever felt so seen.
His voice was hoarse and sad as he continued, “But you gotta know, little Bea, a love like that scars as much as it heals, yeah? You don’t get outta that alive. You think Cress would’a had any kinda life if my boy, King, truly died that night on the cliffs?”
I sucked in a shaky breath as I shook my head, remembering the spectre of a woman she’d been those desolate months when we’d all thought him dead.
“Yeah,” Z confirmed softly. “So, you go out that door, I want ya to do it knowin’ I doubt the same sweet girl is comin’ back through it again.”
I struggled to breathe through the pressure of my inflated heart pounding in my chest, so I just smiled tremulously and tapped my hand lightly on Z’s tattooed chest. Backing up toward the door, I had my hand on the handle before I found the air to add, “If I ever have anything half so lovely as the love you and Loulou share, Z, I’ll count myself one of the luckiest people on the planet. You’d probably be surprised how much I’m willing to sacrifice for something so beautiful. Not all love stories play out in the light. Some of the best romances occur in the veil of shadows.”
Z’s smile was bright and quick as a lightning strike against his dark face. “I don’t fuckin’ doubt it.”
I nodded, smiling slightly as I turned around and left the warm house for the cold, dark night.
* * *
* * *
It was early November and there was the scent of snow in the air, a tingle at the back of my nose that teased at a white winter. I huddled under the big jacket, hugging myself as I navigated the path from packed dirt to large, smooth pebbles. The shush of waves gently kissing the shore was the only soundtrack to the clear night, soothing me as I walked toward what I fiercely prayed would be my future.
He didn’t stop as I drew close, but I had no doubt he knew I was there watching him.
I stopped a yard away, my eyes fixed to his form as his right shoulder reared back, torso barely following, and then whipped forward, the thin whistle of the blade slicing through the air only slightly higher than the hiss of the wind off the water. There was a thunk as it hit the target, an overturned trunk of a tree lodged in the rocks.
“Nice shot.”
Priest didn’t turn toward me or acknowledge my presence. Instead, he crunched over the shore to retrieve the five knives buried deep in the wood and trudged back.
I waited and watched, settling down on a damp log.
He threw first with his right hand, then his left. The next round, he started facing away from the target, his gaze fixed away from me, and then in a flurry of efficient movement, he twisted and released, each and every knife landing unerringly in a dark, vaguely circular blotch on the tree.
“You’re very good,” I complimented again even though I knew Priest didn’t need validation for his skills.
No, he was the kind of man who needed validation for those things he believed he was incapable of.
Warmth.
Love.
Happiness.
I straightened my cold, stiff body from the log and padded across the beach to his standing point. When he returned, it was as if I was a ghost. He stood just in front of me and turned his back to face the target again.
“I wonder…” I said silkily as I dared to take that last step closer and pressed my chest lightly to his back. He didn’t flinch, but I could feel the tension in his powerful frame. “If you would be so good if I did this.”
There was a brief hesitation, and I knew he was deciding.
Not whether he could meet my challenge. No, that was child’s play to him.
Deciding on whether to enter this game with me, to indulge in me the way I yearned to indulge in him.
I’d felt nothing but the helium of hope lightening my bones, trilling like a high note in the beat of my heart since he’d grabbed me by my throat and swore to protect me in front of the entire club.
He wanted me.
He had to.
There was no way a man like him pledged himself to anyone unless he was driven to, unless that person laid waste to his cold, clear mind and successfully wedged themselves beneath his iron skin.
I held my breath as he made the choice and promised myself I would walk away if he said no. I would stop stalking the poor man like his shadow and let him live his life. I promised myself I’d find a way to live mine outside of this feverish obsession I held for him, an obsession that burned so hot in my heart it warmed me even in the cold night on a barren beach.