Page 124 of Hell and High Water

I’m halfway to the back wall when I hear the gunshot come from the basement behind me. Then I’m running as shouts go up all over the compound, sprinting off into the dark. Sprinting away from the sadness threatening to drag me back.

The sound will haunt me for the rest of my days.

But not nearly as badly as my father’s final words.

23

HELLENA

The ache in my heart is threatening to choke me, welling up from the depths of my aching heart.

It’s been growing since we left my father’s house. Loss piling on loss. Anxiety and fear building through our discoveries.

All the while, trying to stay confident. Brave.

But there’s still a wound that has nothing to do with the stitches along my side. It’s a wound I thought I was past, or working through.

Evan stares at me for a moment, an eternity, a horrified look on his face. Real shock. Real emotion.

And he damn well better. He owes me that much.

I hate every tear pouring down my cheeks as I scream at him. I hate every word and the pain that wells up like molten lava in my chest.

“If you truly love me, I need you to fuck me. Take this, all of this, away from me. Now.”

All of his cruelty. All of his disdain over the months we’ve been together. He owes me this. Even if he did save my life.

I stalk toward him, only halfway.

The words boil over, the anguish lashing out at him with every syllable. “Take m?—”

He closes the distance in a rush, impossibly fast.

And just like that, I’m tearing at his clothes, his fingers clawing down my back, pulling me into him, his lips plunging down to meet mine. Our first kiss is savage, painful.

With both hands, I tear his shirt off, buttons skittering across the polished tiles.

His pants button follows, popping in my mad rush to strip him down, to have what I so desperately need.

His chiseled chest, every inch of his tattooed, flawless skin, sends me into a frenzy, kissing, licking. But he pulls me back up, always, to kiss me again as he grips my arms, holding me tightly.

With forceful intent, he walks me back to the bed and drags one hand up into my hair, clutching a handful and jerking my head back. The fire in his eyes sears through me, making my legs shake.

“I need… I need…”

“I’m yours.” He utters the words low, dark, sending shivers through my entire body.

Then he’s tossing me back, flinging me to the bed with careless abandon, the roughness riling me even further. Crawling on top of me, he doesn’t hesitate to force me down, slamming me back when I try to rise.

There’s no exploration or teasing in his movements.

Just lust. Desire. Need.

His hands grip me, pin me.

His hips grind into me, making me pant and gasp at the size of him through the despicable layers of fabric between us. With a growl, I wrap my legs up around him, dragging him against me. “More. Now!”

And he’s tearing my thong off, stripping off his boxer briefs.

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