Page 49 of Counting Quarters

“Won't they come looking for it and know you're onto them when they see it in evidence?”

“I'm not logging this into evidence.” He tightly wrapped his fingers around it and shoved it back into his pocket.

“What can we do?” I asked in a near-whisper.

It was all becoming too real. After last year—what the Movement did to go after the Quarters—there was no telling what Rayner had planned next. The lengths he'd go to finish the job. But knowing he had the resources he needed to execute it was terrifying.

“This is good,” he assured me.

He took a step closer, lifting his hand to grip my shoulder, and then stopped himself. “Now, we know what we're working against. We can all start making a plan to stop him before he can even begin.”

I slowly nodded, but doubt still clouded my mind, curling around my thoughts like black mist. The plant outside flashed behind my eyes, along with my pathetic attempt to force it to bloom. If I was one of the most powerful witches working against him, did we have any hope?

“Don't do that. You've only just found out about your gifts. The others have had their whole lives to learn them,” Kyle responded to my thoughts out loud once again. “We'll get them to train with you, just like they have been with Storie.”

This time, he allowed himself to grab my shoulders and pull me into a hug without restraint. “I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd be happy to finally know what we're up against.”

I rested my head against his chest, fully submerging myself in his scent again. He was right, of course. Knowing exactly who our enemies were was the only way we stood a chance. I still couldn't stop that lingering feeling of dread from turning my thoughts negative.

Kyle sensed it and tightened his hold on me. It was probably just an act of kindness, of pity for the girl who thought the weight of the world hung on her shoulders despite the fact that there were four other men ready to do what she clearly couldn’t. But it was also the closest he had ever allowed us to be, and I refused to be the first to pull away. If pitying me was the only way he’d let his guard down and get over this ridiculous fear of Grammy, then so be it.

“I don’t fear her,” he mumbled into my ear. I made a note to make my first lesson on learning how to block my thoughts from him, and he chuckled. “I don’t pity you, either. You’re going to be the one who saves this town, Blaire, and they’re all going to realize what they’ve been missing out on.”

He pulled his head back slightly, and I prepared for him to let go of me. Instead, he surprised me by lowering his hands down my back. I gazed up at him, shocked to see the smug little smirk that was playing on his lips.

“You seem pretty scared for all those dirty thoughts you’ve been sending my way,” he hummed into my ear.

“Scared? Not at all. Just taken off guard. Give me a second to recoup, and then I'll kick your ass.”

I fought back my own smile, quickly losing the battle when his hands cupped my rear and gently squeezed.

“I want to kiss you, Blaire,” he admitted, his expression pained.

“Then do it.”

For some reason, that was all the permission he needed to throw his silly holdups about us out the window. As soon as the words left my lips, he was there to replace them. It was everything I imagined it would be—everything I fantasized about all those nights alone in my bed—and more.

His expert lips moved against mine in a rhythm only we knew the dance to. My chest felt like it was going to explode from pure joy and excitement over the fact that it was finally happening.

All those private conversations, the heated looks… they were finally adding up to something. And if he had any fear of the consequences of Grammy finding out, they had died and withered away with every second our lips touched.

None of it mattered.

The Movement could march into town today and end it all, and none of it could touch us in this tiny bubble we created for ourselves.

Though, it appeared I was the only one who felt that way.

All too soon, he pulled away. A whine sounded in the back of my throat, and he breathed out a tortured, humorless laugh.

“It’s taking everything in me not to devour you right here,” he admitted, out of breath. “But we have to stop.”

“No, we don't,” I countered brazenly, too caught up in the moment and frustrated with his constant hesitancy to be embarrassed.

“When are you going to stop allowing the weight of everyone's opinions to slow you down? This thing between us… I think it's worth exploring. Fuck everyone else. They don't need to know anything about it.”

He looked taken aback by my honesty, a war waging behind his eyes at the validity of it all.

I shifted my weight onto one leg and crossed my arms. I was right, and I knew it.

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