Page 62 of Covert Desires

Ricardo’s limp body drops to the floor, still alive, but barely.

Around us, the other attackers are sprawled on the floor, either dead or unconscious.

My brother laughs like a maniac, blood splattering from his missing teeth.

I pull him up by his ripped collar, “What’s so funny?”

“This won’t change shit. You’ll just be the guy who killed two Dons,” he spits, getting his dirty blood on my shoes.

“I don’t think so. You’re coming with me. So you can tell them what you did,” I say with conviction.

“Oh? Doubtful. Why would I confess?”

I don’t answer, just stand aside to let Kiah click the metal collar that used to be mine around the battered asshole’s neck.

“We have ways,” she answers, kicking him in the gut for good measure, before turning to me.

Kiah's wild eyes meet mine, a mix of concern and something else I can't quite name. “You okay?” she asks softly, trying to wipe the blood from my cheek but only smearing it more.

I nod, my hands shaking as the adrenaline begins to slow.

"You were amazing,” I murmur.

She shrugs, but I catch a hint of pride in her eyes. "You didn't do so bad yourself, little brat. Good job.”

The praise sinks into my skin, warming me from the inside, and I grin, letting some of the tension seep from my veins.

It’s far from over, but phase one is complete.

Throwing caution to the wind, I reach for Kiah.

My hands cup her face gently, a stark contrast to the violence of moments ago.

I pull her close, my lips crashing against hers in a passionate, desperate kiss.

The world disappears, and there's only Kiah—the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the faint taste of blood and sweat.

It's messy and urgent, born from the chaos we've just survived and the realization of how close I came to losing her.

My fingers tangle in her hair as I deepen the kiss, leaving streaks of red highlights in the blonde.

But she doesn’t stop me as I pour everything into the kiss—my gratitude, my admiration, the storm of emotions I can't put into words.

She responds with equal fervor, her hands gripping my sticky shirt, pulling me closer.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, our eyes meet, and I see my own tumultuous emotions mirrored in her gaze.

"I..." I start, but words fail me.

She chucks my duffle bag at me—just money inside, the means to my original end. My ticket home. My chance to clear my name.

Everything I've wanted since I washed up on this godforsaken island.

So why does my chest feel hollow at the thought of leaving?

The realization hits me with the force of a bullet. Home isn't a place anymore. It's a person. It's her.

Kiah grabs my hand, always efficient, always in control, but I pull her back. Time seems to slow, like the moment before a trigger pull.

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