Page 67 of Ride with the Devil

I hit the concrete floor of the garage, but I barely notice the ache as Kylie’s eyes twinkle in the dim lighting.

“Miss me, ace?”

I lash my hand out, grabbing her arm. I was right when I suspected someone was peeking over my shoulder. While I was struggling with the damn socket wrench, she must’ve snuck up behind me, crouching down at my back, waiting for me to notice her.

There’s a duffel bag at her feet. Her hair is wild and loose, a pair of unnecessary sunglasses tucking the curls out of her face. A souvenir from her trip to Florida? Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. She’s back.

She’s here.

I tug on her at the same as I pull myself into a seated position. Kylie’s laugh is a balm on my lonely soul as she allows herself to land in my lap.

Wrapping my arms around her, squeezing her tight so that she can’t escape me, I find her lips with mine and kiss her until we’re both breathless. Then, when I’m afraid that she’s running out of air, I pull back, nuzzling her soft cheek with my nose.

She smellsamazing.

Fuck, I missed her. Let her go? I’ll never be able to let her go.

She wants to go to Florida, I’m there. Might as well meet the parents since she’ll have to kill me before I allow us to be separated for a whole fuckingweek. She needs a place to stay now that she’s back? It’ll be here. She needs a job if she’s serious about retiring as the Hummingbird? There’s always something the Sinners need, and she’s as resourceful as she is smart and fearless.

But, more than that, she’s mine—and the fat that she’s here, in my arms, proves it.

Kylie tucks her arms under my pits, completing our embrace. “That answers my question for me, huh? Not like I don’t appreciate the welcome, but you act like I went to Mars instead of Florida.”

As far out of my reach as it was, it might as well have been Mars.

“Five days,” I growl.

She pats my back. “Right. I went to Florida for five days.”

“It’s been a week!”

“No one said I couldn’t make a pit stop first.”

I pull away from her. “A pit stop? What do you mean, a pit stop?”

She pauses, her forehead furrowing. “How pissed will you be if I tell you that I changed my flight? Then booked the Florida one for the next day?”

His forehead furrows. “What do you mean?”

I get an impish smile in return. “So… about my job. Remember how I said I’ll still kill sometimes, especially to keep you from it?”

I nod, then my stomach twists. “Baby, baby… Kylie. No. Don’t tell me you went after Cross after all.”

She blinks, confused. “Wait? The artist?” A shake of her head has the knots in my guts unraveling. “No. I had a bigger target in mind. And, before you look like you’re gonna shit yourself again, I’ll tell you it wasn’t the Devil of Springfield, either.”

I’m glad to hear it. But if it wasn’t two of Kylie’s failed contracts, then who?

I get the answer a moment later when she wiggles off my lap, taking perverse enjoyment as she gives my cock a possessive stroke before she pops up, walking over to the duffel bag she abandoned. She drops down— I swallow a groan when she shows off her ass—and unzips the bag.

I lick my lips. I’m already fantasizing about bending her over my bed, christening it asoursby fucking her ass if she’ll let me, and the memory of how good it felt to thrust into that tight heat has me too distracted to realize that she pulled a black bag out of the duffel.

With one hand, she gestures for me to get to my feet. There isn’t anything I won’t do for Kylie, even something as simple as that. I push myself up until I’m stand, and once I do, she hands

“So… my pit stop? Was in Oklahoma.”

“Kylie. Youdidn’t?—”

“I did. Brought you back a souvenir, too.”

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