Page 108 of Ruthless Creatures
“What if I moved you closer to me? New Jersey has some nice suburbs—”
“New Jersey?”
“Martha’s Vineyard, then. It’s gorgeous there.”
I’m trying not to get angry, but heat is already working its way up my neck. “It’s also in Massachusetts. You want me to move across the country and leave my whole life here, just so I can live in a different state from you?”
“It’s only a five-hour drive from Manhattan.”
My voice rises. “Only?”
He exhales. “Fuck. You’re right. Forget it.”
I spin around in his arms and face him, staring at him through the shadows. His eyes are closed. His jaw is set. It looks like he’s decided this is the end of the conversation.
Guess I’ll have to set him straight about that.
“Kage. Look at me.”
Keeping his eyes closed, he says curtly, “Go to sleep.”
This bossy, hardheaded, infuriating man. The longer I know him, the more blood pressure medication I’ll have to take.
“No. We’re going to talk about this. Right now.”
“You know what the definition of a stalemate is? This, right here. We can’t fix this, no matter how much talking we do. So go to sleep.”
“Kage, listen to me—”
He sits up, pushes me onto my back, and straddles my body. Then he gets right into my face and starts shouting.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The best thing, and also hands-down the fucking worst, because of who I am and what I do and all the shit that goes along with that. I can never have the white picket fence, Natalie. I can never have Sunday brunch with friends or Thanksgiving with the in-laws or picnics in the park or any of the other things normal people do, because I’ll never be normal.
“My life doesn’t belong to me, do you understand? I made a vow. I took an oath and sealed it with blood. The Bratva is my family. The Brotherhood is my life. And there’s no way out of it. Blood in, no out. Not ever.”
His voice breaks. “Not even for love.”
Pulse pounding, my whole body trembling, I stare up at his beautiful face and anguished eyes, so full of pain and darkness, and realize what he’s telling me.
We’re doomed.
I suppose I already knew it. This thing between us isn’t built to last. Aside from the logistics of trying to maintain a relationship while living three thousand miles apart, raw passion like ours isn’t sustainable.
The hotter it burns, the faster it flames out.
Add the mafia as the cherry on top of our fucked-up sundae, and you’ve got a tragedy in the making.
So what else is new? It’s not like my life so far has been a romantic comedy.
I reach up and frame his face in my hands, the scruff on his jaw rough and springy under my fingertips. “I hear you. But you’re forgetting something.”
He waits, tense and unblinking, his gaze drilling into mine.
I whisper, “I’m a ride or die. All in or nothing. It doesn’t matter where we live or how far apart we are. I’m yours. You make your vows in blood, but I make them with my heart. And my heart belongs to you now. I don’t need a picket fence or picnics in the park. I only need what you give me. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”
After a moment, he says roughly, “Which is?”
“Yourself.”
