Page 122 of Sinful
"It also means—" I have to say this. Have to make sure she understands the weight. "It means if I die in two days, you're a widow before you're even really a wife."
Her face goes pale. "Don't. Don't talk like that."
"I have to. Because it's possible. Likely, even, with the odds we're facing." I take her hands. "And I need you to understand what you're signing up for. This isn't some romantic idea. This is real. Dangerous. Permanent."
"I understand." Her voice is steady, even though her hands are shaking. "I'm choosing this anyway. Choosing you."
I cup her face, make her look at me. "Why?"
"Because for the first time in three years, I'm not running. I'm choosing. And I choose you." Tears shine in her eyes. "I choose us. Even if it's scary. Even if it ends badly. I choose this."
I kiss her then.
Slow and deep and full of everything I feel—love and fear and gratitude and need all tangled together into something I don't have words for.
She responds immediately, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
We fall back on the narrow bed, tangled together.
This is different from the woods, different from his room in Florida. Not desperate survival. Not frantic need.
This is claiming.
Promising.
Building something that might actually last.
"I love you," I say against her lips.
"I love you too."
The words settle between us like a vow.
Later—after we've kissed until we're both breathless, after the sun has fully set and darkness has fallen—I take her to the clubhouse for dinner.
The main room is full.
Twenty Shotgun Saints members scattered around, eating barbecue that someone picked up from town, drinking beer, the nervous energy of men preparing for war thrumming through everything.
All eyes turn when we walk in together, my arm around her shoulders.
Phantom looks up from where he's talking to Shadow. "So, this is her."
"This is Helle." I pull her closer. "My ol' lady."
Murmurs ripple through the room.
Surprise, respect, curiosity.
A Nomad claiming an ol' lady isn't unheard of, but it's rare enough to be noteworthy.
Shadow pushes off from the table he's leaning against, walks over with that cocky grin. "Damn, Bravos. You didn't say she was this hot."
From the corner, Grace's voice: "Jesus, Shadow. Can you not?"
"What? I'm giving a compliment."
"You're being a Neanderthal."
