Page 190 of Endgame
First though.
My runaway wife. All that matters now is taking care of her.
She refuses to listen to me, and I don’t blame her.
How can I? She’s convinced herself that we’re blood-related. That’s enough to make anyone panic, no matter how brave they are.
And she is brave.
Running from me, it’s a selfless act. She isn’t doing it to save herself from an incestuous relationship.
I’m the one she’s trying to save.
Aurora cares for me. Shelovesme.
She knows I won’t let her go even if weareblood-related.
Fucking cute, is what it is.
Cute and unacceptable.
The door to my garage lurches open. Aurora throws herself into it, taking a hard right. Disappearing from my sight.
She goes for the key locker, no doubt. While she’s never been to the garage, it’s impossible to miss. It’s also left unlocked. There’s no use when the garage is impenetrable and we keep the remote in a safe on the other side of the house.
I’m almost there. And here she is again, running with her hand clenched. She must have one of the fobs there.
Technically, I could go back to the remote I left in the library. Use her collar against her.
Or I could pick up my pace and catch her before she gets to either of the cars.
However, watching her proves to be far more enticing.
Her frantic moves, the stress on her face.
My fucking God, I get hard from that.
Can she even drive? Probably not. But I can’t imagine she’d let that stop her.
I’m inside the garage, walking around so I’m one car behind her when she starts the SUV.
Her hands are shaking as she adjusts the rearview mirror, where her eyes meet mine.
Hers are wide, glossed over by tears.
Mine are narrowed. Determined.
It would be nothing to walk over to her. To reach the door she hasn’t closed yet, snatch her out of the car, and show her she could never run away from me.
What I do instead is slide into the passenger seat and throw the photo album she left there into the back.
“Get out.” The tremor in her voice is something I’ll never get enough of. “Get out. You’re not thinking straight, so I’m doing it for both of us. I’m leaving. You—you—fuck. Get out!”
“I won’t.” Grabbing her by the waist earns me a growl that verges on a scream.
Little fists pound at my arms, my chest. I pull her onto my lap, anyway. She can keep punching me while she straddles me.
One hand around her throat, the other on her hip.
