But it’s too late now for regrets. There is no other way, and I’m fucking glad to be alive, and with my girl.

When Raylin comes to me, I pull her by my side and curl my good arm around her. She smells of sweet soap and freshness.

“Thank you, guys,” I whisper. “For everything.”

RAYLIN

It all happens so fast. We’re staying at Hawk’s estate out of town, and two detectives come to talk with Hawk, Rook and Storm. I thought I’d stay away from this, but Storm looked pale and tired, his broken arm back in the sling, and I couldn’t leave the room. Then he reached for me, and it was settled.

I’m staying. I watch the proceedings from the sofa, my hand on the thick muscle of Storm’s thigh, feeling it bunch up and release as he talks about his parents, his uncle, the attempts on his life, the letter.

The tattoos and the Organization. All that ink. Phoenixes, roses and snakes biting their tails. Circles in circles.

The detectives lose their color a little as they listen. One of them excuses himself to make a phone call.

“We’ve known about the Organization for years,” the other detective says, a gray-haired man with a scar marking one cheek. “We knew about the Phoenix tattoos, but not about the leaders. We don’t have evidence about the attacks on you, and no direct link between your father,” he turns to Hawk, “and the death of the Jordans.”

“So now what?” Storm’s blue eyes are dark. “They get away with it?”

“My father and I,” Hawk mutters, the first words he has spoken since the arrival of the police. He taps the armrest, gray eyes flickering with thought. “We always got along well.” There’s bitterness in his voice, and I wish I could give him a hug. “I went and paid him a visit last night. It was interesting.”

“What did you do?” Storm is frowning. “Dammit, Hawk.”

“I confronted him.” Hawk shrugs his broad shoulders, stretching the material of the blue shirt he’s wearing. “Told him I knew everything. He confessed.”

“But your word isn’t enough, sir,” the detective says. “He can deny it.”

“Not if I managed to record everything.”

Storm opens his mouth to say something, when Rook cuts in.

“Make that two confessions.” He lifts his cell phone, face set in angry lines. “My father confessed, too, when I told him I wanted in. He was proud of me. Proud.” He spits out the last word. “He confessed to offing Tony Jordan, Storm’s uncle. Hope that’s enough to land him in jail.”

“Should. Should be,” the detective stammers. “Hey, Wilson.” He gestures at the other detective who’s still on the phone. “Come here and call this in. We need back up. About to do a couple of arrests.”

“Will the evidence hold?” Rook asks. “Even if they didn’t know they were being recorded? Or does that only work in the movies?”

“We’ll make it work,” the detective says grimly. “We’ll take the Organization down. Oh boy, this is like Christmas.”

I’d laugh at his eagerness, but the expressions on Storm, Hawk and Rook’s faces are dark. I expected them to be sad, but they look worried, instead.

I wait until the detectives are gone to ask why.

“I understand that it’s hard,” I say to Storm as I lead him to the bedroom Hawk has given us. “No matter how angry I am at my dad, I wouldn’t want him going to jail.”

“That’s not it,” he says, voice laced with exhaustion as he sits down on the bed.

“Then what?”

“Something as big and powerful as the Organization won’t shut down because two of its leaders are arrested. It won’t fucking happen.”

“But now you know about it. About the Organization, about the murder of your parents and uncle. You know everything. No reason to try and kill you anymore.”

“Yeah.” He flashes me a smile, faint but real. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” I inform him and sit beside him, so I can wrap my arms around him and kiss him. “That’s why you like me.”

“No, baby.” He kisses me back, breathless. “I like you because you’re the right one for me.”

***

The arrest of the two leaders of the Organization is spectacular. We watch it on the news. A small army surrounds the two middle-aged men as they are led to the police station in handcuffs.

We’re sitting in a hotel suite in Madison, Wisconsin. We’re here to visit Megan, my friend who I left without any explanation a couple of months ago. I’m nervous about meeting her and couldn’t even bring myself to call her first.

Storm thought waiting here for the arrest of the leaders and for the dust to settle was as good as anywhere else.

So here we are, drinking chilled white wine even though the weather outside is turning chilly. It’s cozy and warm inside, warm enough in fact we’re both in underwear, and Storm has been trying to get mine off even though his arm is in the sling and his leg in a bandage, still.

I laugh at the expression on his face when I pull away from him again to sip at my wine.

“Pay attention,” I point at the enormous flat screen on the wall. “This is history happening.”

“This is bullshit,” he says, and reaches for me again.

I put my glass on a side table and let him tumble me on the huge bed. He crawls until he’s next to me, and grumbles when he can’t lie on his side and touch me at the same time.

He’s so funny when he’s grumpy. Funny and sexy. I roll, pushing him onto his back, and bend over to kiss him. We kiss and kiss, and he groans in my mouth, clutching the back of my head with his good hand. He’s growing hard between our bodies, and I suck in a sharp breath at the pang of desire.

I lift my head. His eyes are dazed, his mouth half-open. His hand slides from the back of my neck to my shoulder and down to my breast. He cups it, squeezing it through the fine white lace, his gaze darkening to near black. I roll my hips over his cotton-clad cock and he moans, head falling back, jaw going slack.

Scooting back, I drag down his black briefs, freeing his long, hard cock, and take the head into my mouth. His taste explodes on my tongue—salty, bitter, perfect.

He stills, breath caught, muscles going taut in his legs and stomach. Then I take him in deeper and he groans, his back arching off the mattress. “Fuck.”

I love how he can’t hide his body’s reactions. His good hand fists in the covers, his knees bend, his hips jerk. He growls deep inside his throat when I suck on the head, pants when I lick the underside of his cock.

He gasps when I cup his sack and roll his heavy balls in my hand.

His cock twitches, more saltiness seeping out of the small slit. He’s close. I lick at him, and he curses, fist thumping on the mattress.

“Ray.” He fumbles for something. His wallet for a condom, probably.

I reach for it, pull off the foil and rip it open. I pull the condom over his cock and lift myself, then sink down on him, taking him deep. I gasp as he pierces me and bend over him trying to catch my breath.

“Oh fuck, Ray…” He rocks up into me, swelling bigger. His teeth grit. “Shit.”

Pleasure floods my core. I’m close, too, so close, I just can’t… Can’t stop myself from tightening and clenching, and I shudder, the heat bursting, shooting up my spine, spreading to my limbs until I moan out loud.

He cries out, abs clenching tight, and he comes inside me in hot spurts I can feel through the thin rubber. His hips jerk a couple of times with aftershocks, then he finally relaxes, head rolling.

I lift myself off and he reaches down and holds down the condom as he slips out of me.

“Fucking hell,” he says hoarsely. “Damn.”

I grin as I help him take it off and hop off the bed to carry it to the trash. Then I’m back, crawling next to him and curling so I can lay my head on his shoulder, content.

“Damn, I thought I could last—”

I lay my fingers over his mouth, stopping the words. “Rest.”

He bites lightly at my fingers and I pull them away. “I want to make you come again and again. I wanna see you, taste you, smell you as you come.”