Page 153 of Savage Roses

“After they suffer. Then I’ll rest for good.”

“I don’t like the way that sounds. Jon, I want you. More than I want revenge.”

“There’s no turning back. The only way out is through. That’s the only way we get our ending.”

I flinch at the honesty. Though I know he’s right and have even shared his feelings and thirst for the most savage revenge possible. It still feels different hearing him say it aloud. It makes it real. Something we can’t back down from.

Something we’re going to have to face. Whether we live or die trying.

That’s where this is headed. We both know it.

He said it succinctly and it’s the truth—the only way we get our happy ending is if we fight for it. Kill for it. Destroy the people who have done their damnedest to hurt us in the worst ways. Only, we proved unbreakable no matter how hard they tried.

“Then?” I croak, feeling overwhelmed yet unable to look away.

The swirls of oceanic blues and greens in his eyes are mesmerizing. Always have been.

A rare, though faint, smile twitches onto Salvatore’s lips. “Then we get to be happy. We get to be together.”

“Our puppy.”

I almost smile myself at the brief shift of Salvatore’s head, as though he’s tempted to tilt it to the side despite lying down. He doesn’t need to when his confusion is clear.

“The beach house. Have you already forgotten our deal?” I ask, amused. “We’re getting Salt and Pepa a brother or sister in canine form.”

“They tear mice’s heads off. You really want to subject a puppy to that?”

“Toymice.”

“Same difference.”

“They missed you. Salt and Pepa.”

“I guess I really am their daddy.”

The corner of his lip quirks in another near smile. His hand leaves my cheek to explore the rest of me. Slow and appreciative, demonstrating how sensitive I am and always will be to his touch.

“It’s practice,” I tease. “For the future.”

Our arms and legs wind up twisted together again as I become entrapped between him and my pillow. I couldn’t mind less, and neither could he. His fingers splay out along the side of my hip and then reach around, cupping my ass.

My own trace the veins in his forearm and through his long, unkempt hair. We’re doing what I told him to do earlier.

Touching. Feeling. Savoring.

Bonding in a way we’ve been denied for weeks but what’s really seemed like an eternity.

“I thought about you,” he says, kissing my lips. “I was able to get through it by thinking about times we spent together. The rides I used to take you for on my bike and all the nights we watched your black-and-white movies.”

A soft laugh bubbles out of me. “Myblack-and-white movies? Like watchingCasablancawasn’t your idea!”

“From your influence. You’re a bad one.”

“Sounds familiar. Except you have it backwards.”

He cups my chin and openly stares at my lips. “Phi, we’ve established it’s you. The real bad influence. A bad girl.”

“Don’t start!”