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"I need you," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the sound of our ragged breathing. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dixon captures my mouth in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless. His tongue thrusts against mine, mimicking the rhythm of our bodies as we move together, seeking solace.
"You’ll always have me," Dixon growls, his voice rough with desire. "Always."
I tug at his shirt, pulling it up and off, revealing a muscled chest, within which beats a heart in perfect time with my own.
"I love you," I whisper.
I tighten my grip on him, touch him, caress him, committing every part of him to memory. Maybe things will work out for the best, but maybe they won’t. If they don’t, I want to hold on to moments like these as tightly as I can.
"I love you too," he replies.
Kisses grow into something more. Moments become minutes entwined together that stretch into the morning, and the early red rays of the sunrise filter through the windows. Still, I cling to Dixon, desperate, hoping for the sense of peace that seems just beyond the horizon. This man is the one I want, this life is the one I want, but as hard as I try, I can't shake the feeling that our love might not be enough to shield us from the truth.
When the red-gold rays of sunrise turn to the undeniable post-dawn golden sunshine, Dixon’s phone pings.
He stirs, reaches for it, and as he reads the message on the screen, his eyes go wide and my heart stops.
“It’s Ghost. Erik Marquez is ready to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dixon
Alexandra clings to my back like a spider monkey as my bike roars between my legs while we tear out of my driveway. My heart is on fire in my chest, my veins burn with anticipation and a spark of fear — the sight of every emotion that went through Alexandra’s eyes as I broke the news about Erik Marquez plays on repeat in my mind. Those same fears have lurked at the edges of my thoughts as well, like a sniper waiting for a clear shot. I want answers, but what will we find? What will happen to us when we finally have the truth about what happened to her brother? Will there even still be an us? I crank the accelerator to drown out my doubts beneath the deafening roar of my bike’s engine.
At Reid’s Repairs, we dismount. Ghost is waiting for us in the parking lot, holding a bottle of beer in a loose grip and with an exhausted look on his face. It makes the scar above his right eye stand out even more. As we approach, he holds up a warning hand.
“You got here quicker than I was figuring,” he says.
“What do you mean? You said he’s ready. Is he ready?”
“He’s at the breaking point. Crying, shaking, begging, pissing himself. He’s done it all. I just stepped out for a break. It’s tough work, Smokey. Tough, but gratifying. Plus, taking them to this point and letting them stew for a minute or two leads to a better result, I find. It makes the breaking more satisfying, and they also are more eager to cooperate, because they’ve had some time to dread what you’re going to do to them. Oh, that look in their eyes, when you come back into the room and they can sense that you’re about to take them places they never imagined in their darkest nightmares, it’s just so—”
“Ghost?” I say. He blinks, as if waking up. Beside me, I feel Alexandra fidget nervously. I don’t blame her. Sometimes Ghost gets really excited about his work in a way that creeps out even me.
“Yeah, Smokey?”
“We lost you there for a minute.”
He rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I just really like what I do. It helps the club, helps my friends, and it feels good, you know? It’s simple and pure.”
“Sure, buddy. We appreciate it,” I say.
“Very much,” Alexandra says, nervously, as if trying to placate Ghost.
I put my arm around her to reassure her she has nothing to worry about. Ghost is just an excitable guy when it comes to interrogation.
“Like I said, he’s at the breaking point,” Ghost says. “One more nudge and he’ll do anything you ask. I was going to get him there myself, have him all ready for you, but you were both faster than I expected. You want to do the honors, Dixon?”
I smile. As creepy as he can be, Ghost can also be a good friend; he knows me so well.
“You mean, do I want to beat a confession out of him?”
“Hey, hey, hey, in the government, the way they train us, we don’t use those words,” he says, sharply, face serious. Then he grins. “But this is the real world and that Erik Marquez is a creepy fucker. Hell yes, get in there and do your thing.”
I crack my knuckles and then head toward the door. Beside me, Alexandra moves, too. I stop. “You should wait out here.”
