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Killian nods, backing off. I won’t apologize for getting in his face. Amara is helpless against the trained hitman. He’s stronger than her. More qualified at killing people.
He’ll catch and kill her. Unless we catch him first.
“You know as well as I do that he wasn’t just threatening us.” My brow furrows, my guts churning. “When he said he was coming for us, he meant her. He’s coming for us through Amara.”
Killian nods again, his expression grim.
“I already talked to Snake.” Our head of security, who is still owed a long talk regarding his failure. “He’s sending one of his guys to tail Amara. He’ll go undercover. But, Carter…”
His lips twist. I can tell it’s coming.
Deep breath. Don’t go for the knife. Patience, patience, motherfucking patience.
“You have to tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
Both our heads whip toward the woman standing on the landing of our second floor. Amara wears one of Killian’s plain black T-shirts, her blond hair an adorable tangled mess.
When she leans on the railing, her tits push against it. My eyes drag along her naked legs. Instead of wondering if she has her panties on, I worry how long she’s been up there.
She’s smiling. She should be mad that we were trying to hide something from her, but no. Our Amara is smiling. Her lips curve into a mesmerizing shape, and I smile back.
“Morning, beautiful girl,” Killian breaks the silence, his voice hoarse. He moves to stand next to me but doesn’t take his eyes off her.
“Morning.” She kicks her foot back, twirling a knotted lock around her finger. “What do you have to tell me?”
There’s a new edge to her voice. What did she overhear?
I’ll tell her about the blood we shed and the world we live in soon. I make a vow to myself that I’ll stop being such a chickenshit and tell her soon.
Just not today.
I’m sick with worry for her safety. I wouldn’t be able to handle her leaving us too.
Fuck that.
I’m winging it.
“Why don’t you come down here and find out?”
As if sensing what I’m about to tell her, Amara sprints down the stairs. Barrels toward us. We’re practiced in her manic runs and brutal hug attacks. We’re ready for her, our arms are open, one on each side. Our bodies stay firm when Amara clashes with us.
She tilts her head up to get her kiss from him, then me. She smells of minty toothpaste and us. Her love seeps through. I start thinking I might’ve imagined the change in her. Our manic little ray of sunshine.
“Well?” She puts some distance between us, bouncing on her toes. Her breasts bounce with the movement.
Tempting.
Later.
“Remember your jerk parents?”
That opening sentence lands me a surprised laugh out of Amara and an elbow to my ribs from Killian.
“He’s not wrong.” She rubs Killian’s shoulder. “They are jerks.
His gaze turns to her, the love in his eyes unmistakable. When neither of us speaks, Amara sniffs out his coffee. She nudges herself between us, grabs his mug, and sips the cold liquid.
