Page 14 of Cross’s Reckoning

"He would've used it."

"Used what?"

"You." The answer lands harder than I expect.

"Anything a man cared about became another thing Cyrus could put his hand around. I wasn't giving him that."

I want to tell him he's wrong, but too many memories arrive before I can. My father knowing exactly which brother needed money. Who had a kid somewhere. Whose mother was sick. Which man couldn't afford to lose the club. I've always called it knowing his men. Maybe sometimes it was, but sometimes I knew in my heart that it was control. Cross is watching me too closely. I don't want him seeing what that thought does, so I reach for anger instead.

"Convenient."

His eyes narrow. "What is?"

"Ten years of acting like an asshole suddenly becomes noble self-control."

"I didn't say it was noble."

"You just secretly wanted me the whole time?"

"Not secretly enough, apparently."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you're standing close enough that I can feel you breathing while asking why I never touched you."

He's right. I don't remember either of us closing the distance. I should move, but I don't. Cross looks at my mouth, and that is all it takes. I don't know who moves first. Maybe neither of us ever does. One second I'm furious with him and the next his mouth is on mine. There's nothing gentle about it. Ten years of restraint apparently leave no room for tentative.

My hands hit his chest, but instead of pushing him away, my fingers curl into his shirt. Cross makes a rough sound against my mouth, one arm wrapping around my waist as I drag him closer.

The kiss feels like another argument, except neither of us is trying to win it. His mouth is hard, mine just as demanding, and every stupid thing I've told myself about him collides with the way he kisses me like this isn't new to him at all. Maybe because it isn't. Maybe he's imagined this as many times as I have. His hand slides into my hair and my body presses into his before my brain catches up.

Cross breaks the kiss barely an inch. "Lola."

I kiss him again. He turns us until my back meets the side of the garage, one hand settling at my hip. I can feel the restraint in him even now, which somehow makes the hunger underneath it worse. Then reality finally gets through. I'm kissing Cross.

The man my father sent people after tonight. The man who walked out of Perdition while I was still defending it. The man I've spent years believing despised me because that was easier than wondering why I cared. I shove him away and Cross releases me instantly. We stand there breathing too hard.

"I can't do this."

His chest rises once. "Okay."

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know."

"Then I'm probably safer saying nothing."

I glare at him. "You don't get to become reasonable now."

"I'm not being reasonable. I'm trying very fucking hard not to kiss you again."

That shuts me up.

Cross reaches for his cut rather than me. "Go inside, Lola."

He lets me leave and that might be the most dangerous thing he's done all night. Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting on the edge of my bed with my fingers pressed against my mouth. Cross wanted me for years, and the fact rearranges memories I don't have time to examine properly. It doesn't make him right about everything, and it doesn't make me suddenly wrong about every part of my father. Nothing that simple could undo thirty years of being Cyrus's daughter.