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"Cross stays on the board. He's clear."

“I’m out. Off the board. I’m retiring.”

Harlon’s lip twitches with what I think passes for a smile. “Another topic we will cover at a later date.”

He ends the call and pockets the phone. Dark eyes move between Thane and me, assessing, calculating, arriving at whatever conclusion men like him arrive at and then he simply nods.

"Get her out of here, Cross. Cleanup handles the rest."

Thane nods against my hair. "Appreciated."

Harlon turns toward his SUV, then stops. He looks back over his shoulder. "Don't make me regret this. You torched a lot of bridges. She's the only reason I'm letting it slide."

Harlon’s wink makes me feel like I have the attention of a very powerful man.

“Did you know my father?” I ask.

“He was my best friend.”

Fuck me. “And you almost let me die?”

“I knew Thane would handle it.”

With that, he drives away. Taillights bleed red in the rain before vanishing around the corner.

The alley goes quiet.

Huh. “For some reason I think your boss just played matchmaker.”

I watch Thane’s lip curl into a smile. Thane pulls me against him and holds me tighter. “I’ll send him a thank you basket in the morning. That should make him think twice about playing with Cupid’s bow.”

“Why is that?”

“A hard-ass man like him getting a thank you basket? HA. It would ruin the man’s killer reputation. Especially if it’s filled with puppies.”

For a moment I forget about the blood and bullets and can only see a man like Harlon corralling rambunctious puppies.

But then the scent of blood pulls me back into my reality.

We stand in the wreckage of my stepmother's ambition, surrounded by the men she paid to end my life, and I feel nothing but tired. Bone-deep, muscle-heavy, close-my-eyes-and-sleep-for-a-week tired. The adrenaline drains from my legs and takes my balance with it. My knees buckle and Thane's arms are the only thing keeping me upright.

"Easy, sweet girl." His voice is rough, quiet, stripped of everything except care. He turns me in his arms and cups my face with both hands. His thumbs clear rain and tears from my cheeks. Whiskey eyes search mine, reading the damage the way he reads everything, with a patience that should unnerve me but doesn't. Not anymore.

"She killed my father, Thane." The words scrape through my raw throat. "She sat across from him every night and watched him die by inches."

His jaw locks. Those dark eyes burn with a fury he keeps leashed, and I know why. This moment belongs to me. He presses his lips to my forehead and holds them there until I stop shaking.

"I heard. Every word. Her death was too good for her."

I anchor my hands around his wrists where he cups my face. "I shot her."

"Yes, you did."

I whisper another truth between us we both already know. "I don't feel bad about it."

His mouth curves against my skin. "And you shouldn't."

I press my face into his chest, breathing in his warmth and everything that is left of us. His arms close around me, one across my back, one cradling the back of my head, and he holds me the way you hold something precious that you almost lost. I'm soaked through. I'm shaking. Blood streaks his shirt.