12: Bolt Saga, Book 12

by Angel Payne

  Yeah. I really will remember this for a thousand damn years.

  But I’m also going to remember the clenched distress in her voice—and the sudden realization that I can’t do a fucking thing to help her get past it except oblige with her dictate the best way I can.

  So I do.

  Grunting hard as I slide off the table, barely keeping my balance.

  Growling at my legs through clenched teeth as I stumble toward the door—“Move, move, move!”—and then out into the hall, where a half-dozen more henchmen are sprawled across the floor, alive but unconscious. Next to each of them is a melted mangle of black steel. As I take agonizing hops over the assholes, I try not to gawk but quickly accept that impossibility. My fiancée has just turned a bunch of high-powered rifles into oversized licorice twists.

  “Good and Plenty,” I mutter, my careening brain dropping imaginary white and pink coating on top of the decimated weapons. I get two seconds to indulge the vision before being snapped back to the purpose by a pained moan underneath me—to which I respond with a vicious spit when it’s accompanied by a desperate hand around my ankle. “Shit! Asswad!”

  The minion turns a half-burnt grimace up at me. “We…will find you again,” he snarls from between his charred teeth. “She…will find you…again. She…she…is…everywh—”

  A boot on the dick’s neck cuts him off from spewing anything more. Not mine. Number one, I don’t have a cock sock to my name at the moment, let alone boots. Number two, the eerie surety in the guy’s voice has tugged at a visceral part of my being. A part I abhor acknowledging. The part that, for as long as I fucking live, will never completely go away.

  The part permanently haunted by Faline Garand.

  “Time for night-night again, boo-boo bear.”

  The part easily shoved away and out of my psyche as soon as Foley puts an end to the guy’s consciousness with a swift smack of his rifle butt. He’s barely done with the task before snapping his regard back up to me.

  “And now it’s time to get your sorry ass out the damn—eeowww.” He whips the back of his free hand over his eyes. “I didn’t literally mean ass.”

  I fling a glower. “Sorry about your delicate sensibilities, precious. Didn’t have time to muck around for my leathers while Emma and Faline were—” I seize to a stop before we clear the next archway in the hall, doubling over as horror lances me with physical pain. “Holy fuck. Holy Christ. What the hell am I doing?”

  Foley jerks a hand into my armpit, yanking me back up with agonizing intensity. His features are a daunting match to the mood, confirming he’s been on this E-ticket ride a bunch of times before. “You’re doing the best thing for the situation right now, gimp-orina. Getting the hell out of the way.”

  “Emma—”

  “Yeah. Exactly. Getting the hell out of her way.”

  As if he’s shot all the syllables at me from a nail gun, I sag. And even look down, expecting to find a couple dozen steel heads turned into sippy straws for my bloodstream. Though I come up empty, I growl at Foley, “This feels disgusting.” Against the demand of every bone in my body. Every calling of my instinct. Every need in my soul. Must fucking protect her. Must fucking save her. Must keep her away from that horrific, heartless bitch…

  “I know, man.” Foley’s low rumble conveys that he really does—though it’s less than a drop of comfort for my spirit. And as I let the guy help me hobble all the way out to the Rover, I pledge a solemn vow to myself. And to Emma.

  This is the first and last time she’ll ever have to do this. To shoulder the burden of conquering our enemies for the sake of saving my sorry, naked ass.

  I’m going to remember.

  All of it.

  All the fear and the pain and the desperation and the helplessness.

  And yeah, I’m even going to remember the dire, consuming relief of this moment too—as she finally joins me in the Rover’s back seat, tumbling into the car headfirst as Foley guns the engine, peeling the tires in the peaceful Palos Verdes night. Every blue-hair in every other estate on this block has likely scribbled the car’s license and reported us to the police by now, but I don’t give a flying fuck. If I’m never welcomed back in this neighborhood again, it’ll be too soon. I only want to get to our ridge again. Everything I need is there.

  Correction.

  Everything I need is finally, finally, back in my arms again.

  My sweet Bunny.

  My perfect Velvet.

  My astounding angel.

  And now, truly, the magnificent more of my world.

  What an adventure this is going to be.

  I can’t fucking wait.

  Chapter Six

  Emma

  The drive up the canyon back to the ridge has never been more incredible or magical.

  The air, blowing in through the open windows because Reece insists on it, is redolent with sage and lavender and night jasmine. A little bit of ocean damp mingles with the canyon’s lingering warmth, even at this late hour. As the earth spins and officially kicks over the time from one day to the next, there are distant spurts in the sky. Despite the hell that LA has endured over the last few days, Angelenos across the land insist on giving the Consortium a giant fuck-you by celebrating our nation’s independence as they’d originally planned.

  It’s perfect. So perfect.

  Freedom.

  It’s the ideal designation for the new road Reece and I are now looking toward. As I gaze up at him, with my head against his shoulder and my hand against his blanket-covered chest, I see that truth gleaming in the gorgeous silver lights in his eyes and in the golden outline around his tousled hair. The halo is so much thicker around him than anyone else—an anomaly I first attributed to the stampede of my adrenaline after securing Faline to the floor by melting the ends of some zip ties around her wrists and ankles.

  But even as I’d left her that way—after our brief but meaningful “girl talk”—and was safe in Reece’s embrace, I almost shouted at Sawyer to stop the Rover so I could go back and end things differently at the mansion. End her differently.

  Another misnomer, since I chickened the hell out and haven’t “ended” her at all.

  So freedom isn’t really the most perfect tag.

  But maybe freedom for now will be okay?

  I don’t freaking know. And can’t come to any kind of peace about that. And because of that, can’t seem to settle comfortably, no matter how magnificent the night or ideal the occasion.

  Damn it.

  “Hey.” Reece’s gravelly prompt, along with a gentle slide of his thumb across my cheek, are the ideal incentives for focusing back up to his devastating stare. “What is it?” he urges, drawing my attention to his full, strong mouth. The color’s returned to both his lips, as well as the masculine burnish to his cheeks, though his jawline still seems more rugged than usual, and his thick hair clings to sweat from our ordeal.

  But now more than ever, he takes my breath away. So much so, I’m having trouble summoning an honest answer. Maybe any kind of an answer. I mean, is he for real? The man’s been through another round of that bitch’s hell, and yet here he is, beseeching me to go ahead and boo-hoo with my issues?

  Beautiful, unbelievable man.

  Devoted, daring hero.

  But does he still want to be my partner too?

  Does he still respect me, after every irrational decision I made today? Does he perceive me the same way at all? And do I have any right to even ask him that, just an hour after he staggered off Faline’s magical mystery lab table of horrors?

  “Emmalina…” He goes for a reproving edge now, and I slice him short with a resigned sigh as Sawyer slows the Rover in front of the house. The second we stop, ’Dia’s already got the front door flung open and is all but flying out to greet us, followed in short order by Trixie, Joany, Chase, and Angelique. From the lab’s side of the driveway, Alex and Fershan escort an exhausted but grinning Wade, still blatantly basking in his moment of being the he
ro returned from battle.

  But even as we’re immersed in warmth and embraces and concern, the ox next to me remains…well, an ox. He’s reading my thoughts better than ever, damn it. Revision. He’s probably always been this annoyingly clairvoyant; I’m just really aware of the talent now.

  Astoundingly aware…

  “Hey! Gang!” His shout booms into the night, sending birds out of the trees and nocturnal animals scurrying away but definitely gaining everyone’s undivided attention. After giving them all a grateful nod, though still shrouded in just a blanket, he declares in a more reasonable tone, “Look. We’re damn thankful for every single one of you”—and flicks a meaningful gaze toward Wade, Fersh, and Alex—“especially those who poured so much of their talent and courage into helping both of us today.” While winging his dazzling smile around to everyone else, he loops an arm around my neck. “But right now, Em and I need a second to break this all down for ourselves.”

  As soon as he hits the middle of that sentence, I duck my head. I’m probably not the only one who heard his stress on “all,” but I’m damn sure I’m alone in understanding what it really covers.

  The more for which it’s come to truly stand for.

  “Oh, my sweet boy.” Trixie takes the lead on responding for the entire group. With tears turning her seafoam eyes to peridot, she approaches with both hands outstretched, cupping her son’s face with tight adoration. “You two take all the time you need. You’ve earned it.”

  Reece closes his eyes for a long second, rubbing his free hand atop hers. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  “Not as much as I lo— Reece Andrew?”

  Her flustered demand halts him as he’s scooping up my hand and heading toward the footpath leading to the lookout point beneath the peak of our memorial hill. “What?” He jogs his head back over a shoulder.

  “Wh-What are you doing?”

  “Taking time with Emma?” His dark brows hunch. “Like you just told me I should?”

  “Not in the middle of the wilderness! In nothing but a blanket! Reece? Reece?”

  I want to giggle but don’t give in until we’re well out of range of the house lights—their power now fully restored by Alex and Fersh, thank goodness—and into the silver and gray depths where night shadows are mingling with the moonlight. As we climb the path, Chase’s soothing voice drifts out on the wind. “Mom, it’s July. And he is his own personal space heater. And if something decides to bite him on the ass, it’s his own damn fault.”

  Reece joins me in the laughter now, though tacks on a grunt before muttering, “Can’t help it if I have a bitable ass, can I?”

  “Mmmm.” I fit myself to his side, reaching beneath the blanket to cop a generous feel. Damn. The man does possess a very nice ass. “Seems delectable to me.” So fine. So firm. So—

  “Do not tempt me, woman.” He grabs my hand and then threads my fingers with his. “Yet.” He qualifies it with a wink—earning him my sultry pout.

  “All right, all right,” I concede. “You win, Mr. Richards.”

  “I usually do, Miss Crist.”

  “Bet you’re glad that hasn’t changed now.”

  He doesn’t respond for a long beat. But with low sagacity, he finally murmurs, “Aha.”

  “Oh, dear.” I release the mutter as he plunks down in a small patch of wild clover. A tall sage bush flanks the area on one side while an olive tree stretches overhead from the other. “Why am I already dreading the subtext of that?”

  “No subtext, Bunny.” He somehow spreads the blanket to make room for me and opens the flap to beckon me in next to him. “That’s exactly what it means.”

  “Which is what?”

  I make the requisition with a quiet but watchful gaze. Somehow, this feels like the most important conversation of our relationship—and there have been a lot of important ones over the last twelve months. The night he first revealed himself to me as Bolt. The day we conceived Richards Reaches Out together. The new understandings after New York. Our fight, and then unforgettable night of making up, in Paris. The hours after he went globally public about the Consortium.

  All such significant moments…

  All of which I’d gone into—and come out of—as a normal woman. Okay, so “normal” means something different in this man’s world, though enlightening him about that is like telling a fireman he’s got a bit of ash on his shoulder.

  “Hmmm. Forget I asked that.” I pull back by a few inches, realizing we probably both need the room—but especially me as I regroup thoughts. Oddly, the blackness of the view before us is a help. Far away, I can hear the crash of the sea upon the shore. Closer in, it’s the shoosh of the wind through the grasses and its haunting echo back through the canyon. All around me, signs and proof of life and power, though I can’t see them. It’s the same with the force now churning inside me. It’s invisible right now, but I already see it.

  I already know it.

  Part of me now. Defining me.

  But how does it change us?

  Ding, ding, ding. And there, kids, is the million-dollar question of the night.

  The dilemma I already feel him reading in me. Thank God some things haven’t changed.

  “So what are you asking, Emmalina?”

  A deep breath. Another. And then a study of the dark beyond, borrowing from its vastness for strength. Because even though this vista is black, I still know there’s a ridge beneath us. A foundation, even in the unknown.

  “Everything’s different now,” I finally utter.

  “Is it?”

  I shoulder-bump him. “You know what I mean.” But then scoop my head over, tucking myself against that carved, broad plateau of muscle. “So I guess I’m just wondering…”

  “What?” Though Reece’s voice is rough, his demeanor is gentle. I have no way of telling him how grateful I am, besides the equally tender grasp I form around his raised knee. I don’t dare try anything more. With glaring clarity, I now understand what he goes through after intense missions. The aftereffect of burning through so much energy in such a short amount of time… It’s like when the sugar kicks in after drinking too much wine, the mellow buzz replaced by a tired but sizzling restlessness. It’s hard to stay still. It’s really hard to mind my manners. I get double points for doing so, since I’m pressed against my sculpted, sinewy, and completely naked fiancé.

  But we have to talk this out. And it has to be now.

  After another fortifying inhalation, I lick my lips, lift my head, and state, “I guess I’m wondering how you feel about that.”

  And there it is. Bald and exposed and truthful and scary.

  Especially because his answer isn’t immediate.

  Which means he must either love or hate the question—a perception I can’t get an accurate reading on, even with my fab new “Emma ESP.”

  So I stammer on, attempting to compensate for my wild nervousness. “Okay, so I—I guess I mean that—well, that I’m different now, so it would stand to reason that we’ll be too, so if you’re freaked out and need some time to think about it or whatever, then I underst—”

  The man razes my words—and damn near all my senses—down to their scorched, charred foundations with his fierce grip to my face and his brutal possession of my lips. I don’t even get out an answering sigh because he steals it from me, breaching me with a ruthless sweep of his tongue, which possesses me with commanding force.

  Dear God. I thought I’d experienced every passionate kiss in the man’s arsenal. Right now, it feels like I’ve never kissed him—or anyone else. My senses are like virgin grass beneath a forest fire, seared to the roots and then exposed for punishment by all the elements. It hurts, but I’ve never felt more alive. It’s hot, but I’ve never wanted more blisters.

  Sound finally tumbles from me in the form of a protesting moan when he pulls away and we can both suck down some air. He answers my dissent with a maddening, mesmerizing smile. His perfect white teeth glow against the gloom, an ideal accom
paniment for the silver sparks in his eyes.

  “My beautiful Velvet,” he murmurs, a soft chide in his voice. “Of course I’m freaked out.”

  “Oh.” I stutter it out in three separate parts. “Um. Okay…”

  “But why is that a bad thing?” He twists to face me fully, going nearly crisscross with his legs. Only with sheer force of will do I keep my stare from dropping into the gap between his timber-log thighs. My climbing libido will not be able to handle the sight of the perfect treasure there…

  “Well, it wasn’t like you had any warning about this.” I’m bemused by how defined I now am, thirty seconds after bumbling through my sentences. “And I know it probably wasn’t the best-thought-out plan, but when I got back here, all that filled my mind were images of them dragging you away into Faline’s torture chamber…”

  So much for clarity and composure. Tears take over my voice, and not delicate little princess ones either.

  “Ssshhh,” Reece consoles, spreading his hand to the back of my neck and kneading me steadily there. “It’s all right, baby. I get it. I know.”

  “I felt so helpless,” I grate. “After my shitty call had landed you back in your worst nightmare…”

  “A nightmare you had to endure too,” he counters. “Apparently twice—and willingly volunteering yourself for the repeat ride too.”

  I swallow hard. “Just as you did.” And I don’t hide the subtle accusation in my voice.

  “Yeah.” He presses harder on my neck, pulling me closer to feather his full lips across my forehead. “Just as I did—and as I would all over again, given the same set of circumstances courtesy of that deranged witch.”

  I slide my eyes shut, savoring the feeling of having him so close and big and near, before steeling myself for being the one that’s likely about to blow it to shreds. “Reece?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I…I didn’t kill her.” I dot that stunner with a soft wince, hoping it sufficiently relays everything I can’t add out loud. I couldn’t. I have no idea why. She doesn’t deserve to live. I would’ve been doing the entire world a favor. But—