My phone chirps with a new text.

Hope you're ready. Once I get you home, I'm never letting you go.

I grin and bite my lip, amazed that I can feel the sincerity behind his words by simply reading them.

Even if you let me go, I'd never leave. No good-byes, remember?

I hit "send" and hope that bringing up the breakup call Hatch insisted I make doesn't hurt him-my phone chirps.

Good-bye? What language is that? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.

I let my fingers fly over the keys in response.

It doesn't concern us. What does concern us is that I'm anxious to see you after two days, and if you don't pick me up soon I might explode.

His response is instantaneous.

Well then get your s.e.xy a.s.s out here. I've been sitting in your driveway for five minutes.

My heart leaps in my chest, and I race to the door, swing it open, and find Mason halfway up the walk. We both stop, staring with wild eyes and devouring each other before I move. He must see it coming because he braces seconds before I launch myself into his arms.

He grunts from what I a.s.sume to be his stab wounds, but he doesn't let me go. One hand cups my a.s.s, and the other digs into my hair, pressing my face into his neck. "f.u.c.k, baby, I missed you so much."

"Me too." I run my nose along his neck, drinking in his earthy sweet scent with the knowledge that I'll get to do it every day from now until . . . I shake off the heavy feeling that comes along with an uncertain future and just hold on tighter. "Am I hurting you?"

"Nothing hurts when I'm with you."

I smile against his corded neck. "I mean your arm. Does it hurt to hold me?"

"Answer's the same." His hand slips up my thigh and under my cutoff shorts to grip my bare bottom. He groans, and his fist in my hair tightens. "Your roommate home?"

I chuckle, and the sound rolls from my throat thick with l.u.s.t. "No, but I don't want to stay here for another second." Leaning back, I fix my eyes on him. "The next time I'm naked with you I want it to be in our bed."

The fog of desire clears from his crystal-blue eyes for a second, and love like I've never seen shines from their aqua depths. Just like floating on that surfboard and staring out into the infinite sea, locked in Mason's eyes I've never felt more a part of something. More needed, complete.

And finally free to hold tight to my forever.

Forty.

Trix The next few weeks pa.s.s in a blur. Mason and I have nothing but time to settle in to our new lives together. Mason's back to training at the UFL; bypa.s.sing doctor's orders to take four weeks off, he took one.

I've started working part-time at the Youth Center until something full-time opens up. If there's one look that could rival Mason's when he came to rescue me in the desert, it would be the relief and joy on Denny's face when I showed up at the Youth Center. His bright eyes and larger-than-an-eight-year-old-face-can-handle smile only solidified my purpose in life: to love kids who don't get enough at home.

Other than the occasional nightmares and Mason disowning his brother, I'd say life is good. Great even. Better than I ever expected.

Turns out Detective Hodgeson was right. The DA didn't press charges for Elijah's death, and all the guys came out of that night as local heroes. We were able to put the night behind us and focus on moving forward.

But, there's just one last thing I have to do.

I check the clock on the bedside table, waiting for the last number to click over from nine to zero when the strong arm that's tossed over my body tightens around my chest. One big hand cups my breast, and I'm pulled back into the cradle of Mason's torso.

"How long you gonna stare at it?" His groggy voice at my ear sends waves of goose b.u.mps across my skin.

I sigh. "I'm willing it to freeze."

"How's that working?"

"It's not."

His low chuckle makes me grin. "Shooting ice with your eyes, huh?" His lips brush the sh.e.l.l of my ear. "Been watchin' too many Disney movies."

I turn in his arms, and he loosens his hold to allow me room before tugging my body flush with his. He slides his ma.s.sive thigh between mine, and our legs tangle beneath the sheets. My body warms, and I'm amazed at how even the softest, most innocent touches feel erotic.

He kisses my forehead. "Nervous about today?"

I sigh and nuzzle into his neck. "I don't want to go."

"Then don't." His tone is serious and laced with anger.

"I have to. You know I have to."

He nods, but the way his muscles tense says it all. He doesn't want me to go.

After Hatch was released from the hospital and put in prison, his lawyer said they'd grant my parents and me a private meeting. I immediately turned them down, not interested in hearing what he has to say or bringing up the past that would only upset my mom and dad. But my parents insisted on going. And I can't let them go alone.

"It's f.u.c.ked up I can't be there with you."

I peer up into the most loving and loyal set of blue eyes that soothe my frazzled nerves. "His lawyer set the terms. Besides, it's probably best to keep you two separated."

"Psht. Guy deserves to get his a.s.s-"

I press my lips to his and hold them there until his muscles unclench and he exhales. "Let's not talk about him." I check the clock over my shoulder then turn back to the handsome and nearly naked man in my arms. "I have twenty-five minutes before I have to be in the shower." I slide my hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and tease him with my fingertips.

He groans.

"There has to be a better way to spend the next twenty-five minutes that doesn't involve talking about Hatch, right?" I bite my lip to keep from smiling as he flashes me a crooked grin.

He grinds the long and hard muscle of his thigh between my legs, his hands moving to my a.s.s. "I can think of a few things." He falls to his back, pulling me with him so that I'm straddling his leg. "But it'll take a f.u.c.kuva lot longer than twenty-five minutes." He nips at my mouth, dragging my lower lip between his teeth.

"Okay, I won't wash my hair."

He runs his smooth lips down my jaw to my neck, sucking gently.

"Mmm . . . or wear makeup."

He smiles against my throat. "So how much time do we have now?"

"Almost an hour." I bite my lip as his mouth glides against my throat.

"Oh, I can do plenty in an hour."

"Give me all you've got. I'll need it to get through today." My hips roll on their own accord, seeking out friction.

"Mmm." He sucks at my lips. "I'll leave you aching, baby. Sore and needy." He lifts his thigh, his hands on my a.s.s, rubbing me to him. "Only thing I want you feeling today is me."

"It's not too late to back out." I watch through my rearview mirror as my mom worries her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on a lot of nothing outside the car window.

She must know I'm looking, because she simply shakes her head. Her hair is pulled back in a low, loose bun, and the circles under her eyes speak of lost sleep.

"Dad," I whisper. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

He reaches over and pats my hand. "We already endured the worst of the pain when we lost Lana."

"I know, but"-my eyes dart from the long stretch of highway to my mom, who's still gazing out the window-"is rehashing all this good for you guys. I mean I don't know if mom can handle reliving it."

"We'll see." He turns his gaze out the window, and in minutes, the signs for the State Prison of Nevada come into view.

I pull into the lot, remembering to breathe, not looking forward to being reunited with Hatch, and wishing like h.e.l.l Mason were here with me.

We walk silently through the lot, and I can't help but notice the lack of color. The buildings are all the exact same shade of beige as the earth that surrounds them. The pale brown gives it a non-threatening look; like the desert, it appears benign, abandoned of life, when it's anything but.

We move through the screening process, and once we're deemed safe, a guard leads us to an empty room. The floors are concrete, and nothing is inside but a metal table and chair bolted to the ground, surrounded by a few foldable ones.

"Have a seat." The guard is all business as he motions to the flimsy plastic chairs. "Prisoner will be in shortly."

The door shuts behind him, and I jump as the sound echoes through the room. My dad takes the middle seat, and my mom and I the ones on the outside. His jaw twitches beneath his beard, the only sign of nerves or anger I've seen on him. Minutes morph into an agonizing wait until finally the door opens. My mom sucks in an audible breath, and my dad grips my hand and pulls it to his thigh.

A slender guy wearing a tan suit and gla.s.ses, with dark hair that's thin on top, steps into the room first. "Mr. and Mrs. Langley." He nods to my parents and turns to me. "Miss Langley." Another nod. "I'm Charles Yarner, Mr. Dusinsky's lawyer."

Okay, so Hatch's last name is Dusinsky. Not the most threatening biker name, I have to admit.

Neither my parents nor I do more than give a quick acknowledgment.

Two guards move through the door followed by two others. The last two flank a shackled Hatch. His face is still riddled in fading yellow bruises from the beatdown Rex delivered, and it looks like his nose is at a different angle from what I remember. His bright orange suit makes his large frame less intimidating, and his shaved head and face make him almost unrecognizable.

Hatch keeps his eyes cast to the floor as they move him to the table and deposit him in the bolted-down seat. I hear a clicking sound as Hatch's hands are manipulated behind him and handcuffed to his chair. Once done, the guards back away, but take stations at the four corners of the tiny room.

"Mr. Dusinsky has agreed to-"

"Charlie, I got this." Hatch's growled command is followed by the lift of his chin as he finally manages to look me in the eye. Remorse is heavy in his expression and his eyes soften. "Hey, sunshine."

My dad clears his throat, and Hatch's lips twitch before turning toward my parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Langley." He shifts in his seat as much as he can while being locked to it.

"Feel good?" The question flies from my lips before I think better of it.

Hatch's eyebrows drop low, questioning.

I shrug one shoulder. "Being handcuffed to a chair. How's it feel?"

He doesn't drop his gaze from mine. "Not good."

Good.

"Mr. Dusinksy, we don't want to draw this out any longer." My dad speaks with a firm voice that calls the attention of the room. "We're here because we're interested in everything you know about the night our daughter was murdered."

My mom's answering whimper causes my chest to seize.

Hatch makes an affirmative grunting noise and, sitting tall, addresses my dad. "Figured as much." He eyes the guards then starts in. "I was working my first job with Elijah. We'd met before. I saw he was a bad dude, considered his crew partnering with my MC."

He sits back, his eyes focusing just over our heads. "I was meeting with a new contact. Pulled my bike off the road and stashed it in the bushes at mile marker sixty-nine. It was private, dark, no witnesses, the way Elijah liked s.h.i.t done.

"Doing a pickup with a dude who didn't know what the f.u.c.k he was doing. Left his bike right there on the side of the road. Tried to make the deal quick, but he put a gun to my head and tried to take the s.h.i.t he owed me plus the money. I was halfway to killing the a.s.shole when a woman walked up."

"Svetlana." I can see it now, bike on the side of the road. She probably heard the man's cries of pain.

"We were in a gorge. Didn't even hear her pull up or see headlights. She asked if we needed help. It was dark, but I saw the moment her eyes figured out what she was seein' wasn't f.u.c.king legit. She started to back away, and the f.u.c.kface I was beating begged her to get help. I couldn't let that happen."

My dad leans forward, his arms on the table, and Hatch's eyes dart to my father's tattoos. "Are you telling us she witnessed you murder a man?" My dad's voice cracks with the truth.

Hatch sets his cold blue eyes on him, and there's respect in them. "Yes, sir."

My head swims with the intensity of the terror she must've felt. "Then what?"

He shrugs, the casual body language contradicting the twist of shame I see in his face. "I had to take her. Planned on scaring the s.h.i.t out of her enough to keep her from talking. Elijah had different plans. Thought he'd use her to seal our partnership."

I shift in my seat, antsy, angry, and horrified. "How does that work?" Elijah mentioned something similar the night he died.

"Do something horrific; anyone who bears witness is just as responsible. We had each other by the b.a.l.l.s."

Silence sweeps through the room as we all work out the story on our own.

"Did she suffer?" My mom's timid voice breaks the thick air.

Hatch's eyes move between my parents and me, a silent question blaring as loud as if he yelled it. Do you want me to lie?

My chin bobs once, the tiny movement so minor it's only registered by Hatch. He turns to my mom. "No, ma'am. Not at all. She was gone before . . ."

Before the cutting started.

It's a lie.