Page 20 of Ruthless Kings of Vengeance
The ocean breeze wraps around us, carrying the scent of salt and distant flowers. Time seems suspended in this moment—this perfect, fragile slice of peace we've carved from the chaosof our lives. The wounds that brought us here—both physical and otherwise—feel distant now, overshadowed by the simple miracle of being alive, being together.
Zander shifts in my embrace, turning just enough to face me without breaking contact. His eyes find mine, dark and intense with emotions too complex for words. One hand lifts to cradle my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with reverent care before sliding into my shortened hair.
"I thought I'd lost you," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. The rare vulnerability in his tone makes my heart ache, the usual calculated confidence replaced by raw honesty.
Rather than respond with words that feel inadequate, I rise slightly on my toes, pressing my lips to his in answer. The kiss begins gentle, a simple reconnection, but transforms into something deeper as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
His mouth is insistent against mine, demanding and desperate all at once. I match his intensity without hesitation, my fingers threading through his hair, anchoring him to me as though he might disappear if I let go. The kiss deepens further, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance we've perfected over countless stolen moments like this one.
A soft whimper escapes me as he angles my head, taking control of the kiss with practiced precision. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue carries echoes of all survived — the bullets, the poison, the careful plots designed to tear us apart.
Yet here we stand, wrapped in each other's arms, defiant against all who dared to separate us.
Zander's hand at my waist tightens possessively, his other hand cradling the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss further. My toes curl against the warm wooden planks of the balcony, mybody arching instinctively into his as though trying to eliminate even the possibility of space between us.
The world narrows to this single point of connection—his mouth on mine, his hands holding me like something precious yet unbreakable, the synchronized rhythm of our hearts beating against each other. Nothing exists beyond this balcony, beyond the heat building between us with every passing second.
When we finally break apart, both breathless and slightly dazed, he rests his forehead against mine. His eyes remain closed, dark lashes casting shadows against his cheeks as he simply breathes me in.
I watch him with quiet wonder, memorizing every detail of this moment—the way morning light catches in his hair, how his hands tremble slightly as they hold me, the perfect stillness of someone trying to capture time itself.
A quiet hum of pain pulses through my side where the bullet wound is still healing, but I swallow the discomfort, unwilling to fracture this delicate moment of peace between us. The ache is almost welcome—a visceral reminder that I'm alive, that I survived what was meant to destroy me.
What was meant to tear me from this man whose arms feel more like home than any place I've ever known.
Some pain is worth bearing silently.
I admire how the golden light catches in his eyes, transforming them into something almost ethereal against his olive skin.
Some moments deserve to remain untainted by reality.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs, his keen perception cutting through my careful mask as it always does. His fingers ghost over my side as if he can sense exactly where the pain radiates from, his touch impossibly gentle despite the latent strength I know lives in those hands.
A smirk curves my lips as I meet his concerned gaze.
"What's your definition of okay?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with everything we've survived — bullets and poison, betrayal, and vengeance death that came so close to claiming us both. Crazy how it seems like the last few weeks we’ve both challenged death like it’s a game you can replay when the game is over.
When you’ve made the wrong move and lost...
His eyes search mine, finding something that makes the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.
"Vengeful," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the gentle crash of waves below our balcony.
My smirk grows into a full grin, the expression feeling almost foreign on my face after everything we've endured, yet perfectly natural in his presence. His answering smile is brief but genuine, sending warmth cascading through my chest like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
His hands move to cup my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with reverent care as he forces me to meet his gaze fully. The intensity in those forest-green depths steals my breath, making my heart stutter in my chest.
"Do you know who I am?" he asks softly, the question carrying layers of meaning only I could possibly decode after all we've been through together.
I roll my eyes in feigned annoyance, though affection bleeds through the gesture.
"Obviously, Zayn. You're my psychotic, overprotective Ruthless King who, I have a strong suspicion, kidnapped me from who knows where to this oceanside oasis that isn't anywhere near Leighton." My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that's grown there during our isolation. "And I have an even stronger feeling that you didn't tell the others because that's not what my typical Zander would do when someone has threatened to take what's his."
His lips curve into that dangerous smirk I've come to crave, amusement dancing in his expression. But beneath that carefully manufactured facade, I see the pure relief my words evoke—a riptide of emotions he wouldn't dare share with anyone else.
Only me.
