Page 59 of Crusher's Illusion

Every movement is deliberate, almost punishing. His pace is steady but hard, driving me into the mattress, each thrust pulling me further from reason. And God help me, I want it. I want him like this, unguarded and raw, even if it’s the last thing I should take.

But the thought of Niko wedges itself in again. His stiff shoulders at the jukebox, the look in Honor’s eyes. The crack in the Saints’ walls.

My heartbeat stutters, and I grab onto Crusher harder, as if I can hold both of us above the undertow. I drag my focus back to Crusher, to the heat of his mouth on my collarbone, the rough sound in his throat when I pull him deeper. His body cages mine, every movement driving me deeper under him, into him. If the world outside burned down right now, I’d never feel it, he’d keep it from touching me. Or maybe he’d keep me from escaping it. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Erik,” I moan. My release comes sharp, blinding, shaking through me until I can’t breathe. He follows with a groan that rumbles low in his chest, his grip tightening on my hip like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.

We stay tangled in the dark, his skin hot against mine, our breaths still uneven. His hand rests heavily on my hip, thumb stroking absently, grounding me in the simplest contact.

“You okay?” I whisper.

His answer is a slow exhale. “Not even close.”

My chest aches at that, not because it’s an answer I didn’t expect, but because it makes me want to close the gap between us even more. And I don’t know if that’s love yet, or just the dangerous pull of a man I can’t seem to walk away from.

The room feels too hot, the air too thick. My heartbeat’s still uneven, and I can’t tell if it’s from what we just did or from the truth pressing in.

Either way, the truth is the same. I’m in too deep. And if he goes down, I’m going with him. I don’t know if that scares me… or if the scariest part is knowing I’d choose to follow him under.

TWENTY-SIX

NO SAINTS HERE

CRUSHER

Pale light slices across the bed in thin, dusty lines. The kind of dawn that doesn’t warm, just reveals secrets buried deep. Nevaeh’s still asleep beside me, one arm curled under her head, her dark, curly hair spilled across my chest like she laid claim to the space during the night and never gave it back.

For a second, I let myself stay there. Just feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the tiny crease between her brows that says even in sleep she doesn’t fully trust the world to leave her alone. The night still clings to her skin, my hands on her hips, her lips humming my name, but none of it is heavy enough to crush the weight already sitting on my ribs.

I ease out of the bed, slowly, so I don’t wake her. My boots are on the floor. I pull my jeans on one leg at a time, like it might buy me an extra breath before reality catches up. The bedroom smells like her, warm, a little floral, tangled up with cigarette smoke and sweat. It’s grounding. It’s dangerous.

My phone’s face down on the dresser. I flip it over, and the screen explodes with notifications.

Group Chat – 41 Unread

Honor: 4 messages.

City: 3 messages.

Others… more.

No missed calls. That’s worse. Calls are problems. Messages are problems people don’t want to say out loud, yet.

I scroll quickly. No names. Just double underscores and times. Coordinates. Question marks. Too much movement for a morning that isn’t supposed to be moving at all.

Behind me, the bed sheets shift softly over smooth skin I’ve tasted time and time again. I don’t look. I can’t, not yet. I’m still trying to unknot my gut from the thought I woke up with.

Niko was standing too close to the jukebox last night.

Niko knew the meet location.

Niko was doing runs for me last week.

I scrub a hand over my face, digging my thumbs into my temples. Nevaeh sleeps two feet away, peaceful in a bed that didn’t used to feel like a warning. And all I can think iswhat if I let her get too close?What if the leak is sitting under my own patch?

I slide the phone into my back pocket and brace both hands on the edge of the dresser, eyes closed for half a breath. Outside, somewhere in the distance, a bike revs. The day’s already started. And lying next to her didn’t make the weight go away.

By the time we roll through the gates, it’s late morning, the lot’s already baking, heat shimmering over chrome. Nevaeh sits behind me, arms wound tight around my waist like she can feel the shift already waiting for us on the other side of the door. The sound in my head changes.