The Finish Line (The Ravenhood, #3)

by Kate Stewart

She’s chosen her personal armor in the way of fucking flannel pajamas.

“I love you,” I murmur and instantly see her eyes soften. “I’ve missed you so fucking much, so much.” Emotion threatens as I think about the collective seconds, hours, minutes, days, and years I forced myself to believe she could never belong to me again. Of how at one point, I knew I possessed her, that she was mine, and losing her cost me more than a broken heart. It cost me my sanity and my soul. “I can do slow, but don’t deny me my rightful fucking place.”

“I won’t pretend to know how I hurt you or what it felt like when I did, Cecelia. But I do know how much it hurt me, and that’s enough to know I deserve your anger and caution. But right now, I need you too goddamn much to stay away when you’re right fucking here in front of me. When you are who you are, which is, in case you’re wondering, the other fucking half of me. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done, but it’s time you let me show you how much.”

She breaks it, her voice an icy warning. “I’m expecting huge fucking dividends on my investment, Mr. King, a big payoff. You break my trust, my fucking heart again, and I’ll put a bullet in you my damn self. I’m still angry. I’m still trying to get used to the idea of you being here. All is not well with us, yet, but facts are facts, and the facts are, we’re in this together, no matter

Making my way out to my waiting car, I light a cigarette and inhale deep, exhaling some of the threatening stress of the morning. Surveying the daybreak sky, I spot a flock of birds flying low in the milky clouds, wings extended in perfect formation, mimicking each other’s flight pattern, a silent communication amongst them along the wind. The sight of it makes me envious. This. This is what was missing in the order back home.

Frères du Corbeau (Brothers of the Raven) was my stepfather’s pipe dream. A dream to lead the revolt against the greedy leaders of corporate America—namely Roman Horner—to fight for the good of the common man.

Dom remains silent, and I know it’s because he’s listening intently to the barrage of noise surrounding me, searching for clues. After a few seconds, he speaks up. “What’s our number?” he asks softly. “Seven,” I reply. The number of years I’ve been away from what’s most important to me. The number of years I’ve been living dual lives. Years of hunger and humility, years of metamorphosis that changed me from a revenge-seeking orphan to a common thief, to barterer, brother, mentor, student, teacher and now . . . ? “What did you bet?” “Our future.”

when I see our horse fall slightly behind. I can barely breathe with the intensity of emotions running through me. “Tob—” “Just this once, please. I need my goddamn brother,” I whisper, tightening my hold on the phone. “I’m here,” he replies hoarsely, a rare fear in his voice. But it’s not fear for his own well-being, and that guts me all the more.

“Brothers first,” I whisper. “Always brothers,” he replies softly, a second before our horse crosses the finish line.

Dom speaks up. “What did we win?” It takes several seconds for the panic to give way to exhilaration. Liberation gives a bounce to every step I take as I make my way back inside, forgoing my waiting date at the bar to collect my winnings. “Exodus.”

Resisting the urge to punch the happy-go-lucky fucker who passes me, I smack a double stack of toilet paper into my cart.

“I’m existing here, but we can make a life here if that’s what you want. I’ll give you whatever you want. Dream with me again, Cecelia. Dream a thousand more dreams with me, and I will make them all come true.

I’m halfway done cleaning when Beau whines to be set free. It’s when I open the back door that my breath catches, and my heart bottoms out. Strung high above my garden are lights intricately woven across the yard and secured by wooden posts. And they aren’t just any lights. They brighten and dim, an unmistakable twinkle in pale yellowish-green. Fireflies. His attempt to recreate our sacred place.

Agitation fleeing just from laying eyes on him, I retrieve my duffle from the sidewalk, and he holds up a hand before lifting a poster board that reads Giorgio Armani.

“I read a lot of books. They made me smart.” I return his grin. “You remember that conversation?” “I remember everything.”

He gives a small dip of his chin. “Look at me, Dom.” His eyes cut from the road to me. “It’s your turn.”

“Remember when—” “Everything,” he says softly, flexing his fingers through my hair. “I remember everything, Cecelia. Every word you said, every look you gave me. Your three kinds of laughs, the details of your dreams, the way your nostrils flare when you’re starting to get pissed. The sting of your slaps, the salt in your tears, the fit of your breasts in my hand. The feel of your mouth, the taste of your pussy,” he murmurs, sliding his thumb along my jaw, “so which part do you need me to remind you of?”

“not carving pumpkins, or a turkey, or picking out a Christmas tree, meeting the parents. And I never thought I would ever want these things, but I do. And I want to do these things with you.” “You want to do normal with me?” I ask as tears I can’t help spring and spill. “I do,” he murmurs, wiping them away. “Why are you crying again, Trésor?” “Because I’m okay with being a mouse . . . sometimes.”

“Trésor, I want to Halloweenie with you and Thanksgiving with you, and Christmas with you, but—” I can’t help my giggle. “Halloweenie?” “Yes, with you.” “Hallow-weenie. That’s what you’re saying, right?” “Yes.” The line creases in his forehead. “That’s what I said.” “Tobias, there is no Halloweenie

Best Halloweenie ever.

“Soft,” he murmurs, his palms lifting the material to bare me to him. “Sensual.” He bends, running his tongue along my slit. “Delicate,” he continues, repeating the words he seduced me with the first time he slipped the nightgown down my body.

“Ma chatte. Mon corps. Ma femme. Mon cœur. Ma vie.” My pussy. My body. My woman. My heart. My life.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks softly, slowing, gently rolling into me, capturing my mouth and thrusting his tongue to match his pace. It’s then I taste the salt in his kiss, as desperate sounds begin to pour out of him. My eyes sting as I try my best to soothe him.

The renewed connection between us feels molecular, and it hurts as it heals. I’m certain that if God granted me only one minute of life on this earth, I would want it to be this minute, this moment with him, where I know exactly why I’m alive and who for.

“Do you think we’re cursed?” I ask, and he stills the rag, mulling over my question before running it down the center of my back. “I think we’re our own worst enemies at times, and we’ve allowed too many outside forces to rip us apart. Me especially.” “Star-crossed,” I whisper. “I don’t disagree.” “What about the other outside forces? Where the hell were our fairy godmothers when we needed them?” He grunts in agreement. “They did a terrible job.” “Cupid?” I ask. “He shot one too many arrows into you.”

“Assholes,” I harrumph. “Who else is supposed to be looking out for us?” “Well, there’s God. But I think I pissed him off before I was born.” His statement tugs at my heart. “No, you didn’t, Tobias. Just remember, Job was a favorite, and He took everything from him, his riches, his family, everything he had before He plagued him with disease to prove a point to the devil. He put him through hell, so maybe it’s not so great to be God’s favorite.” “Well, in that case, maybe I am a favorite.” I run my nails along his legs. “You’re my favorite and the best man I’ve ever known.”

But all of you gets all of me, my stubborn King, always.”

He pinches my chin and lifts it. “I’m addicted to you and have been since the minute I touched you. In the past . . . sometimes I would go . . . a very long time without any human contact at all. I was so focused for so long, it wasn’t a priority for me—until you. One hit of you and I was like a fucking fiend.

Just as I make it past the first row of trees, the sound of guitar music stops me. Pausing, I scan the forest, ears perking up for the source before I again stalk toward the clearing—the

the lyrics surrounding me deafening but clear in delivery. This girl is in way over her fucking head. Squinting due to the sun while burning up in my suit, I manage to make it to the deck and freeze when I spot her, topless, in a lounge chair.

The hair on my arms spike despite the heat, and I immediately start to panic as the familiar feeling consumes me. No. No. No. No. No. An electric shock of awareness hits me, a jolt so powerful it renders me helpless, speechless, and utterly incapable as I fight it with everything in me when she speaks. “Nothing to say?” When I remain mute, her eyes slowly open and widen, and it’s then I’m damned by the second jolt.

I’ve avoided rear their ugly head at me now as I stare down at my own demise, the only name in my mind repeating on loop as I clench my fists and try to will it away. Helen. Just as I allow myself the thought, she identifies me with the same shock. “You’re The Frenchman.”

Because it wasn’t just her devotion for them that shattered me, it was the fact it existed at all. They have the love of a beautiful woman, a woman who would risk it all for them. The same devotion I thought they had for me. And they’ve wronged her just as fucking badly. Tarnished her by passing her back and forth like the bottle I just emptied while putting her in danger. And in doing so, they ruined something sacred to me. As I unscrewed the cap to the bottle just an hour earlier, I had to admit to myself that she was the face of innocence I’ve been protecting. *

I look up to my brother first, his eyes flashing with rare fear. “Three months.” I nod and nearly stumble when I take a step forward but manage to keep myself upright. Three months. Three. The number of times I locked the door to make sure you were safe. I can’t help my smile at the irony. “It’s always been my number.” “Tob—” “Three brothers I trusted here, which gave three chances for one of them to come clean. Three months.”

“We do love her,” Dominic speaks up, and it’s like a kick in the chest.

checking on their welfare and progress in France and keeping close tabs while protecting the woman they deceived me with, I resisted temptation to try to uncover the mystery for myself in what they saw in her. A true to life Helen of Troy capable of breaking apart the kingdom I built with my bare hands.

And with one taste of her, I discovered freedom.

Life, as I knew it, was over the second I laid eyes on her. All former versions of me were erased when I exchanged hate for love. It would have been so much easier to hate her. At one point I did, and at times I still do because of what she’s capable of doing to me. But it’s the surrender that changed my life, changed me as a man, eased my mind, and filled my soul. Loving her has ruined me, wounded me beyond comprehension.

Loving her has also changed my perception of what matters, of gravity, of my own personal truth, and for better or worse, aided in creating the man I’ve become. End of.

With another call of my name, I grunt out my release inside her, pressing my jaw to her heaving chest, as I come down, and I feel it, the recognition of a destination I never thought I would find again: home.

“Five minutes, Trésor. And you better hide well.” My four-legged henchman sniffs her out in the garden within the first minute,

“Do you want children?” “I never thought I would . . . But the idea of you, pregnant with my baby, fuck.” He licks his lips, his eyes blazing with desire. “Maybe, with you. Only with you.”

He lifts earnest eyes to mine. “But there’s only one you . . . and—” his eyes flit with emotion—“I’ve been alone my whole goddamn life. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Not long after, we get lost. He lifts from the couch with me wrapped around him, carrying me wordlessly to the bedroom. And with each step, I feel his decision. They can wait. For just a little longer, they can all fucking wait.

Those bullets failed me. “Jesus Christ, man,” Tyler croaks. “Please, brother. Please don’t.” He hovers above me, his red-rimmed eyes filling as he reads the truth in my own. I don’t want to be here. Anywhere but back here. Not anymore. Not without Dom. Not without her. Cecelia.

“Then what the fuck is there to say? Go to her. She may listen to your fucking lies tonight, but it won’t be me.” “Dom, I’m in love with her.” “Sounds familiar.”

“Who the fuck are you?” His voice is raw with pain. “I’m the man who would step in front of a bullet for either one of you, no questions asked, but I’m also the man who held your fucking hands before I shaped them into fists. I’m the same man—up until I met her—who put you both above everyone else. But right now, who am I right now? I’m the man who loves her enough to not let anyone or anything in front of her.”

Sean’s voice shakes with hate as he looks over to me. “You playing I saw her first?” “Yeah, I am. And I think you fucking knew what line you were crossing, or else you wouldn’t have hidden her from me.”

Dominic rights me and glares back at Sean before turning to me. “You didn’t believe me, brother, but I believe you, now. Cecelia may be yours, but The Triple Falls chapter is mine, and as long as she’s here, she’s under my fucking protection.

I look between them. “I’ve never asked you for anything, and I’m not asking you to forgive me, not now, but I feel I’ve given enough to ask you both this. For her, not for me, for Cecelia. You both brought her into this, and I’m keeping her in it for her safety and for my greed. I love her. And no matter what happens from here on out, I need your word that when the time comes, she comes first. And make no mistake, I know what part I played, but the truth is, we all made this more than business.” I turn to Dominic, knowing the truth about that day at the library, knowing full well he saw her and was always aware of her. “You brought her in when I told you to keep her out of it. I told you what would happen. I just didn’t know how it would play out. We’re all to blame. All of us.”