Chapter Fifty-Four - Diane

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

DIANE

Keira left after sitting with me in silence. We finished our tea, and I swore I was fine as she gave me a hug before going back to the ranch house.

I sit, staring at the wedding present she left, custom-made and gifted by the Sovereigns: two fine crystal glasses with Mr. and Mrs. Quinn engraved in gold on the rims and a bottle of expensive whiskey to go with them.

Reality has sunk in.

My husband killed my brother tonight—the man who hurt me beyond repair.

I don't know how I should feel.

Is it wrong to be a bit relieved? After everything David did to me, maybe it's better he can't inflict anymore hurt on the world. I get up, taking the glasses and the bottle upstairs to the bedroom. I pull the curtain open, letting blue moonlight pour through. It's soft, like a velvet pool across our bed.

I strip and replace the sheets with fine, dark ones that smell faintly of the vanilla sticks and lemon waxed paper I keep in the dresser drawer. Then, I go to the closet and take everything from the cabinet .

Handcuffs. A crop. A gag. A plug. Rope. Vibrators. A few things I don't recognize.

I lay them all out. Tonight, I think I'll let him do whatever he wants to me.

I go to shut the cabinet, and the door catches. A roll of cloth is jamming the hinges. I tug it, and something heavy falls in my hands. Jensen's gun. Westin must have taken it from Thomas Garrison's house when he retrieved Billie.

My heart is tender. In my wedding dress, I sink down on the end of the bed and turn the gun over in my hands.

For weeks, this was the only defense I had. Then Westin came, and I haven't thought about it once.

Eyes stinging, I lift my head just as hoofbeats thunder by the barn, echoing off the mountains. The men have returned, tearing up over the hill on horseback, hollering, hooves clattering over the gravel, high off the euphoria of what they did in the mountains.

God, I hope I never have to hear the details.

I rise, the gun in my hand, and grip the hem of my skirt so I can hurry down the stairs and out the front door. My bare feet pound up the walkway and over the dusty path through the gravel.

Their horses are towering shadows in the moonlight. Sovereign swings off just as Westin comes around the corner. He's on Jensen's horse, flecked with sweat. There's a rifle strapped to his back. Jensen is at his heels on Rocky, and they're kicking up rocks and dust as they peel around the corner. Deacon pulls up beside Sovereign and slides to his feet.

"I need a fucking drink," he says. "I'm going back to the tent. Jensen, you coming?"

"I'm going," Jensen drawls, dismounting.

"Jensen!" I blurt out.

My voice cracks, but it's loud enough everyone stops. Westin takes his hat off, and sweat glitters on his face in the moonlight. Nobody moves. I feel Sovereign's eyes on us both, waiting to see what happens.

"Jensen, can I talk to you?" I manage .

He glances at Westin, who jerks his head. I turn and lead the way to the barn door where we can't be overheard. He wipes the sweat off his face and takes his hat off.

"Don't be upset with Westin," he says in a rush. "He's just taking care of you."

I shake my head. "I'm not upset."

"Then what?"

I pull the gun from my skirt. His brows rise, and he reaches out to take it.

"Thank you," I say, voice cracking. "This kept me safe when I had no one to care for me."

He sniffs and pretends he didn't as he pushes the pistol under his belt.

"I reckon you don't need that anymore, Mrs. Quinn," he says.

I smile, tears slipping down my face. "I reckon I don't."

He clears his throat. "Thanks for giving it back. It's the only thing I brought from Kentucky, other than my horse."

My heart is full, despite everything. Briefly, I hug him, and he pulls back in surprise before he lets me. I let go quickly because he needs a shower. I tell him that, and he starts laughing, shaking his head as we head back to the others.

My throat has a lump in it.

I think I'm moving on. I think I'm living.

Everyone goes quiet, and the atmosphere goes from adrenaline drenched to hesitant when I return. Sovereign has Rocky and Shadow by the reins. Jensen swings up on his horse and rides off with Deacon. In the distance, I hear laughter and music from the tent.

"Did Keira go to the ranch house?" Sovereign asks.

I nod, wordless, my eyes locked with Westin's. Distantly, I hear Sovereign say he'll put both horses away. Then, I'm alone with my husband.

He draws close. He smells like sweat and horses. I slide my hands over his good shirt, soaked and scuffed with dirt. His clothes are ruined, but I don't care .

"Do we need to talk?" he says, voice strained.

We should, but I don't want to tonight. I shake my head, and he takes my hand, leading me barefoot to the gatehouse. He pauses before the door, unlatching it and pushing it open.

He takes his hat off and fits it on my head. Then, he picks me up and carries me over the threshold. My bare feet curl, and a delicious shiver moves through my body.

He sets me down and kisses me, forehead bumping against his hat. I take it off and set it on the table. He's panting when he pulls back.

"Upstairs," he says, spinning me around. "Now."

Heart pounding, I pull my skirts out of the way and scramble up the stairs. I hear him lock the doors. Outside, the party is still going on. It'll last as long as the liquor does. I go to the window and pull the curtain aside. At the crest of the hill, a bonfire crackles orange.

"Darling, shut that window."

He's in the doorway. It's strange, but sometimes, I forget how handsome he is, and then it strikes me out of nowhere—glittering hazel eyes, deep chestnut hair, strong, muscled body. The other parts of him eclipse it, especially now that I know him.

His fire, his persistence, his fierce loyalty to the people he loves, his anger—for being such a calm man, he has a deep sense of justice. He's so angry deep in his soul that the world doesn't live up to it.

I think I love that about him.

I cross the room and put my hand on his chest. Maybe now that he has me, now that he has killed his enemies, he can be at peace. I want to see Westin happy, the way he was the summer we met.

"Darling," he says, voice low and husky.

I take him by the shirt and push him back until he collapses in the armchair. His chest heaves as I straddle him and score his neck with my teeth.

"Do you know?"

"Know what?" I run the tip of my tongue up his neck. He tastes like salt and gunpowder.

"What I did tonight. "

I take his collar in both hands and rip it open, revealing the rough hair, the hard muscles. I rake my nails over the ridges.

"I know what you did," I breathe.

His brows rise. "And you don't care?"

His belt clinks under my fingers. "It's not about caring, Westin," I say, pausing with the leather gripped in my hands. Our eyes lock, and the air crackles. "I married you."

He just looks at me.

"I never asked you to change," I say, meaning every word. "I fell in love with the man you are, not the man you could be."

Something shifts in him, like a heavy weight moves from his body. He leans forward abruptly and takes me by the throat, like I'm made of glass. His eyes roam over my face before he bends in. Our mouths brush, and I inhale the breath from his lungs.

Mine. My gunslinger.

"You go downstairs and shower in the bathroom there," I say. "I need the bathroom up here for a minute."

He groans under his breath. "I want you now."

He pushes my skirt up, and his fingers graze my naked pussy. I didn't wear underwear because my dress is so thin. His pupils blow in the firelight. I snatch his wrist to pull his hand out, but he resists me.

He cocks his head. "Don't forget who you are to me."

Arousal throbs down below, his fingers pushing into my pussy.

"I know who I am," I whisper. "Take your hand out."

He leans in, fingers still inside. "Are you using your safeword tonight, darling?" he breathes.

His mouth brushes my throat. I nod.

"Out loud," he orders.

"Yes, sir," I moan. "I'll use my safeword if I need to."

His eyes flash dark. My spine prickles. His fingers plunge into me, finding my G-spot. My hips roll as his other hand pushes up the skirt of my wedding gown. Right at the top of my thigh is a delicate garter made from white lace and little yellow ribbons.

His mouth parts, distracted .

"Jesus Christ," he says hoarsely. "Go—go get ready and leave that on."

He pulls his fingers free, and I scramble down, ducking into the bathroom and shutting the door. I hear his boots go down the stairs. Hands shaking, I peel my dress off and get into the shower. When I'm scrubbed and dried, I slide the garter back on, settling it on my upper thigh.

In a little box on the chair is the lingerie I made from the silk he bought for me, a slip with ruffled, off-the-shoulder straps and matching panties. Mouth dry, I put them on.

Then, I pull out my makeup and do my hair up in curlers. Everything has to be perfect. I color my lips and apply a little blush, finishing with mascara that I know will end up running down my face. I dry my hair and arrange it in soft waves.

He's back; I hear him in the bedroom.

My stomach flips.

His steps move around the room. I know he sees the toys I laid out. My toes curl, and my eyes catch my reflection. I'm beautiful, sexy in the soft way he likes, perfect to lay back and let him do whatever dirty thing he wants to do tonight.

I don't want to make a single choice.

He's in charge.