Chapter 30 The Night Before the Truth
They stood there, frozen in the aftermath of the kiss, Pierce's hand still tangled in her hair, Elena's fingers still gripping his shoulders. Neither of them moved. Neither of them pulled away.
Pierce's forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard, the air between them electric.
"Elena...."
She didn't let him finish. She kissed him again, harder this time, more desperate, like she'd been starving for this and finally had permission to take what she needed.
Pierce made a sound low in his throat and kissed her back just as hard, his hand tightening in her hair, the other sliding down to grip her hip. Elena's back hit the hallway wall and he pressed against her, all heat and solid muscle and want.
Her hands found his shirt, yanking it up, needing to feel his skin. Pierce helped her, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Elena's palms pressed flat against his chest, feeling the warmth, the steady thunder of his heartbeat, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.
His hands slid under her shirt, fingers splaying across her ribcage, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra. Elena gasped and he swallowed the sound, kissing her deeper.
They stumbled toward her room, unable to stop touching, kissing between steps. Pierce's hands were everywhere, her waist, her hips, sliding up her back. Elena tugged at his belt and he groaned against her mouth.
They barely made it through her door before Pierce pulled her shirt over her head, his eyes dragging over her in a way that made her stomach flip. Elena reached behind herself and unhooked her bra, letting it fall.
Pierce's jaw tightened. Then he was on her, backing her toward the bed, his mouth hot and demanding against hers. They fell onto the mattress together, a tangle of desperate hands and hungry mouths.
His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, her neck, lower. Elena's head fell back, fingers threading through his hair as his mouth found her collarbone, then her chest. When his tongue traced over her skin, she arched into him with a sound that wasn't quite his name.
Pierce's hand slid up her thigh and Elena's hips lifted on instinct. He stripped away the rest of her clothes, then his own, until there was nothing between them.
He settled over her, bracing himself on his forearms, and for a moment they just looked at each other, breathing hard, skin flushed, both at the edge of something they couldn't take back.
Instead of speaking, Elena pulled him down and kissed him, deep and slow and certain. Her legs wrapped around his waist and Pierce groaned, the sound vibrating through both of them.
When he finally pushed inside her, Elena's breath caught, her nails digging into his shoulders. Pierce stilled, giving her a moment, his forehead pressed against hers.
Then she rolled her hips and Pierce cursed under his breath, his control shattering. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her leg higher, changing the angle, and Elena's back arched off the bed.
They found their rhythm, desperate and raw and exactly what they both needed. Elena lost herself in it, in him, in the feeling of his body moving with hers, the way he said her name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
Pierce's hand slid between them, his thumb finding the spot that made her gasp, and Elena shattered, crying out, her whole body trembling. He followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, her name on his lips.
After, they lay tangled together, both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Pierce rolled to his side, pulling her with him so her head rested on his chest.
Elena's eyes were heavy, her body loose and satisfied in a way it hadn't been in years. She traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath her palm.
Pierce's hand moved to her hair, fingers threading through the strands, gentle and soothing.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out, her hand going still against his chest. She was asleep.
Pierce lay there in the darkness, Elena's weight warm against him, listening to her breathe.
He should sleep. Should let himself have this moment of peace.
But his mind wouldn't quiet.
May 14th. Three years ago.
The night that destroyed both their lives and connected them in ways Elena still didn't know.
His parents. Her parents. The same shootout. The same gang war. The same night everything changed.
Pierce looked down at Elena, her face peaceful in sleep, completely trusting. She'd given him everything tonight—her body, her trust, pieces of herself she'd been guarding since they met.
And he was lying to her.
Not just by staying silent. But by actively hiding the one truth that would destroy everything they'd just built.
Because when she found out, and she would find out, eventually, she would hate him.
She would realize his family's war had killed her parents. That the violence she despised, the criminals she'd spent three years running from, all led back to him.
To his father. His brother. His world.
The organization he now ran.
Pierce's hand moved through her hair, gentle, careful not to wake her. He memorized the feeling of her against him, the weight of her head on his chest, the sound of her breathing, the way her body fit perfectly against his.
Because he knew, with a certainty that made his chest ache, that this wouldn't last.
It couldn't.
Not when the truth was a bomb waiting to detonate between them.
He should tell her. Should wake her up right now and tell her everything. Let her decide if she could forgive him, if she could look past the connection that tied them together through blood and loss.
But he was selfish.
Selfish enough to want this, want her, for as long as he could have it.
Even knowing it would end.
Even knowing he would be the one to destroy her all over again.
Because the truth was simple and brutal: his father's gang war had put her parents in the crossfire. The Diego family legacy had taken everything from her. And she was in love with the man who now controlled that very legacy.
She just didn't know it yet.
Elena shifted in her sleep, her hand curling against his chest, and Pierce pulled her closer. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Let himself pretend, just for tonight, that this could last.
That he could keep her.
That the truth wouldn't destroy them both.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness, so quietly she couldn't possibly hear. "I'm so sorry."
But he didn't let go.
He held her through the night, carrying the weight of what he knew, what she didn't, what would eventually tear them apart.
And he hated himself for it.
But not enough to stop.
Not enough to walk away.
Not enough to do the right thing.
Because for the first time in three years, since the night his parents died and his world became blood and violence and endless responsibility, Pierce Diego felt something other than anger.
He felt peace.
And he wasn't ready to give that up.
Not yet.