Live Wire (Ramsey Security #2)

My fingers gently trace one of his scars. The skin long ago healed and hardened into thick white lines. I think of Dennis carving these bizarre markings into Brad's flesh. The world is ugly, and I've seen more than my share of horrors. In reality, I've done more twisted things than what Dennis did to Brad. Yet I wish to wipe away these scars and leave him as flawless as when he was born.

In this house with this man, I've become sentimental. Idealistic even. I crave soft and safe. How can I hold a gun on someone and pull the trigger now? My stomach hurts when I think of hunting down people and forcing them to talk. I'd rather remain here with Brad, watching silly horror shows and learning how to cook. My dreams are small yet feel impossible.

I'm a killer. I take lives. It's all I am and do. Brad makes me hope for more though.

"Hey," he mumbles, rolling over in bed.

Without knowing how long I've watched him sleep, I only smile. He rubs his eyes, looking like a very large, sexy, tired baby.

"You've been awake for a while," he says, pulling me against him until I'm wrapped into his arms. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I like how quiet early morning is."

Brad studies me for a long time. His blue-eyed gaze searches my face for the real answer to his question. He finally sighs and kisses my forehead.

"I'll be right back," he says, rolling out of bed.

I watch him stalk away and admire all his muscles flexing as he stretches on his way to the bathroom. Sitting up in bed, I glance around the room and imagine living here with him. Was my dream even possible? Can Saskia Koval be domesticated?

Brad struts back to bed, wearing a big smile. "Brushed away my morning breath."

Before I can speak, he slides into bed and kisses away my worries. Once, twice, and then a third time, he pulls away his lips, only to have them return to mine. Finally, he relents and rests his head on the pillow next to where I sit.

His gaze finds the purple and blue bruises on my inner thighs. When he looks at me, I smile.

"With our size difference, I'm fortunate not to end up impaled like the poor woman in Cannibal Holocaust."

Brad's gaze softens, and a smile warms his face. "Did you research horror movies for me?"

Nodding, I giggle like a stupid schoolgirl under his gaze. "I want to enjoy what you enjoy."

Caressing the bruised skin, Brad looks genuinely touched by my effort. I think to remind him about the ease of researching with Google, but I decide to enjoy his approval instead.

"I'll be more careful," he murmurs, leaning over to kiss my stomach.

"No, don't change a winning technique."

Brad gives me an uncertain look that I choose to ignore.

"Ruth is warming up to me," I say, approaching a subject bound to cause issues. "She even hinted about grandkids."

Brad doesn't hesitate before replying, "I think she wants a granddaughter to dress up."

"Do you want kids?" I ask, pushing him to really consider what a future with me might look like.

"Of course. Little redheaded babies. Well maybe not so little. I was a big baby. Eleven pounds, I think."

I look at my hands and try to imagine holding a child. "I don't know that I'd be a good mother. I've never even held a baby before."

"I have, and the little guy cried like I was the devil. The mom wouldn't take him back either," Brad says, looking horrified by the memory. "She kept saying I needed to soothe her baby. I tried bouncing, humming, and even patting the kid on the back to make him burp, but nothing worked. He was miserable but stopped crying the minute Nell took him."

Brad pushes out his lower lip as if pouting. "Kids don't like me. One even kicked me in the leg once."

"Maybe we shouldn't have kids then."

Frowning, Brad takes my hand. "Our kids will be ours. Apparently, parents understand their kids babbling and think they're cute even when they cry. I think the parent-child connection makes it work. I know Nell thinks I'm considerably less adorable than Mom does."

Even grinning, I ask the important question. "Do you really want a killer as the mother of your children?"

"No. I want you to be the mother of my children."

"Love doesn't wash away the past."

"Really?" he mutters.

I share his frown. "You have a good life here."

"I have a cult of freaks trying to kill me."

"They'll be dealt with, and you'll be free to live your life quietly the way you want."

"And you'll be free to live your life quietly with me. You're not Little Maven anymore."

Caressing his face, I say, "These hands have committed violence you can't imagine. Yet you want them holding your children."

"Our children," he insists.

"What if I become my mother?"

"That'll never happen. You're a smart and capable woman who took over your mother's business when you were seventeen. You handled that all alone, but you won't be alone when we have children. You'll have me fumbling around to help you. Oh, and Mom and Nell."

"Would we live here?" I ask, brushing hair from his sleepy eyes.

"That'd be up to you."

"I like it here. The location feels secure."

Brad smiles. "Talking like this is nice. I was scared shitless to tell you how I felt, but I don't want to waste time. Not with you."

"I guess it's premature to talk about kids."