Then, with a gasp, I break; the orgasm explodes through me, a violent, bone-shaking, mind-altering orgasm that drowns me in the pleasure of being fucked.

  I turn, beg. "Fuck my ass."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yes. I want you to fuck me in my ass in my childhood bedroom."

  Shutting my eyes, letting loose a deep, relaxing breath, I give myself over to the darkly primal sensation of him carefully slipping his thick cock into my willing ass.

  It takes time, a long, sweet sensation of slowly being filled by his hot, pulsing cock.

  I relish every second.

  Release long breaths that every time end in a heated hiss, "Fuck my ass."

  He does. Goes deep until he's filled me completely, until my nails and knuckles are knotted into the bed sheets, my teeth sunk deep into my pillow like a predator, and his hands holding my hips in place while he gradually fucks me faster, deeper, harder, until his balls are slapping my slickly wet pussy and my body is thrumming with vibrant waves of pleasure that surge through me with each thrust.

  "Fuck, your ass is so tight," he moans. "So tight, so fucking hot. I love that I'm the first to take your sexy ass in this bed. Can you feel it, Maddy? Can you feel the way you make my cock throb inside your ass? I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum for you."

  Then his cock pulses.

  His grip tightens.

  A sharp exhale that makes me release the pillow from my teeth, makes me look at him over my shoulder, watch as he throws his head back, overcome with the pleasure my body gives him, driving each thrust harder, more desperate than the last, each thrust forcing the bed frame to issue an echoing cry, until, at last, a passionate and profound moan comes from deep inside him as his cock releases in my ass.

  "Give it all to me, Jackson. All of it. I want every drop of your cum," I urge him. Every moan, every twitch, every drop of cum from his thick cock. I want it all. I want to hold on to this burning moment so that, years from now, I can relive it, relive this night in my deepest fantasies while I masturbate.

  He pulses, twitches inside me, and a smile lifts my lips as his entire body shakes.

  Then, with aching slowness, he removes himself from me.

  "Holy fuck, Maddy," he gasps as he lies down and places his arm around me, pulling my sweaty, sex-drenched body to his own. "Holy fuck. I've never cum that hard."

  "Well, I think we broke my old bed in."

  Then I shift a little so that I can pull him even closer, press my body even tighter to his. As I do so, the bed issues a loud squeak. It sounds relieved that its punishment is finally over.

  "Broke it in, definitely. Broke it completely? Maybe. Fuck, am I alive? It feels like I'm floating. Or having a heart attack." He pauses, checking his pulse at his throat with his free hand. "Still alive. Heartbeat's fine, too. God damn, that was... wow."

  "Let's get some sleep," I say, kissing him. "Then maybe in the morning we can try for round two."

  "I'll hold you to that."

  Laughing, I kiss him again.

  "Checkout isn't until noon. The cleaning fee the rental site is charging me is absolutely exorbitant, and I plan on getting every penny's worth."

  Smiling, he kisses me deep, in a way that pulses a shocking burst of energy through me and nearly wakes me up enough that I'm ready to get started right now. But I force that urge away.

  What I want is sleep. Real sleep. A good night's sleep in the arms of the man I love, in a room that represented such a happy time in my life. A beautiful memory that I can look back on, once mine and Jackson's time together has drawn to an inevitable end.

  Because we're too different.

  Too wildly different to live in each other's lives.

  Once the ransom money changes hands—that's when we must part.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Madison

  Once we leave my childhood home, the remaining time passes in the most beautiful, sublime haze. It's like that final transition period between daytime and night that photographers call the Golden Hour; every kiss, every smile, every whispered 'I love you,' every time we have sex, has more sparkling vitality, more meaning, because each of us—whether or not we want to say it out loud—knows that the sun is about to set on our relationship.

  We hold on to it all. Cherish it. Grip its dying light.

  "I love you, Maddy," he whispers, following words with a kiss that makes my heart ache and swell.

  "I love you, too, Jackson." I wrap myself in his love, his arms, in the blankets, as we lie in bed, moonlight shining through the window, marking the close of the last day of our relationship.

  He drifts to sleep.

  I stay awake. Watching the moon, the stars, the black sky through the small window in the crumbling lighthouse wall. They all beam light down upon us, as if they want me to see every moment of this night clearly. Every line on his now-sleeping face, everything I want to kiss, everything I wish I could keep in my life, but know I can’t.

  Jackson lets out a soft, sighing snore.

  I watch him sleep for a long while, memorizing everything.

  Then a new light catches my eye. Something harsher, brighter, more mechanical and unnatural than the soft moonlight.

  My phone.

  At first, I try to ignore it. Nothing is more important to me in this moment that savoring this final night with Jackson, in writing every memory in my mind, my heart.

  Then my phone shines again.

  And again.

  An insistent pest intent on intruding.

  Frowning, I slip out of his arms, out of bed, and snatch my phone off the milk crate that serves as a makeshift nightstand.

  It's Ashley. A lot of Ashley.

  First, a photo of a note taped to the door of my professor's office. Then a forwarded email she received from one of her professors, along with a reminder that, if I'd been around campus any time in the last few days instead of hiding out in the middle of nowhere, I'd know that the school administration has stated that, because of rumors about widespread cheating thanks to some new technological toy on the internet, all thesis papers need to be submitted in print.

  In person.

  And some professors are even requiring students to sign a declaration that their submitted work is purely their own, and that any proof found to the contrary will entirely negate the completion of their degrees.

  Based on the picture that Ashley sends me of the notice taped to my professor's door, my submission deadline is nearly the same time that Jackson will make the ransom hand-off with Alexander.

  There's no way around it: while Jackson is off getting the money from Alexander, I'll have to go to my professor's office, turn in my paper in person, and sign some form saying I didn't cheat.

  He will not like it.

  I don't like it, either.

  I'd rather be anywhere else, safe, waiting for the money to change hands before I disappear into the wind, clutching a ridiculous, life-changing amount of cash. Not out dodging witnesses and whatever relentless thugs that my fiance has working for him while my lover risks his life to get the cash that'll change my future and end our relationship.

  The enormity of the task ahead settles upon me, suffocating me with its weight. How do I even broach the subject with Jackson?

  The mere thought of discussing my departure fills me with a mixture of anxiety and guilt.

  My gaze drifts to him. His features sit softly in the embrace of sleep. He remains blissfully unaware of the brewing tempest.

  I climb back into bed and into his arms.

  I find solace, warmth, and a love that stirs both euphoria and despair within me. Deep down, I know our paths will diverge, and soon.

  Because no matter how things go tomorrow, it ends between us.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jackson

  Morning comes, and I'm not the first to open my eyes. Not by a long shot. My eyes open to gentle sunlight and the subtle clacking of fingers on a keyboard. When I slide out of bed and look around, I see Maddy is already awake, her eyes staring intently at her laptop screen. A light stream of classical music fills the humid morning air, so quiet I can barely hear it.

  "What's wrong?"

  She ignores me, her fingers still moving, and a frown locked in place on her face.

  "Maddy?"

  Her frown deepens. She holds up a finger for a moment's silence, then her fingers return to her keyboard, clacking away. Something ominous and painful grows in my gut, a familiar agony like that moment four years ago when everything between us ended.

  It's not a surprise, but it’s definitely not welcome.

  Finally satisfied, she raps a few more clicks on her keyboard, grabs a scrap of paper, and scribbles something on it, which she hands to me.

  I look at it. There's nothing but numbers and a name I don't recognize: Eurydice Fields.

  "What's this?"

  Madison is quiet for a while, looking at me, a soft, sad, confusing smile on her sunlit features. There's no one else in the world capable of capturing and crushing my heart with a single expression.

  I know what's in my hands, even if I don't want to admit it: an ending.

  "Maddy?"

  "My paper's done, Jackson," she says. "Well, honestly, it was done a while ago. I had to make a few tweaks to it this morning so it'd look better in print; something about the margins needing to shrink a little. It took me forever, from about an hour before sunrise until twenty minutes ago."

  "Twenty minutes ago? So, what were you working on just now?"

  "That," she says, nodding toward the paper in my hand. "That's for what happens next. Just in case. But I have something else I have to talk with you about first."

  "What are you talking about? Why are you being so cryptic?"

  "I have to turn in my paper in person."

  I stand, suddenly. "What? Why?"

  She looks away from me, looks down. "This morning. I have to hand it in to my professor around the same time you'll be getting the money from Alexander. They say it's because some students were using some program to falsify their papers or cheat on them; I'm not sure of all the reasoning, I just know that I have to be there, give my professor my paper, and sign some document saying that I didn't cheat."

  "You have to do this at the same time as the ransom exchange?"

  "The same time," she pauses, looks at me with a calculating eye. What she's evaluating, why she's evaluating, I have no idea. "Well, almost at the same time. There's a brief window between the two, so maybe you could send Rook or Marcus, or both, to collect the ransom and you could come with me. We could spend a little more time together before… before the money changes hands and this is all… done. Is it important that you be there?"

  Important? It's vital. Just as necessary as it is to get the money, I have to be there to see that defeated, broken look on the face of the man who ruined my life. Alexander has to know that I'm the one who beat him. Me—the low-class, poor son of a mechanic that he forced out of town years ago. This is my revenge.

  "I have to be there. It's the only way. But Maddy, I don't like you going in to the university. It's too risky. There has to be some other way to get your paper in. Can't you contact your professor?"

  "Too risky?" Her eyes come up to mine. There's profound fire burning behind the green in her eyes. "I'd rather risk bumping into one of Alexander's goons than face the sure risk of losing my degree. This isn't up for debate, Jackson. I’m going."

  My fists clench. How can she be so casual about something that's going to put her in so much danger?

  Then I open my mouth to protest—to remind her we have so much riding on this ransom exchange that we can't deviate from our plans now—but she frowns so heavily that my lips glue themselves shut.

  "I've thought about it from every angle, Jackson. There's no way around it. Unless you want our last memory together to be us fighting, and I mean literally, physically fighting, this is how it has to be. I did not suffer through four years of hell—hell inflicted on me not only by Alexander, but by you, too—to have anyone take this moment away from me."

  It's insanity. How can she not see this?

  "Jackson?" She says, eyeing me expectantly. I can't help but notice her fists are clenched and her jaw is set in the same way mine gets at the moment just before I'm about to throw down with someone. To argue is to turn her from the woman I love into the woman who wants to rip open my jugular.

  "Fine," I say. "I hate it, but we'll figure it out."

  “We’ll figure it out? No, that’s not how this goes. I’m going to the university to turn in my paper. Do you want to come with me, or not?”

  I hesitate. As I do, she breathes a sigh, and my mind scrambles ahead, considering what comes next; I want to go with her, to watch her back while she steps into dangerous territory where any of Alexander's men could be waiting, yet I need to be at the ransom exchange, to look Alexander in the eye and let him know that I've won. I need the revenge that I’ve craved every moment of the last four years.

  It's like she reads that all on my face.

  With sudden determination, she nods.

  "I'll take Marcus with me," she says. "You go to the exchange. It's clearly very important to you.”

  We both know where this is heading: the end.

  "You sure?"

  "I am. It’s for the best. Like you said, you have to be there to get the money; this is your plan—you're the one in charge, so you have to make sure it goes right."

  I hold up the paper in my hand.

  "So this? Eurydice Fields and some numbers—what is this?"

  "For after," she says with forceful finality.

  "After?"

  There's a growing sound in the distance that I know is Rook and Marcus approaching. It's about time for our crew to assemble, to orchestrate the last steps of our plan. In just a short time, I'll be taking a ridiculous sum of cash from Alexander Covington.

  "It's an alias, a bank account number, and a routing number for the First Union Bank in the Cayman Islands. It's mine. That's where you can send the money."

  "To some empty name and number on a piece of paper?" My voice rises, angry. It's so impersonal, so disrespectful of everything I've done for her, everything we were, everything we are, everything that’s ending. It's like our love doesn't matter, like my sacrifice doesn't matter. It’s nothing more than a business transaction. "You think that it's going to be over just like that? What the hell, Maddy?"

  She nods. Her voice is weighty, sad, but determined. "Just like that. Because, like we've said all along, once this is over—we disappear."

  "I love you. How the hell can you think I can just let you walk away like that?”

  “Because we don’t work together, Jackson. We both know that.”

  “Don’t work together? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You know it, I know it. Our lives don’t work and either of us can change in the way the other person needs them to.”

  I shake my head. “This is foolish, Maddy. Think about it: once Alexander discovers that you've run off with his money, you'll be a fugitive, just like me. Don’t end it like this. I know I don't have as fancy a name as him, or the same wardrobe, and I definitely don't know shit about classical music or whatever magic money math you do, but I love you. I know you love me, too, unless you've been lying all this damn time."

  "It isn't a lie, Jackson," she says. "But I've looked at it, I've thought about it, I've wracked my heart and my brain over it, and I know you have, too. You know as well as I do that we're too different to be together. I mean, you beat the shit out of that old guy and stripped him in the parking lot of the symphony, and you were proud of it. I was mortified. You held me at gunpoint and kidnapped me, and you were proud of it. I was terrified. And in a few hours, you are choosing to go get the money from Alexander, even though you know damn well that Rook or Marcus could get it just fine, because you want to spit in Alexander’s face. I want to get my degree and help my family—I don't give a single shit about revenge."

  "Maddy, I—"

  The door opens, revealing Rook, Marcus, and Eliza. All three of them looking serious, ready to finish this dangerous job.

  Maddy slams her laptop closed and gives me a withering stare.

  "No more arguing, Jackson. If you ever loved me, you'll respect my wishes. Marcus will take me to the university so I can turn my paper in. You'll wire the money to the account I've given you, and we'll never see each other again. It’s over."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jackson

  I ride like hell from the lighthouse.

  After everything that's happened between Madison and me, I can't be around her for another second. Though it may have been inevitable, according to her, there's still something viscerally painful about having the person who holds your heart—the person you sacrificed blood, sweat, and years of your life for—crush your beating organ in front of you.

  All I have left is revenge. Revenge and hate.

  My soul is on fire as we pull up to the abandoned warehouse that is to be the location for the ransom exchange; I have to salvage something out of this terrible day, even if the thing I'm salvaging is the joy of revenge against Alexander.

  "Some spot you picked," Rook mutters as we get off our bikes. "It'd be a compliment to say that this place smells like ass. Of course, it'd be a lie, too. It's fucking worse than that."

  I look at the ruined building, and I smile.

  "It's not much now, but it used to be something. I picked this place for a good reason, Rook. Just trust me."

  "Well, it's isolated. I'll give you that. No one sane would live downwind. And no one with eyes would live within visual distance."

  This place is an old brewery, filled with corroded kegs and smelling of malt, hops, and mold. It went out of business a decade ago, but it used to be the home of Black Coast Brewing, where my dad's favorite beer was made. It was what he'd drink at the end of a good day, those days when he'd almost forgot about mom's death, when business was good, or on those rare times when I got something close to a good grade on my report card. It was the first beer I ever tasted, and I remember nearly spitting it out because of its dark bitterness. It took me a while to get a taste for it, but I kept trying because I knew those times sitting on the front porch with dad were destined to be memories of the great kind. Black Coast Brewing went out of business by the time I turned sixteen, but dad had started his downward trajectory long before that. No matter how hard I tried to help him, I knew where things were going.