Anarchy Found (SuperAlpha, #1)(83)
Thomas still creeps me out. He’s probably gonna f*ck Cathedral City up in a way Blue Corp never even dreamed of. He’s psychotic and emotionless and all that talk about satellites taking care of people should be sending chills up every spine within a hundred miles.
But f*ck it. That’s what happens when people lose respect for good and evil.
Even the bad guys get to win sometimes.
Epilogue - Molly
Two Months Later
“Oh, my God. What the hell is that?”
“Don’t answer it,” I whisper to Lincoln. “It’s bad news.”
“Sheila!” he bellows from under the covers of our bed. We’ve been staying in his little house above the cave since the whole let’s-take-over-the-town debacle. Sheila has been unbearably snoopy and invasive as far as our private lives go. “The f*cking doorbell!”
“I’m sorry, Lincoln,” Sheila says from his phone sitting on the nightstand. “It’s a delivery for you and Molly. And since I have no access to the house, you’re going to have to answer it yourself.”
“Bitch,” he mutters. “It’s Sunday! There are no deliveries on Sunday!”
The doorbell rings again, several times in succession.
“Just go tell them to take it back.” I have a moment of panic as I imagine what she might’ve sent this time. “Lincoln,” I say, sitting up and grabbing his bare shoulders. “Do not sign for it. For the love of God, do not sign.”
Lincoln grumbles as he swings his legs out of bed and rubs his face. He shoots me a look over his shoulder that says, We’re f*cked, and then stands up and walks out of the bedroom.
“Molly,” Sheila says as soon as he’s out of earshot. “I detect a slight rise in your core temperature. I predict you will be ovulating within the next hour.”
“Oh, my God.” I hold the pillow over my head to try to drown her out.
“I’ve taken the liberty of uploading What To Expect When You’re Expecting to your eReader. We’re having a quiz on Friday.”
“Go away. I’m not getting pregnant. I’m going back to work tomorrow.” I am too. Chief was fired two months ago and I’m actually looking forward to it.
“Molly, statistics say children who have stay-at-home mothers—”
“Liar! Stop it.”
She sighs. “I’m only looking out for your biological clock, Molly.”
“I’m twenty-three!”
“That’s barely enough time to get in my desired number of grandchildren before your ovulation cycle begins to change.”
“Jesus Christ.” She is crazy if she thinks I’m having that many kids.
“I’m all alone, with only the two of you to make my life meaningful. How can you deny me—”
There’s a bunch of voices from the front of the house and I peek my head out just as Lincoln walks back into the bedroom.
“What the hell is all that noise?”
“Apparently,” Lincoln says in his I’m-gonna-kill-that-crazy-lightshow voice, “the guys are here from the baby store to put the crib together.”
“We don’t have a crib!”
“We do now.”
“Lincoln,” Sheila says. “I was just informing Molly that she will begin ovulating within the hour. And I think—”
Lincoln chucks the phone into the hallway and kicks the door closed with his foot. He shoots me a sly grin as he walks towards the bed, his intentions clear from the bulge in his pajama pants.
“Your robot mother is crazy,” I say, laughing at him.
“Maybe,” he says, kneeling on the bed next to me and swiping a long strand of hair away from my eyes and leaning down into my neck. “But I know how to f*ck you in a way that will never get you pregnant.”
“I heard that!” Sheila says from the other side of the door.
Lincoln reaches over and turns the TV on, blaring it to drown out the nagging, the workers, and the world. His hand slips under the covers and he palms my lacy pink panties, the heat of his desire radiating out as a soft orange glow.
“Would you like to help me pick out china patterns, gun girl?”
“We live in an eight-hundred-square-foot house. Why the hell do we need china?”
“Because I think I’m ready to rebuild the mansion. Did you know you can build this thing called the mother-in-law apartment?”
I laugh, and look at him over my shoulder. “Oh, I’m all over that idea.”
He leans down, pressing his mouth to the cheek of my ass. He takes a little bite. I gasp, but there’s no inhibition reaction from him.
“You know what I love about you, Molly?”
“What?” I ask back.
“Number one, you like it any way I give it. Number two, you put up with my crazy fake mother. And number three—”
“I’m yours.”
He smiles as he crawls up my body. “That’s the best part. You were mine, you are mine, and you will always be mine.”
“For as long as we both shall live,” I say back, channeling the day he came back into my life.
It might not have been an accident when Lincoln crashed his bike in front of me on that mountain road. I suspect Sheila might’ve had something to do with that. And he’s killed a lot of people in the name of vigilante justice. But he did it for all the right reasons. Maybe the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but it’s a long road, and maybe those good intentions outweigh the bad by the time you get there.