Your heart pounded against your ribs as you held your trembling hands up. JJ stood in front of you, gun aimed right at your chest, his grip unsteady, jaw clenched, breathing ragged.

He was supposed to pull the trigger. Supposed to scare you. Supposed to prove a point.

But he couldn’t.

Because the second he looked into your eyes? He was done for.

His grip faltered, just slightly. The gun lowered a fraction, but not enough. His voice was raw when he muttered, "You shouldn’t... you shouldn’t be here." Like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

Your family—Ward, Rafe, you—had spent months planning this. The lost city of gold was within reach, and you weren’t about to let some Pogue get in the way. Rafe was still back in the OBX, Ward was waiting further down the mountain, unable to climb any higher with his injury.

So you went up alone. Stupid? Maybe. Desperate? Absolutely.

And of course, it had to be JJ Maybank standing between you and your way out. The worst of them all.

His blue eyes were wild, stormy, flickering between fury and something else—something unhinged.

Instead of him pulling the trigger, you step closer, until the cold metal of the gun is pressing right against your ribs, and you whisper-

"Do it then."

His entire body tensed. His finger twitched on the trigger.

Your heart was a thunderstorm inside your chest, but you knew—you knew—he wouldn’t do it.

Because even now, with a loaded gun between you, the weight of history and hatred and rivalry pressing down on you both, JJ looked like a man losing his damn mind.

His breath hitched. His jaw ticked. His ocean-blue eyes flickered with something dangerous, something obsessive, something devouring.

And then—

The gun clattered to the ground.

Before you could process it, he yanked you against him, his grip bruising, and crashed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was war.