Paint It All Red (Mindf*ck Series Book 5)

There’s something you need to learn about loving a girl like Lana. She had to open something up inside herself to do what it took to end Delaney Grove’s reign of terror.

Most importantly, we dance every night.

Two months after I showed up in Greece, Lana and I got married. It was just the four of us with one officiate, but it was perfect. Hadley and Jake took two years to follow our lead.

Five years ago, I never pictured myself leaving the Bureau and spending my days with a semi-retired serial killer, while walking the beaches of Greece. I never pictured me sharing a house with another couple. I never pictured anything at all about my life as it is today.

Which is why I love Lana so much. She still continues to surprise me, and I’m fairly positive I’d be the one burning the world down if anyone ever tried to take her from me.

She calls me a romantic for that.

It’s a life I love.

Jake walks down the stairs in just a towel. It’d be nice to not share a house with him and Hadley, but this home is massive, and I’d never tear Lana away from her best friend after all they’ve been through.

“I decided if I could choose anywhere in the world to be, it’d be wherever you were,” he says before he kisses me, silencing whatever girly, swoony thing that would have come out of my mouth.

And I kiss him back with everything in me as he thrusts inside me, filling me so completely that every nerve in my body feels electrified.

“I love you,” I whisper across his lips.

“I love you, Lana Vorhees,” he says, grinning.

It’s our own twisted version of perfection.

“So this is real. You and me. We’re actually going to get to be together?”

“Not possible for you to get rid of me,” he says, kissing my lips.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” I moan as his lips start trailing down my neck.

“So you’re here to stay?” I ask, still reeling.

“You can’t ever leave me again.

I shiver in his arms, realizing how fucked up this token of love would be to the rest of the world. But to me, roses and poems can’t compare.

But your job—”

“I left it,” he says, studying my eyes.

“And your life—”

“Is wherever you are.