Away from all ofthis.
Away from bombs and cartel kings and men who’d slit throats just for a message.
Away from me.
But I know Eli.
He won’t accept it.
And worse?
I don’t want him out there.
I want him right here.
In my bed.
In my room.
In my damn house, where I can get to him in two seconds flat if he so much as sways.
I just have to talk the stubborn man into it.
Convince him that staying with me isn’t charity.
It’s not pity.
It’s where he belongs.
A soft sigh escapes him, his body shifting, blanket pulling slightly.
The clock on the nightstand ticks obnoxiously loud. The meeting is in ten minutes. I don’t want to wake him. I want to let him sleep until his body decides it’s done rebooting. I want to guard the damn door and tell the world they can shove their cartel threats and bomb shelters up their collective asses.
But this is life and death.
The kind that won’t wait for rest.
“Fuck,” I whisper, leaning closer. “I don’t want to do this.”
But I reach out anyway, brushing my knuckles along his cheek.
“Eli,” I murmur. “Pretty boy… time to wake up.”
He shifts, eyes fluttering weakly before opening halfway, unfocused, sleepy.
“Skip?”
God help me, that soft voice damn near breaks me.
“I know, sweetheart,” I say quietly. “I know you’re tired. If it weren’t important, I’d let you sleep another ten hours. But we’ve got a meeting. Big one.”
He blinks slowly. “Danger?”
“Yes,” I admit. “That’s why I need you awake. In the room. With me.”
And where I can fucking monitor every breath you take.
I slide an arm behind his shoulders and help him sit up, keeping a steady hand on him when he sways.
