So fucking badly.
I wanted her more now, seeing how athletic and skilled she was in action, unafraid to fight back and stay alive.
I needed to know she was safe. I had to see that she was unharmed.
It was the changing point of my control over her. In this precipice of a moment, the tides had shifted. I no longer had to prioritize keeping her here with me. I had to ensure she was not hurt. Not injured and suffering.
Because she had gotten to me.
She had really fucking gotten under my skin, pushing me into another sub-level of possessiveness to want to burn the damn world down for her.
“Head to the water,” I told her as the distant sound of a river reached us.
“No. They’d be able to find us better.” She dug in her heels and ran harder up a slight incline.
I gritted my teeth and followed her.
When it seemed like we were surrounded by the gunmen, I pulled her back to my chest. “Stay low and I’ll cover for you while we go near that clearing.”
She shook her head, bumping her ass against me as I tried to haul her closer. “No. I’m harder to see and I can cover for you while you go.”
Bickering all the while, we still worked as a team to evade every last one of the Cartel men rushing after us. Despite our differences, our joint goal remained the same.
To get away.
At last, when it seemed like we’d lost them all and the sun began to set, darkening the already obscure depths of the jungle, we slowed to a jog.
Then a walk.
“You weren’t hit, were you?” she asked, catching her breath as she glanced at me. Without waiting for me to reply, she resumed scoping our surroundings.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
A real badass. Determined to survive. Ready to go, no matter the danger.
“No,” I replied. Watching her as I realized we were near an abandoned strip of homes off a rugged road, I licked my lips and tried to tamp down this thrill ofwhyI hadn’t been hit. “I wasn’t hit because you pushed me to safety.”
She met my gaze again, stubborn and almost cocky. “Don’t bother reading too much into it,” she quipped.
Goddamn.
I couldn’t resist her a single second longer.
Grabbing her hand made the cut length of rope still around her wrist sway against my fingers. I didn’t care. I had her in my grip again, and I wasn’t ready to let her go.
She furrowed her brow at my taking charge, holding on to her, but before she could protest, I retrieved her gun and stuck it in my waistband at my back.
“Hey, I?—”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I parroted.
Reaching the door of an abandoned and mostly dilapidated house, I shoved the old wooden panel in.
Darkness and dust swirling in the air greeted us.
“If I wanted to shoot you, I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to cover your back and stopthemfrom hitting you,” she protested, clearly off-kilter from having her gun again and then my retrieval of it.
I slammed the door shut, too riled up with gratitude, surprise, affection, and desire.
