As he says that, all I know is that the man who just killed five people without blinking is looking at me like I'm the most dangerous thing in his world.
Chapter 3
Stitched Together
Anton:
A man who's broken has no business wanting something pure. Yet here I am.
I was a ghost of a man. The most efficient killer, wrapped in polite efficiency, but hollow. My heart was just a ticking clock, counting out the beats until I met Fee.
She showed up vibrant, like the sun breaking through gray clouds. Her laughter feels like a melody from a long-forgotten tune. She is warmth in a cold world.
But, she would be someone to lose. That's been the battle. But not having Fee? That unnerves me more than if I did.
Fee sits rigid beside me, part of the skirt on her coral dress torn and bloodstained. The bandage around her foot is seeping red through the white gauze.
"Fee. About last night—"
"Don't."
The word cuts sharply. She stares straight ahead, hands clenched in her lap.
"I want to explain to you."
"Anton, please." Her voice cracks. "It's been a lot. Too much. If we talk about this now, I'm going to say something I'll regret later. Something that might be too much."
The silence stretches taut. Outside, sirens wail in the distance, growing fainter. Inside this garage, Fee's breathing sounds too quick, too shallow.
"I just need to know about Shane. Did he make it?" She finally looks at me, and those green eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "He has a wife, and she's pregnant, Anton. They're expecting their first baby in four months."
"I'll call Yuri as soon as we get upstairs."
"And Cillian. He got shot protecting me. Emma was put in danger because I was at her store. She's not part of this mess you and I live in, but she got caught in the crossfire because of me."
"This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it? Shane has a kid on the way who depends on him. A wife who depends on him. Nobody depends on me, Anton. I'm just Connor Quinn's daughter, someone who is only useful to play the games of influence and power. Shane shouldn't die because of me."
The raw pain in her voice makes my hands curl into fists. She's spiraling, drowning in responsibility that isn't hers to carry.
"Fee."
"I can't do this right now." She reaches for the door handle. "I can't talk about us when people are bleeding because of me. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."
I catch her wrist gently, stopping her from bolting. Her pulse races under my thumb.
"You're right. We don't need to talk about yesterday. Not now." I wait until she meets my eyes. "But I need you to understand something."
She goes very still.
"I don't want to play polite with you. I don't want professional distance or careful conversations about the weather anymore." My voice drops lower. "I want more, Fee."
I watch Fee nod, her fingers still trembling slightly against her torn skirt. The underground garage feels too quiet after everything that just happened.
"I'm going to carry you upstairs."
"No." She shakes her head immediately. "I can walk."
