Am I the only idiot who thought that one day, I’d be but a memory to Greer Allen, and not the man still beside her?
My hands are coated in so much blood, and my nature is anything but kind; a woman like her isn’t meant for my world.
Even so, my arms wrap around her.
She shudders against my body, a signal that my presence eases something in hers. Being here, being alive, and holding her is easing her posture and calming her heart rate and fears.
I don’t like that.
Is this the looming cloud of Lasko’s words and Chase’s look of acknowledgement? I don’t know.
Last night was a turning point. Greer was finally mine, and she submitted without hesitation.
Everything about the way that we were last night will forever be etched in my memories, like it’s become a part of my core being.
I’ll never walk another step without feeling how it felt to be in her arms, to be beneath her, to be the object of her affections.
Her kiss is burned on my soul, but she’s not meant for this.
She’s not meant forme.
“Koen?” she asks, a look of concern on her face as if it’s not the first time she’s spoken my name.
“I’ll give you two a moment. I’ll be in the back.” Chase turns his chair and is gone. I hear the door to my surveillance room click closed, and I sigh.
Greer’s still looking at me as if she’s staring at a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “I thought last night…”
So, she felt it, too.
Walking her toward the living room, I sit and urge her into my lap.
“There’s a lot of shit about to hit the fan, and I don’t know that I’ll make it out alive. Something Lasko said to me has me rattled.”
“Tell me.” Her small voice tugs my heart to pound harder, but I’ve never been one to shy away from direct communication.
In fact, miscommunication makes me murderous.
“He said I was in love with you,” I blurt with all the grace of a bull in a China shop.
I watch her throat move delicately as she swallows. “Are you?”
“I don’t know that I know what love feels like enough to answer that for you.”
She nods, considering. “I could see that. I’ve never loved anyone, outside of Allison and my parents.”
Not wanting this to turn into some mushy tell-all conversation where we both dive into childhood trauma, I steer away from asking her anything or revealing anything on my end.
“This life isn’t for you, and I think I’m just now realizing that.”
“But it’s not safe for me to return home,” she says meekly.
“No. It’s not. Because I dragged you into this, and now I have to keep you safe throughout.”
“Have to,” she repeats, picking up on the obligatory tone my statement took.
“I’m going to teach you to shoot. I’m going to teach you to hide. I’m going to teach you everything that I can to keep you safe.”
