"What?"
"I watched you kill someone for me. And all I could think was... that's the man I love. That's the man who would do anything to protect me." She shakes her head. "What does that say about me?"
"It says you're human." I pull her closer. "It says you know the difference between a monster and a man who does monstrous things for the right reasons."
"Is there a difference?"
"I hope so." I press a kiss to her temple. "For both our sakes."
We sit there in silence, watching the sun climb higher. The ocean glitters. The world keeps turning.
9
Diamond
Iwatch the taillights disappear down the winding coastal road, red blurs swallowed by the early morning haze, and I don't feel anything. I should feel something—relief, horror, guilt,something—but there's just this hollow stillness where my emotions should be.
A man died tonight. Bled out on the rocks twenty yards from where I'm standing.
And all I can think is:good.
Cesar comes up behind me on the deck. I don't hear him—I never hear him—but I feel him. The warmth of his body, the shift in the air. He doesn't touch me. Just stands there, close enough that I could lean back into him if I wanted.
I turn around. Look up at him.
He looks exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw. He spent the last eight hours lying to cops, coordinating with lawyers, making a murder look like self-defense. He did all of that for me.
"You did that for me. You didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch." I hold his gaze. "I've never had anyone protect me like that. Not my father, not anyone. I didn't know it could feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm worth killing for."
His expression shifts. Something raw and vulnerable underneath the exhaustion.
"You're worth a lot more than that," he says quietly.
He pulls me into his arms. I go willingly, pressing my face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and stress and underneath it, something that's just him. Something I've come to associate with safety.
We stand there for a long time. The ocean crashes against the cliffs below.
"Come inside," he finally says. "You're freezing."
I hadn't noticed, but he's right. I'm shivering.
He leads me to the kitchen, wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and moves to the stove. I watch him heat milk, stir in cocoa powder, add a splash of vanilla. The domesticity of it is absurd—this man who just slit someone's throat making me hot chocolate like it's a snow day.
He slides a mug across the island to me and leans against the counter, watching.
"Drink," he says.
I wrap my hands around the mug. The warmth seeps into my fingers, cuts through the numbness.
"How are you so calm?" I ask.
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "This isn't the first time I've killed someone, Diamond. I wish I could tell you it gets harder, but it doesn't. It just... is."
"Does that bother you?"
