I don’t.
His knuckles brush the edge of my bandage, careful, and it almost hurts worse than the bruise because nobody has been careful with me in a long time.
“I’m going to fix this,” he says. “But you have to let me do it my way.”
“What if your way gets me killed,” I whisper.
His voice turns deadly. “Then Miami dies with you.”
A shiver runs through me.
Diablo’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Stay,” he says again, quieter now. Not a command. A plea he hates showing.
“I don’t want to be your la sancha,” I whisper.
“You won’t be.”
“Then if I stay,” I say, forcing the words out, “I’m staying because I choose to. Not because you told me to.”
His lips twitch, almost a smile. “I’ll take it.”
“And you’re not locking me in any room.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“And Carmen doesn’t get to threaten me without you doing something about it.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She threatens you again, she answers to me.”
My breath comes shaky.
“You don’t lie with her. Not sex and not to sleep.”
“Of course.”
“Disco comes with me,” I say, because it is the only piece of my life I can hold in my fist.
“Done,” he says, no hesitation.
My chest caves in a little with relief I don’t want to need.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll stay at your clubhouse.”
His eyes close for half a second like he is absorbing it, like he is trying not to fall apart.
When he opens them again he looks hungry and haunted all at once.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, not seizing, just holding, thumb brushing skin like he is testing if I will let him.
I don’t pull away.
The air between us tightens, heavy with everything we are not saying.
His mouth drops toward mine slow and controlled, like he is giving me one last chance to stop it.
My lips part.
My heart pounds.
