“You told me there was no us.”
“I lied.”
She swallows hard, and I see the war in her. The want. The damage. The pride.
Outside the door someone yells for tequila shots. Glass breaks. Laughter explodes like fireworks.
Inside the office the air feels thick enough to choke on.
“You should leave Miami. Go to your sister’s. Until we find who did this to you.” I don’t even want his name on my lips.
“I’m staying,” she says again. “And on my terms.”
“What terms?”
“You don’t control where I live. You don’t lock me in rooms. You don’t decide my life.”
My grip tightens without meaning to.
“You don’t get to tell me where I live,” she adds.
The words sting because she earned them.
I lean down until our foreheads almost touch. I keep my hands on the desk this time, not her, because she asked for terms and I am trying to respect them with my whole damn body.
“You don’t understand what this city does to people like you,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flash.
“People like me?”
“Soft,” I say, and it comes out harsh, then immediately wrong.
She laughs right in my face.
“You think I’m soft?” she says. “I survived you.”
That shuts me up.
The music outside surges again, bass vibrating through the office walls. I hear Magic’s voice through the door, a low command. I hear Vice laugh once, sharp and ugly.
Darling glances toward the door.
“I’m not hiding in your office while she plays queen out there.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.
She turns back toward me with fire in her eyes.
“Watch me.”
She moves for the door.
I step in front of it automatically. Old instincts. Club instincts. Control the room. Control the threat.
“You’re not allowed to leave.”
The words land wrong the moment they leave my mouth.
