“What the hell did you do to it?”I growl.
“What time is it?”
“Time to go to the hospital.”
Falling back against the cot, he winces.“No hospitals.”
Of course not.He’s a walking felony.The ER would probably fingerprint him and set off a dozen alerts.
“Did you wash the tattoo?”I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to the family group chat.
“Been busy.”
“Busy building a room I don’t need?”
“You need it.”
“No,youneed it.”
“You were out in the open.”He drags the blanket higher over his hips as if modesty suddenly matters.“No door or control over who walks in.Anyone could watch you work.”
How very possessive of him.He wants to be the only one allowed to look.The only one who gets access.
And I hate how that twists something inside me.
Part of me wants to shove him.Hard.Tell him I’m not his.That I don’t belong to anyone.
But another part, the quieter, hungrier part, wants to know what it feels like to be wanted like that.To be claimed without apology.
You can’t have it both ways.
“Don’t pretend this was a gallant sacrifice.”I shoot him a distrustful look.“You did it to seduce me with privacy.To have a claim on me.A room with your fingerprints on every wall.”
He exhales hard, sweat slicking his forehead.
Fever.
“Was it worth it?”I lick my lips.“Fucking up your hand to cage me?”
“Youfucked up my hand, Strakh.”His mouth curls like he might say something cruel, but instead, he throws his good arm over his eyes.“There was a car last night.Tail lights on the ridge.Trailed you when you left town and again when you returned.”
“You watched us.”My spine stiffens.
“I always watch you.”
He’s not denying it.Not apologizing.Just tossing out the confession with no shame.
“Let me get this right.”My voice drops.“Last night, you stalked us, built a room with a fractured wrist, and passed out in the break room instead of going home?”
His eyes meet mine, clear now.Awake.“I don’t have a home.”
I breathe through my nose, trying not to react.Trying not to feel.
“Then this—” I gesture toward the new construction “—was a waste of money.”
“It’s not about money.”
I stare at him for a long beat, heart hammering.Because he’s right.This is about Dove.
