He shut the door behind himself, not sure how far into the room he should venture. “The tracks were real. They sent more than scouts this time, though.”
“Of course they did.” She was pale but steady. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants. My father always gets what he wants.”
“I know.” He approached her slowly, giving her space to step away if she needed it, but she didn’t. “We’re not stopping either. I’ve talked to each of the guys, and they are all in.”
Her eyes flicked over him, and he wondered if she was checking him for blood, injuries, or something else. She relaxed only slightly when she found none. “You always walk into danger like that?” she asked quietly.
“Pretty much,” he admitted.
She let out a breathy laugh. “Figures.” He stopped beside her at the window. She didn’t lean away. If anything, she seemed to draw closer, like his presence anchored her. He wanted to touch her—just her hand, maybe her shoulder—but he kept his hands at his sides. He had promised himself that he’d wait to make a move when she knew him better. He wanted her to trust and understand him.
“You asked before,” he said after a moment, “how I lost my eye.”
Her lips parted. “Cyclops, you don’t have to?—”
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t mind.” She turned to face him fully, curiosity softening the lines of fear in her expression.
“It wasn’t a war. Or a fight,” he began. “Not anything noble.”
She arched a brow. “You don’t strike me as someone who seeks nobility.”
He huffed a laugh. “Good, because this story is dumb as hell.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I was twenty,” he said. “Dumb as dirt, and I thought that I was bulletproof. Ink dared me to eat a Flaming Diablo Taco.”
“That sounds stupid already,” she mumbled.
“Oh, it gets worse,” he assured her. “This taco wasn’t just spicy, it was soaked in tequila and lit on fire. It was a whole damn performance.”
Her eyes widened. “You ate a flaming taco?”
“Drunk me did,” he said. “Sober me tried to talk him out of it, but drunk me didn’t listen.”
“And?” she asked, trying, and failing, not to smile.
“And the tequila flames flared up when I bit into it, and went straight into my eye,” he breathed. It wasn’t his finest moment, and something that he’d like to forget, but none of the guys wanted to let that happen. Every time they all sat around the clubhouse drinking, they’d bring it up and want to hear him tell the story. When he got drunk enough, he usually appeased them.
She stared at him. “Are you joking?”
“Nope,” he grumbled. “I wish I were though.”
“You lost your eye to a flaming taco?” she asked.
“Fiery little bastard got me good,” he said with mock solemnity. “Burned the cornea, and the doctors couldn’t save it. That’s why I wear this,” he said, tapping his eye patch.
Trixie pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh?—”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Everyone else does.” She didn’t laugh. Not exactly. But the smile she gave him was real. Full of warmththat he hadn’t seen from her yet. And that made something in his chest unclench at the sight of her.
“That has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“Probably,” he agreed. “Taught me a lesson, though.”
“What lesson could you have possibly learned from a flaming taco?” she asked.
“Never take a dare from Ink,” he said, deadpan. Her laugh came then—quiet but genuine. The sound punched through him harder than any blow he’d taken in a fight.
She shook her head, still smiling. “I keep waiting to find the monster in you,” she whispered. “But all I keep finding is a man who risks his life for people he barely knows and tells stupid stories to make them feel better.”
