Vowing to protect me in that sexy, lightly accented voice… Even now my body is tingling.
Dr. Swan is going to love this.
Except I can’t tell her.
I can’t tell anyone.
Groaning, I let my head fall back against the tile. Just enough to make a dull thud.
Maybe I can concuss myself into forgetting.
Back to hiding what I feel, I guess. Talking about trauma was fun while it lasted. I wrinkle my lip. Tonight will just have to join the treasure trove of secrets I still haven’t shared in therapy or with anyone else.
Liev’s image appears behind my closed eyes. A rational person would be terrified of him—his size, the tattoos, his lifestyle—but even after everything I’d been through moments before, I hadn’t felt threatened by him after the initial moment when he appeared.
Not really.
I freakinghelpedhim load bodies into the car and drove off with him.
I don’t think it’sjustbecause my brother trusted him and his cousin last summer. Liev and I didn’t exchange a single word that day.
But I’d noticed him.
How could I not? Broad shoulders in a fitted suit, a strong jaw and those mesmerizing eyes. And the tattoos. I’d never cared about ink before. Everyone I work with is covered. But on him… heat pools between my legs.
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
After Finn tattled to Brady about my asking about Liev last summer, my brother made a point of warning me off. Explaining how dangerous Liev and his family are.
But there’s no denying some part of me recognized him as safe tonight even before the rest of my brain cleared the adrenaline fog.
Which is stupid. And dangerous.
And on brand for the disaster that is my personal life.
God.
I kissed him. In a bloody dress after a fight for my life, where I also killed his father. Which is another whole level of insane.
I bang my head again, harder this time.
Why did I do that?
What is wrong with me?
My body has been a frozen, empty void for almost two years. Dead to attraction, dead to desire. Nothing lit up. Nothing moved. Not even when I tried forcing it tonight with vodka. But give me a near-death experience, and my body lights up like a fireworks display.
Maybe it’s a trauma bond? I remember my therapist warning me about them. That I needed to be careful when I form new attachments now.
I’d ask her, but what am I supposed to say?“So, the other night I stabbed a powerful mobster to death with my high heel, and then his son helped me escape and has promised to keep me safe, and my vagina decided he was the greatest thing she’d ever seen. Is that a trauma bond?”
Pretty sure I don’t need to even look it up. Sounds like a textbook definition.
I thunk my head against the tile again. Then, with a resigned sigh, press my palms flat to the floor and force myself upright.
I just need to accept that I’m never going to be normal again. It’s not the end of the world.
Drying myself off, I pull on a pair of sweats and shove the dress and my underwear into one of my small gym bags.
