“Your world is held together with tape,” she says, meeting my eyes. “Taking it apart requires little effort.”
This shocks me into a laugh.
Nazeera manages to grab clumsily at the hilt of another gun hidden in her jacket, and Rosabelle kicks it, hard, out of her hands.
“I avoided using anything sharp,” she says, looking Nazeera over. “Your injuries should be manageable.”
Even now, grimacing in pain, Nazeera makes a wry, humorless sound. “So this was you being nice?”
“You’ve been kind to me,” Rosabelle says to her, even as she steps past her slumped body. “I’m genuinely sorry about this.”
Nazeera winces. “I hate that I kind of respect you right now.”
Rosabelle pushes open the door. It rings softly.
“Stop.” I rack my gun.
She turns at the sound of my voice. For a moment shejust looks at me, her pale eyes glinting in the spectral glow. Her body is braced in the doorframe, her silhouette backlit by the moon. She doesn’t even glance at the gun I’m pointing in her direction.
She looks ethereal.
Surreal.
She kissed mychest.
A breeze pushes into the restaurant, whipping her long hair around her face, and the silver lengths glimmer in the moonlight; metallic; razor-sharp. She slowly lowers her weapon.
“Go ahead,” she says, looking me dead in the eyes. “Shoot me.”
“Rosabelle—”
“You still don’t understand,” she says to me. “I will protect you with my life. If that means I have to fight you, I will. If that means I have to suffer in order to keep you safe, I will.”
My finger falters on the trigger. “What?” I draw back, ruined all over again. “Rosabelle, what are you talking about—”
“Don’t follow me,” she says, and disappears, the door ringing shut behind her.
For a full second I stand there, frozen in the aftermath. The gun nearly slips out of my hand. I don’t know how to reconcile all the damage coming loose in my heart.
Iama liability.
Warner was right. Everyone was right. I can’t be an assetto my family, not like this. I’ve lost all objectivity. I’ll never be able to hurt her. I should be taken out back and shot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I turn at the sound of Nazeera’s voice, my mind rushing back into my body, common sense catching up.
Jesus.
I can’t just let Rosabelle run wild in The Waffle.
I cross the room, doing a quick sweep for Rosabelle’s coat, but I can’t find it in this darkened mess. I shrug on my denim jacket, then bolt for the exit, throwing open the door before remembering, as I’m about to cross the threshold, that Nazeera’s been injured.
I hesitate, then pivot to look at her. “Are you going to be okay?”
Nazeera looks rough, but she has enough energy to roll her eyes at me. “Get out of here, dumbass.”
“Right.” I turn to leave, then hesitate again. “You know, if you’d just listened to me the first time and taken her back to the house like you were supposed to—”
