"There's everything to figure out. And we both know it." He pushes off the wall, walks toward me. I hold my ground even though every instinct screams retreat. "I'm not asking you to feel something you don't feel. I'm asking you to stop pretending you feel nothing."
"And if I can't?"
"Then we go to Geneva, we save those kids, and we never speak of this again." He stops in front of me. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. "But if you can, if you can admit, even once, that you want me, then maybe we both stop running."
"You're insane."
"Oh, I absolutely fucking am." His hand comes up, hovers near my face, not quite touching. "But I'm also right. And you know it."
I grab his wrist. Hold it there, suspended between us.
We stand like that for a beat while the barn creaks around us. His pulse jumps under my fingers, and this time it's not as steady as before. This time, I can feel his control cracking.
Good. Let him crack. Let him break first. Then maybe I won't have to.
"Thirty-six hours," I say.
"Thirty-six hours."
"And then?"
"And then we see who comes first."
I release his wrist. Step around him. Walk out of the barn without looking back.
Behind me, I hear him exhale. A long, shaky breath that sounds almost like relief.
Thirty-six hours.
I can survive thirty-six hours.
I've survived worse.
But as I cross the yard toward the farmhouse, I realize my hands have stopped shaking. The noise in my head has gone quiet. And somewhere underneath all the fear and fury, I feel the first spark of anticipation.
I crush it before it can grow.
But it's there. And we both know it.
Chapter Two: Asher
JinxHarrisonisacoward.
Not in the physical sense. The man could tear apart a room full of trained killers without breaking a sweat. I've seen him do it. I've been on the receiving end of those fists, and trust me, there's nothing cowardly about the way he fights.
But when it comes to wanting things? When it comes to admitting he's human underneath all that rage? The man runs like his ass is on fire.
I watch him cross the yard from the barn to the farmhouse, shoulders tight, hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn't look back. Doesn't need to. We both know I'm watching. We both know what just happened on those mats, the way our bodies fit together, the way he ground against me like he was trying to crawl inside my skin.
Thirty-six hours. That's what I gave him. Thirty-six hours to stop running.
I don't actually expect him to use them. But I'm a patient man. I've waited six years. I can wait a little longer.
The farmhouse door slams. I let out a deep breath and sink down onto a hay bale, running my hands over my face.
What the fuck am I doing?
I came here for answers. That's what I told myself when I came here, when I showed up on the doorstep of the man who almost killed me. I wanted to understand why he let me live. I wanted closure.
