“Where is the snake now?”
“It’s still in the box on my kitchen counter. Its head is poking out, but it hasn’t tried to go anywhere.”
“Good, you stay the fuck away from it. I’ll be there in five.”
It doesn’t even take him that long. The man must have flown to get here so quickly. When he arrives, he lets himself in with a key I didn’t know he had and finds me clutching my phone in the living room—the farthest I can be from the snake while still keeping sight of the midnight scales on its head.
“It’s still in the box. I’ve been watching. I made sure.” The staccato words sound distant to my own ears, and my eyes refuse to disengage from their focus.
DiAngelo crosses my line of sight and forces my wide gaze to his. The instant our eyes meet, my lungs empty with a relieved breath, and my entire body begins to shake like a Chihuahua left out in the cold.
It’s the strangest thing.
The snake is still alive and well. I could have been killed. Neither of those things has changed, but something about having DiAngelo nearby gives my body permission to come apart.
He places his hands on either side of my face. “Breathe, Rina. I’ll handle the snake. You just breathe, okay?”
I nod shakily.
“Good girl.”
Then he does something that I never expected. Something that pulls the rug right out from under me. DiAngelo Farina places a tender kiss on the top of my head, infusing my body with a steadying warmth.
“Scared the shit outta me,” he murmurs with his lips still pressed to my hair before pulling back.
“Me, too,” I whisper.
The tiniest of smirks teases the corners of his lips. “Go pack a bag while I deal with this.” He gives me an authoritative lift of his brows, then turns toward the kitchen.
“A bag?”
He peers back at me. “You’re not safe here. I’m moving you in with me, where I can protect you better. If you want to take anything with you, I suggest you get moving.” His brows rise again as his gaze shifts toward the bedroom, an unmistakable order for me to make myself scarce, but I can’t.
“What if you get bitten? I’ll be in there sorting cosmetics while you’re out here dying. I don’t think so.”
D sighs. “Fine, but don’t come asingleinch closer.”
“I won’t. Promise.” I raise my hands in surrender.
“You have a broom?”
My brain glitches for a second with the subject change before I nod, then hurry to the coat closet where I keep my vacuum and broom. I grab it and take it to him, then swiftly retreat to a safe distance.
DiAngelo prowls toward the snake. He positions himself to the side of it, the peninsula portion of the counter giving him a range of approach options.
Once in place, he pokes the snake.
I shit you not. The man pokes the snake until it slithers farther outside the box and rears up protectively.
My heart is lodged in my throat, terrified the snake will dart off the counter and disappear into my apartment. But before that can happen, DiAngelo presses the wooden broom handle down over the snake right behind his head. The second the snake is secure, he picks it up with one hand.
PICKS. IT. UP.
With ONE hand.
He dangles the snake in front of him, exposing the full length of the black-and-yellow-striped creature—about four feet in total. The tongue flicks faster, and the body writhes and sways agitatedly, but without the leverage to accomplish anything.
In my head, I’m yelling at DiAngelo, demanding to know what the hell he’s doing. All my body manages to do is gape at the scene with my jaw hinged wide open.
