Her chin lifts. Her eyes blaze.
"You already did."
The words hit harder than the bullet.
"You already hurt me, Dante." She's close now. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her blue-green eyes. Close enough to count the freckles across her nose. "I'm stuck in here with you. In my apartment?—"
I touch her chin.
Just my fingertips. Light as air. Barely there.
She goes still.
"I would use my body as a shield." My voice comes out rough. Raw. "As a bulletproof vest. As a wall between you and anyone who tries to get through that door."
Her breath catches.
"No one is going to hurt you." I tilt her face up. Force her to look at me. "Not the cartel. Not anyone."
Her lips part.
I look at them. Can't help it. Soft pink. Slightly chapped. The bottom one fuller than the top.
I've thought about those lips for two years. Wondered what they'd feel like. What they'd taste like. Whether she'd kiss me back or slap me across the face.
Probably both.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. Just for a second. A fraction of a heartbeat.
Then she steps back.
The distance between us feels like miles.
"You're bleeding through your bandage." Her voice is steady now. Controlled. "Sit down before you fall down."
I don't move.
"Dante." She crosses her arms. "I'm not carrying you again. You weigh a thousand pounds and I have a bad hand."
"I know."
"Then sit down."
"In a minute."
"Now."
"Make me."
She stares at me. I stare back.
The standoff lasts three seconds. Five. Ten.
Then she throws her hands up.
"Fine. Bleed to death. See if I care." She turns toward the kitchen. "I'm bringing water. If you're still conscious when I get it, you can have some."
I watch her go. The way she moves. The tension in her shoulders.
