He didn't stir as I ran the cloth over his skin. I kept my touch gentle. Didn't mean to let my eyes wander. Didn't mean toremember the way his body had felt pressed into mine. How he touched me like he needed it to breathe.
My thighs clenched.
Get it together, Jamie.
I rinsed the cloth and moved to his chest.
He mumbled something again.
My name.
Not hers.
What did that mean?
I gritted my teeth. Nothing. It meant nothing.
I finished wiping him down and wrapped the wound again. Tossed the dirty bandages into a trash bag near the door. Washed my hands.
Then I made soup.
Real soup. Not some canned shit. Carrots, garlic, onion, chicken I'd shredded by hand. Threw in a bay leaf just because it reminded me of Momma Grahm.
The cabin was quiet.
We were hidden deep in the woods in Sarasota. Way past where people came to party. The guy I used to fuck owned the place. A real estate douchebag who only used it in the winter when he wanted to "escape Miami."
It was the middle of summer.
We had time.
I brought the soup to the bedroom and set it on the nightstand. Sat across from him again, arms crossed, head tilted back against the wall.
He needed to wake up.
Not just because I was worried about him — fuck that.
He needed to eat. Drink something. So I could leave soon.
And I needed answers.
I needed to know what the hell happened at that warehouse. Why Virginia wanted me dead. And who else knew I was still breathing.
He was the only one with those answers.
So yeah, I wanted him to open his eyes.
Not because I was scared he'd die or anything.
I'd be free then.
That's what I told myself.
Chapter Eighteen — Vinny
I woke slowly, feeling heavy.
The pain under my ribs was a low, insistent throb, but it anchored me. Reminded me I was still breathing when I hadn’t expected to be. I shifted in bed and groaned, turning away from the sunlight burning through the window. The scent of garlic and chicken made my stomach growl.
