“You werenotscared of them.”
She laughed once. “No?”
“No.” I rolled onto my side so I could look at her. “You mugged Marguerite Armstrong's ass in a room full of people while she threatened you. You told that bitch she’d disappear into dirt.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I did say that, huh?"
“You did, mamas.”
After a minute, that pretty smile disappeared again.
“Targen?”
“Hmm?
“I wasn’t scared of her.”
I frowned. “Then what?”
She looked away. For a second, I didn’t understand. Then I did. And I hated the answer immediately.
“Chauncey.”
Her silence was all the answer I needed. Something ugly and cold twisted in my chest. It wasn’t anger at her. Never at her. I could admit it was just wounded pride. I was working hard to get my wife to feel, hell, toknowthat she was safe and protected, and still… one name, one dead man walking had her lying awake beside me. I looked toward the ceiling.
“I should’ve killed him already.”
“Targen.”
“No.”
I meant that. Every word. “I should have.”
She was quiet for a second. Then she surprised me.
“I’m not just worried about me, Targen.”
I looked down at her. “What?”
“I’m worried about you.”
I blinked. Theory rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling beside me.
“That family is crazy.”
“You’ve met mine, right?”
She huffed an impatient breath. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Targen… they don’t care if they win or survive, especially not right now. They just want revenge.” Theory turned her headtoward me. “What if they decide hurting you is the best way to get that?”
She looked so serious, her expression all concerned and earnest. The feeling in my chest eased, softened. There weren’t a lot of people in this world who worried about me. Apparently, my wife did. I brushed a curl away from her face.
“Milaya,” I coaxed.
