But him? Too many fucks. More than I ever planned to have.
He’s better off without you.
My brain was clearly good at combat because it was a well-aimed barb. One that was ultimately true. My fuck-filled heart faltered.
Remember who you are.
A protector. The kind with dirty hands.
And that meant I had to protect him from me.
My hand fell away from the door handle as my heart retreated, crippled right there beneath my ribs. I turned away?—
Bang!
My head whipped up.
“Get out!” a frightened voice roared.
Rett.
I burst through the door so hard I took a couple hinges with me.
Everything in the hall paused—a moment frozen in time. I locked on two figures—one lying on the ground and the other looming over with one hand clutched in the front of his shirt and the other pulled back in a fist.
Instinct rolled in, overruling my headandheart.
My instinct? A trained assassin. The final boss.
And right now, it was furious because someone was putting their hands on what wasmine.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Rett
The door snapped shut with loud finality, a sharp warning not to fling it wide and throw myself at the hot, shirtless man on the other side.
It was hard.
Really hard,and not just because he was sinfully hot. But because I felt things with him I’d never felt with anyone. And yes, I realized my experience was painfully limited, which was why I forced myself to turn the locks and slide the chain across the door.
I stood there for a moment, forehead and palm pressed against the wood, telling myself he deserved a door to the face for what he did to my creamer.
The quiet of the apartment ebbed around me almost as though it had its own heartbeat, almost as though it were trying to tell me something…
“Ahem.”
I jolted so hard that both feet left the floor as I spun, back slamming against the door as my attention ping-pongedaround the room.
A body rose from the single chair parked behind my desk. Okay, it was a card table with a faulty leg, but it had only collapsed once since I’d brought it home. But it was where my laptop and work manuals were, so that made it a desk.
My hand flew up to press against my chest, heart wedged painfully in my throat.
“I was beginning to think you blew town,” he said as if letting himself in was no big deal and he had some sort of open invitation to be here.
In actuality, the fact that Tommy, the neighborhood pharmacist, was standing in my apartment was federal-investigation-worthy. You know, if cops cared about nobodies in the slums like me.
