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She’d trusted me with her life.

I held her gaze.

In New York, Isabeast’s eyes had shifted like black mercury whenever I got too close to the truth. I’d seen the warning and ignored it.

Mouse’s didn’t.

The fear was there. So was the vulnerability. She was scared of me, attracted to me, and still believed I wouldn’t hurt her.

No performance.

No calculated tears.

Just the truth staring straight back at me.

Eyes never lie, and hers told me she’d just bet her life on my word. Maybe it was courage. Maybe desperation. Maybe fate had finally decided to put someone worth protecting in my path. Whatever had brought a beautiful woman to her knees between mine with my freedom in her hand, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I would die before I let her regret choosing me. I’d burn this fucking compound to the ground rather than let Ciro punish her for trusting me.

Isabella rose from between my knees, watching me closely.

For a few moments, I stayed where I was, enjoying breathing without restriction.

I flexed my hands, rolled my shoulders, then stretched one leg carefully in front of me, followed by the other. Everything hurt, but everything still worked.

I planted both feet on the concrete.

“All right, Mouse. Let’s find out how much of me still works,” I said, forcing myself to stand. “Move back a little.”

Her brow drew together. “Why?”

“If my left leg gives out, I’d rather not flatten you.”

“Oh.”

She retreated toward the worktable, although not nearly as far as I’d expected.

I pushed myself upright.

Pain tore across my ribs, and the room tilted the moment I stood.

My left knee buckled.

“Lachlan.”

Isabella rushed forward before I could stop her. One arm slid around my waist while her other hand caught my upper arm. I grabbed the chair to keep us both standing.

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

She barely came to my shoulder and probably weighed half what I did, but there she was, bracing herself as though sheer determination could keep an injured six-foot-four Irishman off the floor.

“I’ve got you,” she said. “Can you stay standing?”

“Give the room a second to stop moving.”

“The room isn’t moving.”

I looked down at her.

“Then apparently I am.”