“Morning,” I say, voice way too casual. I toss a piece of dry cereal into my mouth like we’re in anormalroommate situation, and he’s not on the verge of punishing me for something bad.
He places the orange juice back into the fridge and rolls his shoulders back, and I get nothing. Not even a grunt as he turns to the coffee maker and starts it up.
“Are you gonna murder me or just ice me out until I offer to choke myself with a spoon?”
He growls, the sound low and lethal as he rolls his shoulders back again. “How about we start with an ‘I’m sorry’?”
I drop my spoon into the bowl with a clink and narrow my eyes. “Sorry, for what?”
He turns around then—arms folded, chest bare, abs flexing as he leans back against the counter like the weight of holding back is physically painful. “For stealing my fucking car,” he snaps. “For disappearing for two hours while the mob’s still gunning for you. For waltzing back in with your new girlfriend’s pussy juice still on your lips. For driving me mad—bloody mad—since the day I fucking met you.”
I slide off the stool slowly, like I’m not already halfway to combusting. My feet hit the tile and I move toward him with the kind of calm that only exists to mask chaos. “Let me tell you what I am and amnotsorry for.”
I count on my fingers as I close the distance between us, inch by inch. “I’m sorry I stole your car. I’m sorry I disappeared.”
I pause right in front of him, tilting my head. “But I amnotsorry for going down on the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I will eat Brooke out like a last meal any chance I get—and you can either deal with it, or don’t. That’s your choice. And as for driving you crazy?” I press my palm against his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin. “That’syourproblem. Not mine.”
His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist—not rough, but tight enough to make me stop breathing.
“How the fuck is that my problem?” he growls, stepping closer until my back brushes the edge of the counter.
I laugh, breathless. The scent of him is all salt and heat and mint. “Because youkeepcoming back. You hate it? Walk away. No one’s stopping you.”
“Walk away?” he repeats, chuckling darkly in my face, the kind of laugh that makes every hair on my body rise. “You think if Icouldleave—I wouldn’t have leftalready?”
“Right,” I say quietly. “You can’t leave. You’re in too deep with the Raiders. Or maybe it’s the cartel. I don’t know which one owns you harder.”
“No, Peach.” His grip slides from my wrist to my waist, dragging me against him so suddenly my breath catches in my throat. “I can disappear whenever the fuck I want,” he says, voice like gravel and smoke. His forehead presses to mine. “It’syou.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“It’s you,” he repeats, like the words hurt. “I want. I need. Ibreatheyou.”
“Landon—”
“No.” He cuts me off with a lowtsk, his hands bracing the counter on either side of me, caging me in. “You don’t get to brush past this. Not after last night. Not after what you pulled.”
His breath fans hot across my cheek. “You are my only captor. The person that controls every fucking thought I have. Every fear. Every flash of rage. You disappear for two goddamn hours and I go insane. I can’t think. I can’tbreathe. I didn’t know if you were dead. Hurt. Taken.”
He leans in, nose grazing my temple. “And when you walked back into this apartment? Smiling. Withherscent on your mouth…”
He exhales sharply, like just remembering it burns.
“I’ve killed for less,” he whispers. “Do you get that, Peach? I’ve doneunforgivablethings for people who never meant a quarter of what you mean to me.”
My heart hammers so hard I swear the sound fills the whole kitchen. My hands grip the edge of the counter behind me just to stay upright.
“And what do I mean to you?” I whisper, barely able to push the words out.
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye.
“Everything,” he says. “You’reeverything, Jasmine.”
“Landon, you and I… how can I beeverything?” I gasp, my palms pressing against the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. His body, his voice, histruth—it’s all too much. I can’t breathe.
“You are,” he murmurs. The words wrap around me, suffocates and saves me all at once.
My mind races. This man—this dark, volatile, broken man—he’s the person I trust most in the world. More than I trust myself. More than I trust the girl I used to be, or the girl I’m trying to become.
