A million small things changed while I was away. The changes seem subtle, yet it’s enough to feel like an entirely different world.
Or maybe it’s just me who is entirely different.
And if I want to live to see next week, I’d better figure my shit out, fast.
What’s going on. What to do about it.
Who I can trust.
Who do I have to kill to stop the hits from coming my way.
And yet, it’s still hard to get interested in solving my problems.
The only thing that remotely interests me right now is Hannah. I want to be sleeping in her bed right now.
I’m a greedy bastard.
I know I should leave her alone. I should stay the fuck away from her, especially considering the danger I bring to anyone around me.
But I can’t.
She’s my lifeline.
The only road lit up is the one to her right now.
The only path I see to get home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hannah
I stare down at Armando’s sleeping form in my bed. He came in close to dawn and has been crashed ever since. He’s sprawled on his back, the sheet tangled around his waist. His lean, sculpted muscles make him appear dangerous even in sleep. Shadow is curled up and purring against his waist, an unlikely bed partner.
I don’t see any blood, scrapes, or bruises on him, and it makes me think that this could become my new normal—scanning his body for damage. If Armando and I continue with whatever it is this is, him leaving in the middle of the night, and me wondering if he’s going to make it home unscathed, this will be our life.
But can I handle it?
Can I handle him?
When he came in and crawled up behind me, I pretended to be asleep. I didn’t know what to say or do. It’s not like I could ask him how his day at work went. I couldn’t tell him I spent the night on the verge of puking and crying. I was terrified of what could happen to him, and what would happen if he never walked back through that door. But as he spooned his warm body up against mine, wrapping his heavy arm around my frame, I felt safe. In fact, I never felt safer. The feeling he gave me that very second made it all worth it. It made him worth it.
I debate whether to wake him or let him sleep. I have to get to the shop. I don’t know why I feel like I need to ask his permission to leave. Just because he considers me a prisoner doesn’t mean I am.
Except I like being his prisoner. That’s the foolish truth. I don’t actually want him to set me free and walk away. Because I’m already falling hard for this guy. Just like I always do when I start sleeping with someone.
I don’t know how to contain my emotions. How to hold them back. I love big, and it’s always messy. It always scares the guy away.
Maybe that’s why being a prisoner appeals to me. Armando won’t scare off. He’s forcing himself on me, not the other way around. I can’t really screw this up because there’s nothing to screw. It’s not a relationship. I didn’t choose it. I can’t even un-choose it other than refusing to have sex with him—which I epically fail at doing.
And why would I do that? It’s the best part of this situation. Although it’s not just the sex I enjoy. I love the excitement. The edge of danger offset by a level of trust. Also, I like how he takes care of me in micro ways—like buying me food and taking out the trash. Cleaning up after meals. My life seems a little more manageable with someone looking out for me. Contributing. I’m so used to being the one worrying about everyone else, it’s nice to have someone paying attention to me for a change.
I touch his hard biceps. “Armando?”
He sucks in a sharp breath, sitting bolt upright with a gun in his hand... aimed at me.
I yelp in surprise and freeze. I don’t even know where the pistol came from—I have to replay the scene to realize he pulled it out from under his pillow.
My pillow. Where there definitely wasn’t a gun before.
