I feel his lips graze my neck. He pulls back slightly and meets my gaze.
“I love it. You have no idea what it means to me,” he says, eyes full of intensity.
A weight lifts from my chest. The fear he might regret it had been clawing at me.
I kiss his forehead, release him, and lead him back to the table. With precise movements, I wipe away the last traces of blood, moisturize the skin, and apply a protective wrap over the tattoo.
“Alright. You can get dressed now.”
He carefully slips his sweater back on and lets out a soft sigh.
“I need to go back to Robert’s…”
Just the name makes my stomach turn.
“Why?” I ask, tense.
“My clothes are still there.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“You can’t just replace my entire wardrobe.”
“I can. And I will. You are never stepping foot in that bastard’s house again. End of discussion.”
I hear him groan in frustration, but I ignore it. Arguing would only fan my anger. Doesn’t he get it? I’d rather lose everything than let him go back there. What next—he wants us to kiss in front of that son of a bitch?
“Come with me. I just want to grab my stuff,” he insists, over and over again.
I sigh and finally turn to face him. Going there is a mistake. I know it. My rage is still too close to the surface, and it would take just one look to set me off again—one excuse to break that asshole’s face a second time.
“Bad idea. And you know it.”
He throws his head back, eyes to the ceiling. The gesture is full of frustration… and somehow, weirdly adorable.
A loud creak slices through the silence.
No way.
I locked that damn door before we even started.
But right in front of me, it opens—slowly.
My blood turns cold.
“Knock knock. It’s me,” a contemptuous voice calls out.
“You really should think about closingallthe windows.”
Jace Benton.
I’ve only ever seen him in photos, but that’s enough to recognize him. His face is just as vile in real life as it is on screen.
And he’s pointing a gun at Andrew.
I take a step forward.
“Move again and I’ll blow his head off before you can even scream his name.”
