"Hell if I know, and it's a damn good question. Instinct? Chemistry? The way you protected me? And don't give me shit about how you caused it. Yeah, I know, it's true. You didn't mean to. Whatthefuckever. I've jumped from trouble to trouble my whole life. I've been beaten, raped, manipulated, lied to, betrayed, left for dead, abandoned, starved…you name it, it's happened to me. And guess what, big boy? I'm still—fucking—here. Because I am the toughest fuckin' bitch you'll ever meet. I can take a kickin' and keep on tickin'. So I don't need you…but I like you. I get you. I fuckin' see you, Saxon. We came from different worlds, but none-the-fucking-less, I am you. So you can't lie to me.” She glares at me, eyes boring holes into me. “You're scared."
My throat is hot and tight, and it's hard to hold her eyes. My mouth is dry. My hands are clammy. I'd rather face a hundred armed men than have this conversation.
"All you gotta do is trust me." Her voice is barely a whisper. A breath of wind ghosting through a field. "Tell me one true thing you've never told anyone."
"I was in love with Camilla Marccione." It tumbles out.
"There you go." Her smile is encouraging. "Tell me."
"It was dumb. I got assigned to tail her. Watch her. So, I did. And I fell in love without ever speaking to her. She wasn't like her family. Her dad. Her brothers. She was…decent. Nice to servers. Tipped well. Smiled. Fuck, her smile. I watched her more than the job required. She didn't do much but shop and brunch with her girls and go on trips, but she was just…light, in a dark world. And then…the order came down. Take her out."
“Why? To what end?"
“Make it look like a rival family did it. I could’ve, easily. I've done it before, way too many times. Make it look like an accident or frame some other bastard. But I couldn't. Not her. So I refused. I broke into her apartment like I would have to take her out, but instead, I warned her. And then I ran."
"But not for long, huh?"
I shook my head. "No. They found me. I took more than my pound of flesh outta them, but they got me. I'd have died if it weren't for Inez." At her questioning look, I shake my head. "Later. She's my boss."
"You ever watch her when you knew you shouldn't?"
I nod. "Absolutely. Felt like shit about it every time, but I was…I'm fuckin' weak."
“You think she knew?"
I frown at her. "What makes you think that?"
"A hunch."
I laugh, a cynical bark. "Yeah, she knew someone was watching. She thought it was her dad's people, so she put on a show to prove she wasn't scared. When I told her it was me the whole time, she…she came onto me. And I…I let her…we…" I shake my head. "I found out later that her dad found out. How, I don't know. She told him, or they were watching her too, I don't know. They scarred her. Cut her up. Fucked her up. Her own father and brothers. Now she's in the life and every bit as mean as the rest."
“And you think that's your fault? For letting it happen between you two?"
"At least partly."
She snorts. "You think a lot of yourself, for someone so self-denigrating. She knew what she was doing. She knew the risks. So did you."
I shake my head. "I should've…"
She cuts in. "You taking it on yourself is so chauvinistic, you know that? She had agency. She knew she was being watched and she put on a show. For you—an unknown watcher. When you warned her, she hit on you. She chose it. You acting like what happened is your fault is you taking her power from her. It was her choice, her agency. We live and die by our choices, Saxon. I own mine. I don't own others'. I don't own my dad's. Or the many, many men who have done fucked up shit to me. What I did after? That’s on me."
"Never thought of it like that."
"Obviously."
I scooch down in the seat and lean my head back. Close my eyes. "It's more than just the shit with Camilla. It's my whole life."
Her head rests on my shoulder. "That I understand, Saxon."
"Yeah, I know you do."
Quiet, then. My eyes are heavy. My chest is heavy. Soft warm wet lips touch my cheek. "You can trust me, Saxon," she whispers.
"Tryin'."
The ticking of the clock in my skull fades. Everything fades. God, if I could just rest for twenty minutes, I could keep going.
Fingers move at my chest. Half-asleep, I barely register it at first. Those fingers touch my chest, sending an electric current buzzing through me—she's found scars, round puckered holes dotting my chest, sides, and abdomen.
