Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I blame the bounty.
And the murder cabin.
And the fact that he told me—very calmly—that he’d burn the world before he let anyone hurt me.
I stop a few feet from the couch, arms crossed. “Every time I close my eyes, my brain starts a new episode of Worst Case Scenario Theater.”
He huffs a small, humorless laugh. “Welcome to my life.”
“Any good episodes?”
“Mostly reruns.”
“Fun.”
He studies me for a beat. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you?”
I want to say I’m not. It’s on the tip of my tongue. The old Lark answer. The one with teeth.
But he’s looking at me like he actually wants the truth.
So I give it to him.
“Just a little scared,” I admit. “I’m not scared of… them. Bad guys. Guns. Bounties. I mean, I am, but that’s not what’s keeping me up.”
His brows draw together. “Then what is?”
I swallow. “You,” I say softly.
His whole body goes still. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I tug at the hem of my tank top. “You, promising me things you can’t possibly control. You, being all… protector-y. You, being here, and on the run with me, and very much not a ghost on the periphery of my life anymore.”
He stares at me like he’s not sure whether to argue or apologize.
“I’ve seen you behind a screen for years,” I continue, words tumbling out now. “I’ve watched you move code like a knife. But this? Tonight? The warehouse, the way you moved, the way you didn’t even hesitate when you realized we were burned? That’s different.”
I take a breath.
“I spent years having a crush on the broody hacker who ignored me on Gage’s couch,” I say with a little crooked smile. “But now I’m seeing you in full knight-in-dark-hoodie mode and, uh…” I gesture loosely at my chest. “Respect levels: upgraded.”
His throat works. “Lark,” he says quietly, “you shouldn’t… put me on that kind of pedestal. I’m not—”
“A hero?” I cut in. “Yeah, yeah. You hate that word. You’re flawed. You’re morally gray. You pirate media and break into corporate servers for fun, we get it.”
A tiny ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth despite himself.
“I’m just saying,” I add, softer, “I respect the way you carry it. The weight. The responsibility. The way you looked at me tonight when you thought I might be scared. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before.”
His gaze sharpens. “Like what?”
“Like I’m worth protecting,” I say.
Silence hums between us.
He turns his head away, staring at some point over my shoulder. “You’ve always been worth protecting,” he says eventually. “That’s kind of the problem.”
My heart does a stupid flip.
I sink to the floor beside the coffee table, sitting cross-legged, arms draped over my knees. From here, I’m level with his shoulders, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. The blanket has slipped, exposing the long line of his thigh, the veins in his forearm.
“Then why did you spend half my adolescence pretending I didn’t exist?” I ask, trying to keep it light.
He huffs out a breath. “Because you were Gage’s catastrophically off-limits little sister. And because you were a kid, and I was…” He trails off, jaw clenching. “Not in a place where I trusted myself to want anything good.”
The answer lands with more weight than I expected.
I tilt my head. “You want things that are good now?”
His eyes meet mine.
The air shifts.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “Too much.”
Heat licks at the base of my spine.
I wet my bottom lip.
His gaze drops.
Tracks the movement.
My pulse skitters.
Okay. Dangerous territory ahead. Proceed with caution. Or don’t. Caution’s overrated.
I pull one knee up to my chest and rest my chin on it. “Can I ask you something?”
He snorts. “Have you ever not?”
“Why do you keep fighting it?”
He doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what it is. “Because it’s you,” he says. “And because once I stop fighting… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop at all.”
A shiver rolls through me that has nothing to do with the cabin chill.
There is absolutely no reason that sentence should be as hot as it is.
None.
Zero.
I shift, just a little, leaning back against the side of the couch so my shoulder brushes his leg.
It’s barely a touch.
An accident. Probably.
He goes rigid.
“Does it bother you?” I ask softly. “That I’m… here? That I pushed my way into this?”
“Yes,” he says immediately.
Ouch.
Then he adds, “And no.”
Less ouch.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, making it stick up in messy spikes. “You make everything harder.”
I bite back a smirk. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
“It feels like one.”
He turns his head, glowering down at me. “You don’t listen. You take unnecessary risks. You push buttons just to see what happens. You scare the hell out of me, Lark.”
The last part comes out raw.
Honest.
I blink. “I scare you?” I echo, surprised.