Page 55 of Wild Devil

He doesn’t want me with him when he finally does return to the city.

Even worse—he thinks I can’t stomach one last showdown with my own father.

TWENTY-ONE

DAZE

Shit. I’ve done it now. Can’t say I feel too much guilt though. From where I’m standing, nose buried in a mess of wild, blond hair, my original plan is seeming like a damn good reason.

Until Frey wriggles away from me and spins around, head cocked at an accusatory angle.

“We have to go back,” she insists. “We. I have to stop my father. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“We weren’t sure,” I admit. “And you had just gotten out of that fucking mess. You didn’t need anything else on your plate.”

“Don’t make decisions for me. We’re a team, remember?” She says it so hesitantly, like she isn’t sure. Like she thinks I’ll balk at the idea of having my fate lumped in with hers.

She’s damn wrong.

I grip her wrist, pull her into me, and press my lips to hers, catching her off guard. When I draw back, her eyes are heavy lidded, all traces of irritation gone.

“You’re damn right, we are,” I say, meaning every single word. “We can handle this together. But if you think that I’m letting you anywhere near that city when there’s a possibility that it, and everyone in it, could go up in smoke…” I hear the shift in my voice, and so does she. I watch her body tense before I say, “You’ve lost your damn mind. I almost lost you more than once already. You have another thing coming if you think I’m going to take that risk again.”

And I refuse to feel an ounce of guilt over that. Still, I grit my teeth as she frees her wrist from my grasp.

“It’s not your risk to take,” she says softly, turning away.

I inhale sharply. Now isn’t the time to launch into some deep emotional bullshit, but… Fuck it. We’ve both beaten around the bush for long enough. I need to know.

“I love you, and you think that means I shouldn’t have any say over whether or not you risk your life? That’s a bit fucked up, Frey.”

She stiffens. Sucks in a startled breath. Exhales. “Daze…”

“Look, I don’t care if you feel the same way or not,” I add. It’s the fucking truth. “But that doesn’t mean I can sit back and watch you die. I can’t. I won’t.”

Her eyes meet mine. “I do love you,” she says. “That’s why I won’t sit back and let you take all the fire by yourself. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

My mind is blown. I forget all about our conversation but those four words. I do love you.

So what if there aren’t fireworks or other romantic bullshit to cushion the blow? I’d crawl over broken glass just to make her say those words again.

For the time being, I settle for reaching out, ghosting my fingers along her shoulder. “You love me,” I echo, my voice low. “Well, that’s nice to fucking hear.”

Finally.

“As if it matters,” she says, keeping her face turned away from me. “All I’ve done is get you and Sammy into danger.”

“Well, guess what? It’s not your risk to take. It’s mine.”

And when it comes to my life, I’d risk it again and again for her. Sammy has Lyra to take care of him should the worst come to worst—not that I would ever willingly let that happen.

“It doesn’t hurt that I’ve proven damn hard to kill,” I point out.

That makes her look back at me, and I suck in a breath at the sight of her—eyes questioning, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “Well, then it seems like we’re at an impasse,” she admits. “We could fight about it. But…”

“But?” I take a step toward her without realizing it. Damn. It’s like she has my heart in a vice, balanced on the palms of those delicate hands. I’m hanging on every second of silence that passes between us. For the rest of my fucking life, it’s going to be like this. Waiting for her say-so over every little thing.

I could live with that—with no regrets, either. It blows my mind to admit it, but I don’t dare second-guess myself. Even if Damien would hiss that I was pussy-whipped.

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