Page 42 of Desperate People

This time, I don’t feel like prey.

This time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m the predator.

Or at least predator-adjacent.

Is that a thing? Can that be a thing?

Because I’m not scared of him. Not really.

I should be.

Balor Cruz is not a safe man. He’s not gentle or easy or kind in the way most people pretend to be.

He’s brutal. Quiet. Unapologetically sharp around the edges.

But every time he looks at me like that. Like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once. I feel like I could burn right through my own skin.

And the truth?

I want to know if he’s the kind of man who’d burn the whole world down just to keep me safe in it.

Because that’s the man I want.

Not the one who smiles politely and asks how my day was.

Not the one who offers me the illusion of freedom while slowly caging me behind rules and expectations.

This one.

The man behind the wheel.

The one who turned me down once with shaking hands and clenched jaw.

The one who hasn’t stopped watching over me since.

And if I didn’t still taste that rejection in the back of my throat, I’d almost swear that’s the man I’m getting tonight.

Possessive. Unforgiving. Mine.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

Because I’m not just flirting with danger anymore.

I’m in it.

Wrapped in it.

Danger is driving the car.

Danger is growling under his breath like he’s two seconds from hunting down whoever left that fucking rose.

And danger?

Danger has me in his hands.

And honestly?

There’s nowhere else I want to be.

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