Page 65 of Fang

“No. But something’s going on.”

“Or not, and that’s the problem.”

“You saw it too?”

“How could anyone miss it? If they’re not banging already, they should be. There’s enough tension in the room when they’re together to ignite a fire.”

“Maybe so, but they’ve got nothing on us, babe.” I lean to kiss him softly.

When I pull back to catch my breath, he sighs. “Even though I wasn’t gone that long, I missed you so much.”

“Me too. I can’t believe I almost lost you,” I whisper, my voice catching on the words. I lift his hand to my cheek, holding it there as if to reassure myself that he’s alive.

“Told you I’d come back,” he reminds me, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.

I turn my face to press a kiss against his palm. “I’ve spent so many years alone,” I say, the words tumbling out. “Just me and Rory against the world. Never trusting anyone, never letting anyone close enough to see the real me.” My eyes find his, holding his gaze steadily despite the vulnerability of what I’m about to say. “And then there was you.”

His expression softens, the pain in his eyes momentarily eclipsed by something warmer, more intense.

“I love you, Fang.” Once spoken, the words seem to hang in the air between us, perfect and true. “I love your brilliant mind and how you see patterns no one else can see. I love how you protect people, not just with your body but with your skills. How you helped me find Rory when no one else wanted to step up. How you never once judged me for the things I did to survive.”

My voice trembles but I push on, needing him to hear everything. “I love how you make me feel safe for the first time in years. Not because you’re strong, though you are, but because you’re steady. Because when you say something will happen, it does. Because you keep your promises.”

A smile spreads across his battered face, transforming it despite the bruises and cuts. “I love you too, Mina.” His voice is rough with emotion. “The minute I saw the elegance of your code, I was a goner. The woman behind all that perfection just made me fall harder.”

I laugh through sudden tears, the tension of the past day breaking like a fever. “Only you would fall in love with someone because of their programming skills.”

“What can I say? Beautiful syntax is my weakness.” He tugs gently on my hand, pulling me down beside him on the bed. “Come here.”

I carefully arrange myself against his good side, my head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, my palm resting lightly over his heart. Its steady beat beneath my fingers is the most reassuring thing I’ve felt in days.

“I was so afraid,” I confess against his skin. “When Vapor said there had been an explosion, that you were injured… I thought of all the things I hadn’t told you.”

His lips press against my forehead, lingering there. “I’m harder to get rid of than that,” he murmurs. “Especially now that I have something—someone—to come back to.”

I lift my face to his, our lips meeting in a kiss that’s gentle out of necessity but no less intense. His hand cradles the back of my neck, holding me close as if I might disappear if he lets go. When we part, his eyes are dark with a mix of pain and desire.

“I’ve never believed in fate,” I whisper, tracing the uninjured side of his face with my fingertips. “But finding you in the middle of all this chaos… makes me wonder.”

He captures my wandering hand, bringing it back to his lips for another kiss. “Not fate,” he says. “Choice. Every day, I choose you. Even before I met you, I was choosing paths that led to you.”

The simple truth of it steals my breath. In a world where choice has so often been an illusion, where survival dictated my every move, the idea of choosing love—of being chosen—feels revolutionary.

I settle back against him, careful not to jostle his injuries, and listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it gradually slows toward sleep. The outside world—the cartel, the danger, even Rory’s treatment—all seems distant compared to this moment of quiet connection, of wounds tended and truths spoken.

Night deepens outside the window, the dim glow of security lights filtering through the blinds to cast striped shadows across Fang’s bed. We lie in comfortable silence, his fingers trailing lazy patterns through my hair, my head resting in the hollow of his uninjured shoulder. The rhythm of his breathing has slowed but not to sleep. I trace the edge of a bandage on his chest, marveling at how quickly this man has become essential to me, how the thought of his absence now feels like contemplating the loss of a limb.

“You know,” Fang says finally, his voice a soft rumble against my ear, “club life isn’t for everyone.”

I tilt my head to look at his face, finding his eyes serious in the half-light. “What do you mean?”

His fingers continue their gentle journey through my hair, but his expression remains solemn. “After Rory’s treatment is complete, you have a choice.” He pauses, picking his words carefully. “You can stay with me, or you can go into hiding with your brother. Start fresh somewhere the cartel can’t find you.”

The suggestion catches me off guard. After everything we’ve been through—the rescue mission in Mexico, the hunt for Vasquez, these past weeks of building something between us—he’s offering me an exit strategy. An honorable discharge from the war we’ve been fighting.

“You want me to leave?” My voice emerges smaller than intended.

“God, no.” His arm tightens around me, his certainty immediate and reassuring. “That’s the last thing I want. But I need you to know that you have options.” He shifts slightly, wincing as the movement jostles his ribs, but his eyes never leave mine. “The cartel won’t forget what we’ve done. Dismantling their operation will take time. There will be danger, retaliation.”

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