Page 67 of Inked Desires
I run a hand through my hair, the weight of defeat crashing down again.
“I’ll trust you. I’ll leave,” I say.“But if I find out he’s not safe, I’ll come back—and I’ll hunt you down. Are we clear?”
The agent nods, lips pressed into a hard line.
“It’s the right call, soldier. Maybe one day he’ll remember you. But right now, his ignorance is the only thing protecting him,” he replies calmly.
I nod in return. I brush his hand off my shoulder and step closer to the bed. My hands tremble. Carefully, I take Andrew’s hand in mine. He doesn’t move. His fingers are ice-cold. I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. His skin is rough and cold—it cuts straight through me.
I lean down, fighting the overwhelming urge to scoop him up and run. I want to hide him, keep him all to myself, make sure no one ever touches him again.
With a heavy heart, I press a final kiss to his forehead.
“I spent a lifetime searching for someone like you,” I whisper, so soft I doubt I even heard myself.“So don’t you dare think I’m leaving you behind.”
And then I let go. My heart stays behind, raw and exposed, as I turn my back and walk away, hoping life will finally be kinder to him.
The pain in my chest dulls everything else. I fight not to break down. I refuse to look Davis in the eye—I don’t want to see pity. He can’t possibly understand. Andrew and I are bound by a darkness no one else could comprehend.
“What happened?” I hear his hoarse voice behind me.
I freeze in the doorway. Hearing his voice rips me apart. It makes me want to stay. But deep down, I know I have to go.
It takes every ounce of strength I have to move forward and leave that room.
Out in the hallway, the world feels unreal. Two nurses chat over coffee, a doctor scribbles notes into a chart, and an old woman wanders by in her robe. But I see it all from the edge of my awareness. My mind is still in that room, imagining an Andrew who remembers me, who forgives me.
I reach the waiting room where my team sits lined up on cheap plastic chairs. They look up as I approach.
“How is he?” Kiran asks.
“I’ve got nothing to say,” I answer, slipping back into my usual tone.
“You staying?” Connor asks.
“No. We’re going home.”
Kiran stands and places his hands on my shoulders.
“What happened?”
“He’s fine. Let’s go,” I say, shutting it down.
I shrug off his hands and head for the exit. I know they’ll follow.
When we reach the car, Kiran unlocks the doors. This time, no one has to shove me in. I get in the passenger seat and stare out the window as the city rolls by.
“You were so desperate to get here, and now you’re ready to leave?” Kiran says, fishing for answers.
I stay silent, eyes fixed on the passing streets.
“Oh, hell no,” he snaps.“You’re not turning into that brooding hermit again. Don’t undo all the work Andrew did on your fucked-up personality.”
Annoyed, I slam the back of my head against the headrest. Can’t he just shut the fuck up? I don’t want to talk to him—or anyone else. Why do people always feel the need to talk about their feelings? I’m not some fragile loser. All I need is a bottle of whiskey and a deserted place to think. Then I’ll be back in the game.
“Ares, I’m talking to you. You owe us answers. I got you a weapon, I rallied the whole team—you don’t get to shut down now,” a voice growls beside me.
I sigh and finally turn to him. I could knock him out cold with one well-placed punch—but we’d probably crash the car, and I really don’t need that right now.
