Page 26 of Her Name in Red
I dance away, light on my feet despite the heaviness spreading through my body. Every cell screams at me to go back,to finish what we started, but I've spent too long training my body to obey my mind instead of the other way around.
“I told you,” I say, smoothing my hair with practiced casualness. “You don't understand what you're getting yourself into.”
Riggs pushes himself off the wall, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
“You can't just—” he starts, then stops, frustration tightening his features. “You can't keep doing this, Maren. This push and pull shit. You want me, I know you do.”
I shrug, leaning against a trophy case. “Want has nothing to do with it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Believe what you want.” I examine my nails, noting where one has chipped during our little…encounter.
“You're right,” Riggs says, his voice hoarse. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he doesn't move toward me again. He stays pressed against the wall where I left him, like he's waiting for permission. “That was fun. But we both know it's not what you really want.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is it I really want, Dr. Rhodes? Please enlighten me with your expert psychological assessment.”
“You want someone who isn't afraid of what you've become,” he says simply. His eyes never leave mine. “Someone who won't run when things get ugly.”
Something in my chest tightens, a sharp twist that feels dangerously close to pain. I hate how easily he sees through me sometimes.
“And you think that's you?” I ask, my voice flat and cold.
“Yes,” Riggs says without hesitation, pushing off the wall. “It's me. It's always been me since that night.”
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
“You’re fucking delusional.”
His voice drops even lower, barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, when I think about what he did to you, I wish I'd been the one to kill him instead.”
I laugh, the sound echoing harshly against the high ceiling. “That's not how this works. You don't get to pity me or wish to take it from me.”
“Fine.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It sticks up at odd angles, making him look younger, more vulnerable somehow. “Then I'm making you a deal.”
“A deal?” I cross my arms, amused despite myself. “This should be interesting.”
He squares his shoulders, jaw set in that stubborn way that means he's not backing down. “You don't kill without telling me first.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and impossible to take back.
I tilt my head, studying him like he's a puzzle I can't quite solve. “What makes you think I need your permission?”
“I'm not giving you permission. I know better than that,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “I'm asking for a heads-up. Just let me be the person on your side, in your corner, watching your back.”
“Watching my back?” I repeat, the words tasting strange to my tongue. “Or watching me?”
“Both,” he admits, and I almost respect the honesty. “I won't stop you. I won't turn you in. But I need to know.”
I take a step back, putting distance between us. The look on his face is raw, open—so fucking honest it makes my skin crawl. No one should look at another person that way, like they'd walk through fire just to stand in ashes for them or with them.
“I'll think about it,” I say finally, the words coming out softer than I intended.
His eyes widen just a fraction. He wasn't expecting that—wasn't expecting me to consider it at all. That tiny flash of surprise gives me a sick little thrill. I like keeping him off-balance.
I can still taste his blood on my tongue, can still feel the phantom pressure of his body against mine. My skin hums with it, alive in a way I haven't felt in months.
I turn to leave when his voice stops me for a moment.
