Page 10 of Girl Code
Mickey was his. She was always meant to be his. She’d been his other half, his best friend for so long, but the truth was, she was more than that. She was his everything. He’d spent the past three years trying to forget how he’d felt being in her arms, but there was no way he could deny it a second longer.
She made him whole in a way he hadn’t been since the morning after he’d first made love to her, and then realized she’d run from him.
“Mick.” He groaned against her lips, forcing himself to be the one to regain control this time. “Mick, we have to go. As much as I want to, we can’t do this now. Not here. Not now.”
His words were rational and reasonable but Mickey only blinked at him as if he were speaking gibberish. God, she’d never looked more beautiful. Her bouncy curls in disarray from his hands. Her lips swollen from his kisses. Her eyes glassy with desire. It was only the blood on her chin, from where he’d cupped her face with his dirty hands, that destroyed the vision of perfection and reminded him that she was still in danger, that they both were.
“Dante…” Her voice was low, breathless and questioning and he knew that she deserved answers and explanations but he couldn’t give them to her yet. Not until he got her somewhere safe. Not until he was sure that nobody and nothing could take her away from him ever again.
“Do you trust me?” He met her gaze and found he was holding his breath again.
Her hesitation nearly destroyed him. She didn’t. Not completely. That kiss had been about adrenaline and emotions bottled up for years. It had been unthinking, at least on her part, a natural reaction, chemical if not mental. But trust didn’t come as naturally, especially not for Mickey, so he tried not to let his hurt show when she finally gave a simple nod.
It wasn’t true. She didn’t trust him. Not really. But she had to trust him about this, had to trust him to keep her safe. And maybe that would be enough, for now, until they got themselves out of this situation and he found a way to convince her that he was good for more than just guarding her body.
That he wanted to guard her heart too, and never let anyone break it again.
“Come on, then.” He forced himself up off the sidewalk and offered her his good hand, “We have to go.”
She took his hand and let him lead her to his car, miraculously untouched by the ricochet of bullets. He squeezed her hand as he let her into the passenger seat and she squeezed back before letting go. He shut the door and went around to get in the other side but even those few seconds without her warmth beside him felt like too much, like if he wasn’t careful, she’d slip from his grip once again and he’d never get her back this time.
5
Mickey had heard of safe houses before today. Not in real life of course, but on television and in the movies. She’d never in a million years have thought she would find herself at one, or that the supposed safe house wouldn’t be anything at all like the dingy motels they used on screen.
Instead, Dante had driven her to a house in the suburbs situated at the end of a mostly empty cul-de-sac. He’d pulled his car into the garage and explained to her that this was one of many properties the department owned. When she’d commented that it looked like it was in the middle of renovations he’d only nodded and said that was part of what made the house unremarkable. Cars and trucks coming and going were dismissed as contractors. Mickey had to admit it was a good ploy though she wondered if the city actually flipped these houses and sold them for more than they’d invested in the long term. That’s what she would have done, she reasoned.
Dante retreated to a bathroom to mend his wound and Mickey took the chance to get a little bit of space from him in the guise of looking around the home. The car ride over had been awkward. Neither of them had hardly spoken ten words the entire trip. Mickey had tried. She’d opened her mouth multiple times but always ended up shutting it again without saying a thing because she hadn’t known what to say when she could still feel the heat and warmth of Dante’s mouth against hers.
It had only been the adrenaline. That’s what she was trying to convince herself of at least. They’d been in a life and death situation. She’d thought she was going to die. She’d thought Dante was going to die. Kissing him had been nothing more than an outlet for the swell of emotions roiling inside of her. Only, those emotions had been roiling since long before bullets went flying and even now, she could still taste Dante on her lips, smell him on her clothes, and she still wanted to be back in his arms.
Mickey tried to shake the thoughts away as she headed through a kitchen that was draped in plastic sheeting. Useful for both construction and murder scenes, her brain supplied. She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom when she found Dante standing in front of the mirror with a needle and thread, wincing as he attempted to stitch himself up in the low lighting.
“What are you doing?” She snapped.
Dante jumped and cursed as his eyes met hers in the mirror, “Jesus, Mick. Don’t sneak up on a man doing surgery on himself.”
She snorted, “Stitches are hardly surgical.”
“Yeah well, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve never been a big fan of needles.” He admitted, dropping his gaze back to his wound in the mirror and focusing as he attempted to put the needle to his skin again.
“I did forget.” Mickey whispered softly, earning another quick shift of his gaze up to meet hers, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No. It’s not.” She stepped into the bathroom behind him and held out a hand, “Sit down on the edge of the bathtub and I’ll do it for you.”
Dante’s dark eyebrows rose, “You will?”
“You got shot pushing me out of the way. The least I can do is help stitch you up.” She motioned for him to hand over the needle and thread again and this time he huffed out what she thought was a sigh of a relief before he turned and sat, giving her the instruments of small torture.
Mickey noticed the bottle of vodka on the counter for the first time and smirked, “Attempting to dull the pain?”
“Antiseptic actually.” Dante shrugged and then winced as if he’d forgotten about the bullet wound in his shoulder.
“You should probably take a drink or too. This is going to hurt like a bitch.” Mickey offered him the bottle and he took it, careful not to let their fingers brush.
She watched him watch her over the top of the bottle as he tilted it to his lips and took a couple of long drags. He winced again as he pulled the bottle from his mouth. He used the back of his good hand to wipe at the drops he left behind. Mickey was utterly fascinated by the movement, so much so that by the time she realized Dante was holding out the bottle for her to take it back, his lips had quirked into a knowing smile.
