Page 6 of Romeo

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and those dark eyes go wide as he stares at the weapon in my hand. The man turns his attention to me, studying me more intently this time. I’m shaking from head to toe, my breaths coming out in short bursts, but I stand my ground.

The tall, muscular man with an air of power and authority lifts his hands, palms out, in a sign of surrender. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take any wins I can get at the moment.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says in his deep, velvety voice. It’s almost a whisper, but not quite. Like he’s trying to calm me down. “Though it appears the same can’t be said for you. I haven’t come across such a weapon before. Tell me, how would you use it?”

I can’t tell if he’s mocking me, but I answer him truthfully. “I could stick it in your eye,” I say with more confidence this time. “Or poke it in your ear,” I add. He nods but doesn’t look convinced. “If you’re really a threat, I might shove it up your nose and hook out your brain.”

His left brow, the one with the scar, ticks up slightly in amusement. “You’ve thought about this quite a bit,” he observes.

I shrug. “I’ve had to since moving here.”

The man furrows his brow as if he doesn’t like the thought of me living here. Then he snaps out of it, nodding once again. “While resourceful, I don’t know how much good it would do against a gun.”

Terror seeps back into my veins, and anxiety wraps around my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Not me,” he’s quick to add. “I promised to protect you, remember?”

I nod, but the words float in and out of my brain.

“But you do have some powerful enemies after what you saw last night.”

That’s what pushes me over the edge, sending me diving headfirst into a panic attack. I step back, but my feet tangle in one of the discarded kitchen chairs. The man lunges for me, and I let out a pathetic cry as my crochet hook falls to the floor with a clang.

The next thing I know, I’m being crushed against the stranger’s chest as his arms come around me and hold me close. I try fighting my way out of his embrace, unsure if he’s trying to comfort or kidnap me.

“I’ve got you, Thalia,” he whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No,” I whimper, tears streaming down my cheeks as I suck in air. I’m not sure what I’m saying no to, but it’s the only word I can come up with at the moment.

“Breathe for me,” he commands softly, never letting me out of his embrace.

His low voice, rich timbre, and surprisingly sweet words course through me, loosening the grip of panic. Still, my fight or flight has been engaged since I saw my brother get shot in the head, and my first instinct is to run. I shove against his chest and rear my head back, only to have him cup the back of my neck and tuck my head under his chin.

“You’re safe, Thalia,” he murmurs repeatedly as he gently massages my neck. “Stop fighting me.”

Every confusing emotion from the last twelve hours bursts out of me at once, and my tears soak this stranger’s shirt as I fall apart in his arms.

I have no idea what’s going on, only that my life is in ruins, and I’m apparently at the top of a hit list. I haven’t had time to process my brother’s death, the bloodshed I witnessed, or the things I heard. I’m furious with my brother, yet also coming to terms with the violent way his life ended right in front of my eyes.

All these thoughts swirl and clash inside my head as I heave out ugly sobs and collapse into the arms of the tall, dark stranger who showed up on my doorstep.

“Who… who a-are you?” I manage to squeak when the worst of my crying is over.

“Romeo,” he states matter-of-factly.

I tilt my head back, taking in his sharp features and angular jaw. His dark eyes bore into me with an intensity I feel down to my toes. Squinting my eyes at him, I try to decide if he’s telling me the truth or if this is some messed up pickup line.

“It’s a family name,” he continues. “Trust me, I’m no Shakespearian knight in shining armor.”

“Neither was Romeo. He killed himself when he thought his true love was dead. Then she woke up, saw his lifeless body, and killed herself, too.”

I’m not sure why I felt the need to correct him, but Romeo must find it amusing. His left eyebrow arches slightly, and he gets that same almost playful look in his eyes as when I explained how I could use my crochet hook to end his life.

“And people regard that as a love story?” Romeo frowns slightly, and his eyes narrow as he replays my words in his head. “Jesus,” he mutters. “And I thought I had a fucked up view of love.”

I’m not sure he meant for me to hear that last part, but I tuck that piece of information away. For what, I’m not sure, but it feels important.

I pull myself away from my mystery man, though I feel increasingly vulnerable the further away from him I get. When a crack sounds from right outside my window, I collapse onto the floor, instinctively covering my head with my hands and curling up into a ball.

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