• 23
??
We lied.
We LIED SO BADLY.
My heartbeat was still in my throat. My hands were still shaking. My skin was still on fire from where he touched my waist.
I didn't even remember to actually buy a book.
Nico opened the door for me like he always did, but this time his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, like he was wrestling with himself.
I stepped outside, still flustered, still dizzy.
Sunset light spilled across the parking lot, warm and soft, and for one tiny second everything felt calm.
Then I heard footsteps. Fast and close.
Before I could even turn—
A man rushed toward us. Straight at me.
Knife raised in his hand.
Oh my God. This is how I die?
I didn't even have time to scream.
One blur of motion.
One sound — metal slicing the air.
Nico shoved me behind him so hard I stumbled.
Everything happened too fast. Way too fast.
The man lunged at Nico. My heart caught in my throat.
A sharp, horrible sound cut through the air.
I gasped as the knife grazed Nico's shoulder, slicing through his shirt.
"NICO!" I screamed so loud my voice hurt.
He didn't flinch, or look away. He didn't even react to the blood. The man wore a hoodie, I tried not to look at his face. I felt the tears swelling in my eyes.
Nico stepped forward, eyes cold and lethal, pulling out a gun so fast the attacker panicked.
The man cursed, stumbled back, then ran.
Full sprint.
What the fuck just happened.
Silence crashed over the parking lot.
I stared at Nico, shaking.
"Nico," I whispered, rushing to him. "What—what the hell—are you okay?"
He finally looked at me.
His shoulder was bleeding.
But his eyes were calm in that terrifying Nico way.
"I'm fine," he said quietly. "He just scratched me."
"Scratched?" I choked. "Nico, you're bleeding—"
He stepped closer, cupping my cheek with his clean hand, thumb brushing my skin like he needed to check I was okay.
"I'm fine, princess. I promise."
Princess.
He calls me princess when he's trying to distract me. Like he did in high school.
But I wasn't calm. I was shaking.
"You—he—he tried to stab me and you—" my voice broke. "Nico, you stepped in front of me."
"Of course I did," he said, like it was obvious.
Like it was breathing.
I grabbed his arm. "We need to go to the hospital."
"No hospitals." He winced subtly. "I'll call Angelo."
He pulled his phone out, texted something fast, then put it away. His breath hitched from the pain.
"Nico..." I whispered. "I don't know what to do."
He looked at me again, really looked, then brushed my hair behind my ear with the gentlest touch I'd ever felt.
"I'm fine," he repeated softly.
"I'm okay as long as you are, princess."
Something snapped inside me.
Fear, guilt... maybe adrenaline. His touch, the protectiveness. I don't know. I just know, I didn't think.
I didn't hesitate or second-guess myself. I just leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't soft or careful. It was messy and desperate, fueled by fear, relief, and everything I had been holding in since the second that knife flashed in front of us.
For half a second, Nico didn't move at all.
His body went completely still, like I had shocked him. I almost pulled back.
And then he kissed me back.
Hard.
It felt like restraint finally gave out, like he had been fighting this longer than I even knew. His hand slid to the back of my neck, firm and grounding, pulling me closer as if letting go was no longer an option.
I gasped against his mouth, my fingers curling into his shirt. I was careful of his shoulder, but I couldn't stop myself from pulling him closer. His lips were soft, and warm.
He pulled me flush against him. The sound he made was low and rough, sending heat straight through me.
He lifted me without asking, like it was instinct, like he had imagined it before.
My legs wrapped around him automatically, and the kiss deepened, urgent and hungry, everything crashing together at once. His mouth moved against mine like he was pouring every unsaid thing into it.
I felt dizzy, breathless, completely gone. My fingers in tangled in his hair.
I was the one who pulled back first, my heart racing as reality slammed back into place all at once.
"I—I'm sorry," I stammered. "I shouldn't have—"
"Daria."
His voice was rough, steady, dangerous.
"You have no idea what you've just done."
Like a warning.
He pulled me back in, and kissed me again even harder. I gasped softly against his lip.
A kiss that tasted desperate and addicting all at once.
She kissed me.
Now it was my turn.
And I was furious.
Not annoyed. Not irritated. Furious in a way that made my vision narrow and my trigger finger itch. The kind of rage I inherited from my father. The kind that ended with someone crying on the pavement.
Someone tried to hurt her.
Tried to touch her.
Tried to put a blade anywhere near her perfect body.
They should have slit my throat instead. It would have been safer for them. Because I would burn this entire city to the fucking ground before I let anyone lay a finger on Daria Cole.
So when the knife grazed my shoulder, I didn't even feel it.
All I saw was her behind me, shaking, wide-eyed, terrified. And the sickest part was that she looked for me first. Like I was the only thing standing between her and everything that wanted to hurt her.
Then she grabbed me, her soft voice breaking, her hands trembling against my chest.
That did more damage than the knife ever could.
For the first time in my life, fear didn't make me cold. It made me protective. Possessive. Ready to kill for her. Ready to die for her.
"It's a scratch," I told her.
It was a lie. Not because it hurt, but because it didn't. I wanted her close. I wanted her hands on me for a second longer. I wanted her worried about me instead of shaking for herself.
But the way she looked at me, like losing me would destroy her, I couldn't add to her fear.
Whoever that bastard was, I'd find him. Russian, mole, stray idiot—it didn't matter.
Not because he cut me.
Because he scared her.
And for that alone, he deserved to beg.
Then she kissed me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just her soft, desperate lips pressed to mine like she had been holding back just as much as I had.
Something inside me snapped so violently I felt it.
I had imagined her mouth a thousand times, but nothing came close to the reality of having it on mine.
She whispered "sorry" against my lips.
Sorry.
Sweet girl had no idea she never had to apologize to me. Not for touching me. Not for kissing me. Not for wanting me.
If she said sorry again, it would be against my mouth while I kissed the breath out of her.
My thoughts turned dark and reckless, and I hated myself for it. She was scared, and all I could think about was how she had bent over in that bookstore and how easily I could lose control.
I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to breathe. I didn't want to remember the world around us.
For once in my life, I wanted something for myself.
I had waited for this. Held myself back for this. Suffered in silence for this.
If she walked away tomorrow, if she pretended this never happened, if this was the only moment she ever let herself want me—
I wasn't wasting it.
I grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her like she belonged to me. Not gentle. Not careful. Just hungry.
Her fingers curled into my shirt. Her breath hitched. Her body melted into mine like it had always known where it belonged.
She made a soft sound, and it took everything in me to pull away before I lost control in a parking lot.
And for the first time in my goddamn life, I felt afraid.
Not of losing control. I'd lost that the second she touched me.
I was afraid of losing her.
I was afraid she'd run if she ever knew the truth about me.
How do you think Daria will react to Nico's secret?