19. Bindi #2
I gather up the rest of my stuff and exit the stall. One more look in the mirror shows a tired, wary woman, but one who can at least pass for ordinary in a crowd. Which is good enough.
Cassidy is leaning against the wall with arms crossed. He straightens the second he sees me, his eyes flicking over me in a quick assessment. New clothes, cleaner face, no obvious breakdown. I guess I passed his test.
He still looks roughly the same. He must not have taken the time to wash up himself.
“All right?”
I swallow and give a terse nod. “Let’s just get out of here.” My tone is flat, giving nothing away. Or so I hope.
We’ve got everything we can afford, and even a few extra things. Cassidy carries our plastic bag of supplies in one hand, the other hovering near my back as we cross the lot.
Once we reach the car, he tosses the bag into the backseat. I stop by the passenger door, one hand on the hot metal roof to steady myself. My legs feel unsteady—a delayed reaction from everything, or maybe just the midday Florida heat.
Cassidy shuts the rear door and turns to open mine. He looks good—like, annoyingly good. He shouldn’t be allowed to look that hot after everything. It pisses me off even more.
“We should keep moving. We will need to ditch the car in a few hundred miles or so. Probably before we get to ‘bama.”
Something in me snaps. “That’s it?” I spit out, rounding on him. My heart is thudding again, anger giving me a second wind. “We just . . . keep moving? Where will we go?”
Cassidy withdraws his hand slowly from the door handle. He’s standing close now, close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to hold his gaze. His eyes narrow.
“I did what I had to do,” he growls, stepping in close. “To protect you. Don’t be fucking pissed at me for saving you from getting raped—twice now.”
“Protect me,” I echo, humorless laughter scraping out of me.
“Right. That’s what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, we’re already dead.
You have no fucking idea who the Santoros are, do you?
The kind of reach they have. The resources.
The bodies they can bury without leaving a trace.
Anthony will scour every inch of this earth for me. ”
He watches me, jaw clenched.
“You nearly beat that man to death, Cassidy. With your bare hands,” I spit. “And then you told me you killed three of his men. Anthony Santoro’s men. You think that’s just gonna go away? You think he’ll let that slide?”
“He was about to rape you?—”
“And you think that justifies putting a fucking target on both of us?” I shout, gesturing wildly. “You don’t get to play hero and then act surprised when the world lights itself on fire.”
“I don’t give a fuck about some rich-boy drug dealers and their petty kingdom,” he bites out. “You had no business working in that club.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself. You don’t get to judge me for surviving. You left me, Cassidy. You told me to run. Disappear. You made me leave you, and I did. I had nothing. No money, no plan, no one. What the hell did you expect me to do?”
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I worked for the Santoros because I had to. Because I had to eat. Because I had nowhere else to go. Don’t turn that into some moral failure just so you can keep painting yourself as the savior.”
Cassidy takes another step forward, crowding me against the car. “You think I enjoyed what happened back there? You think I wanted to watch another man put his hands on you? Hear you cry out? You think I could ever be okay after that?”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
“I didn’t kill Anthony, but I should have. I should’ve fucking ripped him apart in front of everyone and made sure they remembered it. I killed his men—the ones he sent after me later. I didn’t hesitate. And I’d do it again; I’d do it a hundred more times.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are blazing, pupils blown wide.
“I’d kill any man on this Earth if they so much as looked at you wrong. So yeah, I’m not sorry. I’m not sane, but you’re fucking mine. You hear me? You’ve always been mine. You always will be, Firefly.”
My heart slams into my ribs like a fist, because it’s not supposed to hit like this. Not the heat creeping up my neck. Not the low pulse fluttering between my legs.
I should tell him he’s insane.
I should pull away.
Instead, my breath hitches.
God help me, it turns me on.
He looks like a wolf who hasn’t eaten in weeks, and all I can think is that he’s never looked hotter. He’s bloody, unhinged, and deadly serious, looking like sin in that black hoodie, with that wild look in his eyes. Like he’d rip the world in half just to make space for me.
He must see it on my face, because his expression shifts. Dropping his hand from my chin slowly, he drags his thumb down my jawline.
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s what scares me, Cassidy—that you’d do anything. There are no lines you won’t cross, are there? Not for me.”
He releases me fully then, stepping back half an inch, like he needs the space to rein himself in.
For a second, his face crumples into something like hurt.
“I’d never let anyone hurt you,” he mutters, and it’s not exactly an answer to what I said.
He looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I’d die before I let that happen. What don’t you understand about that? ”
I wrap my arms around myself. “And what about you hurting others? Where does that end?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
Cassidy’s eyes snap back to mine, and they’re blazing again. “I did what was necessary—what I deemed necessary. And I’d do it again, every time. But I’d never hurt you. You have to believe that.” He takes a shaky breath. “You have to trust me. ”
I hold his gaze for a long, heavy moment. Trust him . I’ve seen all I know of him now . . . Do I trust him ?
I wet my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, and give the only honest answer I can. “I trust you’ll do whatever you have to do. That’s not the same thing.”