29. Bindi
TWENTY-NINE
BINDI
I wake up to a dull, throbbing burn in my thigh and the slow realization that I’m still entwined with Cassidy.
He’s lying on his side, one arm draped across my waist. The hard edges of his face have softened, making him look almost innocent.
God, I love him. Though, no word feels big enough for what I feel.
It’s an obsession, a desperate, bone-deep tether binding us together.
I brush a lock of dark hair off Cassidy’s forehead, causing him to stir slightly. His stormy eyes find mine as he blinks slowly. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he pulls me closer to him.
“Morning, Firefly.”
“Morning,” I whisper back, my fingertips trail down his face and over the stubble on his jaw. I shift closer toward him, but suck in a sharp breath when the skin of my thigh pulls.
Instantly, the smile drops from his face as he props himself up on one elbow, concern shadowing his eyes.
“Let me see,” he says softly, already reaching to examine the carving. I roll onto my back and allow him to peel away the bandage. His big hand cradles my leg firmly .
“It’s okay. It’s really not that bad.”
He doesn’t answer me, but a muscle ticks in his jaw as he inspects the carved letters.
I cover his hand with mine. “We both wanted this. Don’t go all weirdo protector now.”
He meets my eyes, and after a beat, he gives a small nod.
He takes the rag, dampening it with a bit of our bottle water then cleans my wound, wiping away the crusted blood.
I bite my lip at the stinging sensation until he ties a clean bandage snuggly around my thigh.
The pressure actually helps dull the pain.
“Good as new.”
“Your turn.” I nod toward his own bandaged hip where a red patch has seeped through.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine?—”
I don’t let him finish. I push myself up, ignoring the protest of sore muscles, and reach for his leg. Cassidy sighs but relents, shifting to give me access. Carefully, I peel back his makeshift bandage. My name is carved into him in jagged letters. The skin around it inflamed.
On impulse, I lean down and press a feather-light kiss just above the angry letters. “All mine,” I whisper against his skin.
His fingers thread into my hair as he tilts my head up toward him, locking our eyes. “Always, Firefly.”
My heart swells, and for a second, everything feels right. Until it doesn’t. Cassidy suddenly goes rigid, his hand stilling in my hair. “Shh?—”
I hold my breath, listening hard. The faint sound of an engine as a car rolls down the dirt road gets louder and louder.
Cassidy rolls across the bed and onto his feet, grabbing the handgun from the nightstand. We weren’t expecting anyone to find us.
I scramble up and snatch my scattered clothes—my tank top, my shorts—yanking them on in a clumsy haste. Across the room, Cassidy peeks through a narrow gap between the window slats.
I’m fumbling with my boots when the engine cuts off, and a car door slams. Voices drift from out front, and Cassidy ducks away from the wall and crosses back to me in two strides, grabbing his clothes in my hand and rushing to put them on.
“Black SUV. Tinted windows. Unmarked. I can tell from the jackets—DOJ, maybe FBI,” I whisper.
“Feds? God-fucking-dammit.” Cassidy stiffens, his eyes looking out the curtain again as his face drains of color. “Fucking Ramirez.”
“Who?”
“Agent Adrian Ramirez.”
“Cassidy what the fuc?—”
“We need to get the fuck out.”
He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder, while I snatch up our water bottle and shove it inside the bag.
A voice calls from the outside, “Sweep the outbuildings. Check for hostiles!”
We freeze as another voice, closer, mutters an acknowledgement.
Cassidy grips my hand, pulling me toward a window in the bathroom. It has an old screen hanging off of an old hinge. He eases it open as quietly as he can. The hinge emits a tiny squeal and we both flinch. Up front, wood splinters from someone who just kicked in the little apartment’s front door.
We’re out of time. Cassidy pulls me through the gap into the open air.
The morning is cool and bright, the dew on the weeds brushing our legs as we crouch-run along the back of the shack.
My heart thunders so loudly, I’m sure it will give us away.
Thirty yards ahead, near the weathered barn, I spot the black SUV and two men heading into the barn’s open doorway.
One shouts, “There’s a car off the dirt road up there, boss! ”
Our Camry . We hid it in the woods last night, but they found it.
Cassidy yanks me toward the tree line. We dash the last few yards, half-stooped. Behind us, an angry shout rings from the shack. “Found something—” They didn’t find us inside—thank God—but that means they’ll start looking outside.
We dive behind a thick oak tree at the edge of the forest entrance. My lungs are burning as I try to stifle my gasps. Peering around the trunk, I have a partial view of the barn and clearing. Cassidy pulls me closely against his chest, his heart pounding just as fast as mine.
“We’ve got a bag with a couple of fake passports. Get it logged.”
Cass swears under his breath. “That’s not just evidence, Firefly—that’s us branded fugitives. They log those passports, and every cop from here to New York’s gonna have our faces on a list.”
He tosses the backpack toward the man with a gray bandana sticking out of his pocket. He inspects a wad of bills, then slings the bag toward the third guy who places it inside the car.
“Clear the property. Then sweep the perimeter—we’ve got two suspects armed and fleeing.”
My blood turns to ice.
Cassidy leans close and whispers in my ear, “We need to run. Now.”
A spike of panic flares in me. Run away? And abandon the money? I turn to him, eyes blazing. “We can’t leave the rest of the money. Cassidy, we need it—those passports?—”
“What good are passports if we’re dead? I’m not risking you.”
Fuck, he’s right. But what the fuck else are we supposed to do? We can’t confront them. All we have is a couple of pistols and no ammo.
Cassidy squeezes my hand.
He’s right. If we stay, we’re caught. And dead.
I give him a tiny, furious nod as tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I force myself to give in. We disappear into the trees, leaving our stolen car—and our best-laid plans—behind.
Branches lash at my arms and face as we push deeper into the woods, every step ripping fire through the carved letters on my thigh. Cass stumbles once, his jaw clenched, blood seeping through his bandage, but neither of us stop. Adrenaline’s louder than pain.
It’s only when the sounds of the men fade into distant echoes that Cassidy finally slows, coming to a panting halt beside a fallen pine.
I stagger to a stop and drop to one knee.
A bed of damp leaves and pine needles cushions my fall, their sharp, earthy scent filling my nose.
Every muscle in my body protests. My thigh is on fire; I feel fresh blood warming against my jeans.
I press a hand to the bandage, chest heaving as I gasp for air.
Cassidy is breathing hard as well, sweat and grime streaking his face. We both strain to hear anything beyond the forest—footsteps, voices, a gunshot, but there’s nothing.
“You’ve got the fucking FBI on you? What the hell did you do?”
“It’s not like that.”
My stomach twists. “Then what is it like?”
Cassidy’s mouth twitches. “He’s not some clean-suit fed—he plays both sides. Works just enough cases to stay shiny to the FBI, but he’ll take a bribe faster than any other cop I’ve met.”
“Why you?”
Cassidy doesn’t answer. He crouches beside me, eyes still on the woods around us. “You’re bleeding,” he notes, nodding at my thigh. There’s a red stain spreading on the fresh bandage he tied just forty-five minutes ago.
“It’s fine. Don’t change the subject.”
He exhales, and I can see the adrenaline draining out of him, leaving only worry. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” he murmurs. Gently, he reaches to tug my shorts away from the wound for a better look.
I flinch, more from emotion than pain, and bat his hand away after a second. I can’t do this right now. I can’t let him fuss over me right now. “Leave it. I’ll live. Answer my question.”
An uneasy beat passes, and regret tugs at me; I know he was only trying to help. Cassidy draws his hand back, flexing his fingers once as if to shake off the sting of my rejection.
His face shudders. “I’m supposed to be dead, Bindi. I blew up a whole fucking warehouse with half of Deadman’s in it. Ramirez knows. To him, I’m not a man—I’m a payday. Alive, I’m his informant. Dead, I’m his closed case. Either way, I don’t walk free.”
“So, what, he’s going after you because of some arson?”
“It wasn’t just the building. I was trying to get out, but I knew I couldn’t do it quietly. “
His throat swallows a lump as he attempts to pretend that me pushing him away didn’t sting him. He could be grown up now, but beneath everything, he’s still that boy who stayed up with me through thunderstorms, the one who made me laugh at stupid jokes. The man who killed for me, without question.
“The place went up like fireworks. No one knows who made it out.”
“So, if they think you’re dead . . . how did he find you?”
“Ramirez can find whoever he wants to.”
What the fuck? “What happens if he catches us?”
“He’ll love me up, or put me down—whoever is paying the bill. And you . . . you’ll be the dumb girl who got in the way. The one who pulled the trigger. The one who ran . . . He’ll spin it to fit his narrative.”
His face twists as he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. I stiffen for half a second.
The urge to shove him away is tempting, but his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against mine is the only comfort I’ve ever known.
I let out a shuddering breath and melt into his embrace.
I tilt my head up, my chin against his chest. “We will figure it out.”
He wipes my wet cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We always do, right?”
I nod, drawing strength from the fierce light in his eyes. Gently, I peel myself from his arms, swiping the last tears from my face. “We should keep moving—put as much distance as we can between them and us.”
Cassidy releases me slowly, his fingertips trailing down my arm as if reluctant to break contact. He hoists the duffel back over his shoulder, then he reaches out and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Ready?” he asks quietly.
I squeeze his hand. “Ready.”