He got it.
Thank God.
“I heard you,” he says.
Three words.
That is all.
They hit harder than any promise.
Toro’s gaze sharpens. “Touching.”
Shady ignores him. “You hurt her again, I don’t kill you first.”
One of the younger men shifts by the loading bay.
Toro notices.
So do I.
“You come alone,” Toro says. “No Diablo. No Vice. No club parade. You come alone and maybe she leaves breathing.”
Shady is quiet for a beat.
“You want me alone because you’re scared of the Saints.”
Toro’s jaw tightens.
Then Shady speaks again.
“Lady.”
“Yeah?”
“You still with me?”
My voice tries to shake. I don’t let it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m still here.”
A pause.
Then, quieter. Rougher.
“Stay there.”
A laugh breaks out of me, cracked and bloody and real. “Where the hell else am I going?”
Shady almost sounds like himself.
“That’s my girl.”
My throat closes.
The words should scare me. They should sound like a claim I didn’t agree to, leather thrown over my shoulders while I’m tied to a chair and bleeding in front of men who think women are messages.
They don’t.
