Heat flares in my chest, equal parts embarrassment and defiance. “I can survive on the street. I’m strongerthan you think I am.”
“This isn’t about you how strong you are. When are you gonna get that through your stubborn little skull?” he snaps impatiently. He pushes off the counter and takes a step toward me, his massive frame filling the cramped space. “This is about the fucking Bratva hunting you. You think you can outrun them on the streets of Brooklyn? You think hiding in alleyways and sleeping at bus stops is gonna keep you safe? They’ll find you in a day. Maybe less.”
Though he’s probably right, I hate that he’s so damn sure about it.
That he thinks I’m so weak and useless I can’t even survive on my own. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of. I don’t need his protection or anyone else’s.
I’ll fight the Bratva myself if it means rescuing Eva.
…but as much as I want to push back, I’m also exhausted. I got a great night’s sleep, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been on the run for weeks and it’s extremely draining.
It’s hard to find my footing when I’m using up my energy for arguments like these.
Energy better spent elsewhere. On other things.
“Fine,” I mutter, gaze dropping to the table. “I’ll go.”
Killian studies me as though he’s deciding whether I’m being truthful or if it’s more sarcasm from me.
Honestly… it’s smart.
Because in my head I’m already planning an escape.
There’s no way I’m letting him drag me upstate where I’ll be even further away from saving Eva and where I won’t be able to execute the plan I’ve started putting together.
I’ll let himthinkI’ve accepted his protection plan, then I’ll disappear the first chance I get.
“Good,” he says finally. “Chantal’s already preparing a room for you. I’ll drive you up there Sunday.”
I nod, my expression neutral even as my mind races with possibilities.
Sunday. That gives me a few days to figure out my next move.
A few days to plan an escape.
Killian and I make for uneasy roommates over the next few days.
Sharing a five-hundred-foot living space would be difficult for even the most devoted couple, let alone two strangers who are introverted grumps by nature and can’t really stand each other.
We trade off on the bed and the rollaway, alternating nights like kids playing a game of rock-paper-scissors.
The bathroom situation is less tricky. Killian showers in the mornings while I take the nights. It works out since he goes to the gym in the morning and at night, I’m usually coming off another sticky shift at the Banshee.
When our schedules do overlap, he makes a point of knocking loudly before entering any room I might be in.
It’s weirdly considerate, in a gruff, wordless, Killian sort of way.
He’s gone before dawn each morning, slipping out while the sky is still dark to beat the shit out of punching bags and sparring partners at his gym. I’ve gathered enough from eavesdropped conversations at the Banshee to know he’s got a big fight coming up.
Meanwhile, I’ve thrown myself into work as a server.
I spend every possible hour at the Banshee, picking up shifts nobody else wants, staying late to help Tom close up, doing whatever it takes to earn as much money as I can.
The tips are still unimpressive—turns out I’m not Bridget when it comes to charming customers—but every crumpled dollar bill I shove into my pocket is one step closer to freedom.
One step closer to Eva.
Thoughts of her keep me going when my feet ache and my head throbs from exhaustion. The hard work will be worth it if we’re ever able to be together again.
