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He smirks, a flash of heat glinting in his green eyes. “Pretty sure my kink isundressing you, princess.”
He’s right about that, and I can’t really complain about it. My cheeks warm a bit as I hold up a heavy vest that feels like it weighs twice as much as I do.
“Do I really have to wear this?” I ask, frowning.
Dante’s smile evaporates, his face turning serious. “I’d like you to, yeah. Gonna get hot in there, even if shit goes exactly as planned. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
“Chloe won’t be prepared,” I whisper, my heart suddenly clenching.
He nods, holding my gaze. “All the more reason for us to be, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree with a shuddering breath, squeezing my eyes closed as I try not to picture how wrong this might go. What it means that he brought me a vest like this… and what it could mean for Chloe if she’s not wearing one.
“Hey.”
I open my eyes when Dante tips up my chin, his brilliant green eyes finding mine. “It’s gonna be all right.”
My chest goes tight. I want that to be true so badly that I can taste it. But…
“You don’t know that,” I say, my voice quiet and hoarse.
“Sure I do,” Dante replies with so much easy confidence that I almost believe him. “We’re gonna get Chloe out, and it’s all gonna work just like we planned. Logan is a great tactician. I wasn’t kidding about that genius shit. It’s like his superpower. And when it comes to things like this? Trust me, he’s dotted every fucking ‘i’ and crossed every ’t’. If he says this is the best plan, then it is.”
That invisible fist gripping my heart loosens, and I nod, blowing out a ragged breath. “Okay.”
Dante smiles. “Need help getting dressed?”
I laugh. “Fuck off.”
“How about undressed?” he asks, sliding his hands down my sides and toying with the hem of my shirt.
“I think I’ve got it,” I murmur as he slips his fingers under the fabric to caress my skin, sending a delicious shiver through me that breaks up the icy chunks of worry clogging my veins, shaking them loose.
“’Course you do,” he murmurs, tugging me closer, his gaze glued to my lips.
Then he kisses me.
It’s less hungry and all-consuming than other kisses we’ve shared, but it hits me harder because of that. Because this isn’t a kiss that’s building toward something, or a kiss that’s part of foreplay. It’s a kiss to express something that words can’t quite encapsulate, and I cling to his broad shoulders for a moment as I melt against him, savoring the feeling of his firm lips against mine.
The kiss ends before I’m ready for it to, and I lift my fingers to my lips as Dante gives me one last look, then turns and leaves.
Shaking my head as if I’m snapping out of a daze, I shift my attention to the stuff he brought up for me. The clothes are all black and perfectly fitted, molding to my body when I slip them on, and I quickly switch out my nose ring to the glittering black skull I wore when I first came here.
“Pissed off and ready to do something about it,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror on the wall, quoting Chloe.
As my reflection stares back at me, I realize that even though I washed up as thoroughly as I could after painting with Dante last night, tiny flecks of color are still trapped around my fingernails and in the creases between my fingers. There are little splotches of blood red and deep blue, as well as the vibrant green of Dante’s eyes, and the exact shade of purple as my hair.
Biting my lip, I run one fingertip over the small bits of paint on my other hand, unable to stop myself from remembering how they got there.
I can still feel the slickness of the paint on my bare hands, and the weight that lifted off me when I took all the shit in my head and put it on the canvas instead. I can hear Dante’s deep voice, talking to me and making me laugh.
Seeing me.
Gettingme.
Giving me things I didn’t even know I needed.
“Fuck,” I sigh, shaking my head and turning away from the mirror. I’ve made it through my time with the Reapers more physically unharmed than I expected to… but my heart is taking a damn beating.
