And she could have. It would have been so much easier if she had. Once they caught me, she was free to go-she was no longer burdened by me.
But she came back.
She came back.
Thank you, I whisper.
This time, she does look back. Her eyes glitter fiercely under the flickering light of the private plane.
How did you know you wouldn’t shoot me when you fired all those bullets through the windows ? I ask.
Simply, she says, I didn’t.
I have closed the distance between us in two steps.
Her eyes widen as I lean in.
There is tension between us-thick tension, swirling around us like smoke. I could breathe it in ; I could choke on it. Her mouth looks soft and lush, and I want to trace it-to outline it with my fingertips, and learn the pattern of her kiss. But I don’t. I don’t do any of that.
Instead, my hand connects with her cheek. A good, resounding slap.
It doesn’t seem like she even feels it. What was that for ? she asks.
You could have killed me, I breathe.
A glint appears in her eyes. I could have. But I didn’t.
I lean in again, and her breath intertwines with mine. The scent of citrus is heavy in the air between us. The heat grows tangible, unfurling around us like the blooming of a rose. The distance from me to her narrows to an inch.
This time, I don’t slap her. I kiss her.
The screen of the text message dims, my fingertips hovering above the burner phone.
I’M SAFE, DON’T WORRY.
But I can’t send that to her-telling her I’m safe is like saying, I’m not suspicious. Too obvious.
I delete it, letter by letter, and type out, I LOVE YOU.
Except that sounds like a goodbye text-as though I am about to be murdered.
And under any other circumstances, the thought would be laughable.
But now that I have stared a Yakuza boss in the eyes, seen someone die, and had a gun trained to my temple-I guess maybe murder doesn’t seem so impossible.
Are you ready to go ?
My head snaps up-Veah.
Her glittering black eyes soften. Her dark brown hair is unpinned from its messy twist, and I like the way it falls over her shoulders, luscious and glossy. What would it feel like, to run my fingers through it ?
Don’t even think about it.
I only kissed her once. An hour ago.
Maybe she’s forgotten by now.
Did she get a concussion between now and the time when you kissed the life out of her ?
Well, no. But it’s possible.
Even still, her eyes on me makes my cheeks burn-a blush. A ridiculous, infuriating blush is warming my face.
A game, I say suddenly. She is driving. I don’t know where we’re going. Let’s play a game.
After she stole a car from the airport parking lot, she opened the car door from me. I had only stared at her, surprised. I’ve never even had a boyfriend who went that far.
We were just chased by gun-toting Mafia hooligans, and you’re opening the door for me ?
She had paused. Hooligans ?
That’s what you’re focusing on ?
I’m a gentleman. What can I say ?
I shouldn’t have blushed then, and I shouldn’t blush now.
I’m just . . . trying to figure out what to say to my sister.
Cassie, she acknowledges, and it shouldn’t make my stupid, stupid heart skip a beat that she remembered.
I stare down at the screen. I LOVE YOU is still waiting.
Letter by letter, I delete it.
HOW IS IT GOING ?
Sometimes, I worry-now that I’m gone, now that I’m not there to protect her . . . how is she ?
Is my stepfather the same abusive asshole as before ?
And then I shake myself-a chuckle that is almost hysterical. Of course he is.
Cassie is not okay yet. Cassie won’t be okay until she has her scholarship.
Except, for that, she needs money.