A steady breeze gusts through my open bay window the next afternoon, keeping me cool as I vacuum. The satisfaction I gain with every sweep of the machine as it collects dirt, combined with the hypnotic beats of the song pounding from my iPod speaker, have me in a fantastic mood.

My booty pops to the tune, my arm surges the vacuum forward before pulling it back, my hips churn to the rhythm—I'm lost in the moment.

I shimmy to the kitchen, machine in hand. When the song swells toward its chorus, I twirl around and catch Damon watching me. His eyes are hooded–something dark and possessive streaming beneath thick lashes. His jaw is locked and the drastic rise and fall in his chest has electricity surging through my entire body.

My cheeks burn as I halt my dancing, shut off the vacuum, and bring my hands to my mouth in embarrassment.

His focus remains fixed on me, his mouth stretched in a straight, strained line. Then he blinks, composing himself with a wolfish grin. "Don't stop on my account." Taking two steps forward, he sits on the couch, his elbows resting along the back. "Please. Keep going."

I grind my bottom lip between my teeth. "Is it weird I forgot you lived here for a second?"

He tosses his head back in laughter and opens his mouth to reply when a knock sounds at the door. I kick the vacuum as an excuse, which he accepts with a nod. He reaches the door and cracks it open, but as soon as he does his body straightens as if a metal pipe just replaced his spine.

My eyes narrow at his rigid stance and although I can't see or hear who's on the other side of the door, I hear Damon's responses.

"What are you doing here?"

"No."

"What the hell are you thinking?"

"Not a fucking chance."

When my patience has reached its limit, I switch off the music. "Who is it?"

He turns around. "No one."

Excuse me?

Curiosity claws at my mind. I abandon the vacuum and approach the door. He's holding it nearly closed; only a sliver of space keeps it open. I haven't the slightest clue who's on the other side and now anxiety is crashing in.

I lift my hand to his shoulder. "Damon?"

He flinches at the contact before shutting the door and twisting around. He's shielding me from whoever is in the hallway and now I'm not only anxious, I'm worried.

"Who is it?" I repeat, ready for an honest answer.

He rakes a shaky hand through his hair. With a groan, he closes his eyes, but not quickly enough for me to miss the panic glaring from them. "My baggage."

His chest expands and contracts with deep breaths. His head starts shaking back and forth and he's basically sweating beads of anxiety. His eyes remain closed as he mutters, "Fuck me."

When he lowers his hand and opens his eyes, they're firm, his demeanor controlled. "Go to your room and shut the door."

Yeah. Like's that's going to happen.

"I already have a mother who wants to control me. I don't need a substitute when she's not around."

"I'm not controlling you." The snarled whisper accompanies the step he takes in my direction.

"I'm protecting you."

"From what?"

"I'm growing impatient," a feminine voice from the other side of the door calls out.

My eyes widen and my nose scrunches in distaste. I have no clue who this woman is, but if Damon's on high-alert under the threat of her presence, I already grasp she's bad news. Still, bad news or not, she's just a woman. How much harm can she cause?

"You're protecting me from her?" I ask incredulously.

"She's more lethal than you think."

"Fine. If she is, I'll deal with it. I'm not going anywhere and I'm not leaving you alone if that girl's from your past." I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm your first friend so I understand you don't know how this works, but friends back each other up."

Instead of welcoming my support, Damon's eyes narrow. "I don't need you to fight my battles."

"I know that, but at least let me stand behind you as you fight your own."

His eyes soften at my words and appreciation unfurls in the upward curve of his lips. It dawns on me how significant my backing might truly mean to him.

"I've been pretty courteous up until this point, but I'm five seconds away from picking the lock and letting myself in," the female yells.

Damon looks at the door and then back at me. "You're gonna hear things about me you're not gonna like." He's nervous, and this time I'm unsure whether it's the things I'm about to learn or the person who's about to disclose the information.

I still refuse to retreat. He's done things and I'm aware the man standing before me probably differs from the version this other girl knows, but no matter what she reveals, my opinion won't sway.

"I'm still not going anywhere."

He nods, turning to open the door, but as his hand lands on the handle, he spins back around. "Don't take offense to anything I say." I'm not given the opportunity to respond before he turns the handle and a woman emerges through the entryway.

My heart sinks. Ribbons of mahogany hair wind down and around the woman's face, stopping at the brim of her butt. Her ice blue eyes are coated beneath an excessive amount of smoky shadow and eye-liner, but she somehow avoids looking superficial. There's a red kiss mark on her tattered white t-shirt, exposing her thin waist and belly button ring; her ripped black jeans fit her like a glove. And the leather Alaricet she's wearing only accentuates the whole rock vibe she has going on.

She's a walking innuendo for sex, straight off a magazine cover. The girl puts Caroline to shame.

She sashays into the apartment—yes, actually sashays—and with the help of her red pumps, I'm sure her butt looks phenomenal. That's confirmed as she turns back around to Damon and says, "It didn't take you long to replace me, did it?"

I instantly place her as Damon's ex- roommate—the one who got attached. I recognize the yearning in her eyes as they trail down his chest and, ultimately, his crotch. Then again, she's not trying hard to conceal it.

The heart is a fragile thing and despite my best attempts at maintaining a strict emotional detachment from Damon, a fissure forms in mine at the chirp of her voice, letting me know how monstrously I've failed. I'm not one for feeling inferior, but with her standing only a few feet away, the inferiority is punching hard.

That fissure cracks even further when Damon scoffs. "She hasn't replaced you. She's just my roommate." The detachment in his voice resonates through my head, a speaker I can't switch off.

"But you want her to be more," Rock Chick says, spinning around to study me. As she does, I finally have a chance to look at Damon. To my relief, he's glaring at this girl like she's secondhand smoke. It's all disgust and no longing.

I remember his order before he opened the door. Don't take offense to anything I say. I repeat those words over and over like a melody as Damon's jaw works under his skin. His eyes don't once glance in my direction, which I'm almost thankful for. There's enough rage firing from them to char grill an entire city.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

She waves him off with the flick of her hand, walking to me. "We'll get to that in a few. Right now I want to play with your pet a little longer."

"Dammit, Kat," he sneers, reaching for her arm to yank her in his direction.

"It's Katherine, Damon. Only my partners have the luxury of calling me Kat." Her eyes are narrowed, but when she curls toward me, her expression stretches into a malicious grin. "He sure is a firecracker in the sack, isn't he?"

It's like we're sharing an inside joke, but I'm not in on it. Somehow both my hatred for this woman and my longing for Damon reach astronomical levels.

I don't dignify her with a response. Katherine shrugs and steps directly in front of me, her feline eyes work over my face and down my purple tank, settling on my cotton shorts. When she's had her visual fill, she cocks her head to the side. "She's pretty, a little more innocent than the ones you usually go for, but still pretty."

She reaches up to twirl a few strands of my hair until I've had enough. This may be Damon's battle and I'll let him fight it, but I won't stand idly by and let this bitch treat me like a mannequin.

"Get your hands off me." My fingers latch onto her wrist, constricting until I'm sure it's painful, before I toss her hand back.

Katherine snickers, amusement shines from her eyes. "And feisty." She glances back at Damon. "Now I get why she's caught your eye."

"You're boring me, Kat," Damon says, using the abbreviation she'd just demanded he didn't. I suppress my smile. "Now leave her alone. You came here to talk to me. Get on with it."

"But now my feelings are hurt." She pouts. "Remember what happened to the last girl you took an interest in—what was her name? Angie? Ally? Andie?" She swipes her hand through the air as though the name's not important. "Do you really want to make that same mistake again?"

"I told you she's nothing." He finally leaves his position near the door to step closer. If he's nervous, he's doing a fantastic job hiding it beneath locked shoulders and assertive eyes.

"And I told you I'm not buying it."

"He's speaking the truth." I have no clue what happened to any of the E names, but I'm not about to let the same happen to me. Supporting Damon's disinterest in me is the only way I can ensure that. "So why don't you get on with whatever you came here to do."

Katherine whirls around. She's inches from my face, rage present in the locked set of her jaw. "I've cracked twigs bigger than you, bitch."

Hatred fumes inside me, but before I'm given a chance to fire something back, Damon orders, "Back off, Katherine." There's dominance in his voice that's both terrifying and enthralling.

"Fine," —she sighs dramatically— "but only because I like her spunk. Maybe I'll even recruit her."

"You won't," he says, bating her threat away with the same ease he'd use to slap a fly. "Now just spill."

Katherine rolls her eyes, stepping over to take a seat in the middle island chair, comfortably crossing one leg over the other. "Enzo's looking for you."

"I figured as much." Damon remains standing instead of sitting next to her. I'm oddly comforted by that choice. "And how did he find me?"

"He didn't. I had Razor run a trace on your cell."

"You have a cell phone?" It's a stupid question. I know this as soon as it's asked, but I haven't once seen him use it.

Damon ignores me. "How? It's been turned off, and I chucked the battery."

Katherine flips her hand. "You know Razor. He has his ways." I don't know Razor, so this explains nothing to me, but by the confirmatory nod, Damon understands.

"Why is Enzo looking for me?"

"The same reason he always comes for you—he has a job for you."

"So why are you here then and not him?"

Katherine leans forward, the corner of her lips lifting. "Because I missed you, of course. We used to have so much fun together."

I push down my swell of hatred brought on by the fun she's insinuating as Damon says, "I'm not going back."

"It's not an option, Damon. Once we sign on for this, we're his for life."

I'm still trying to get a handle on the whole his for life section of her sentence when Damon's temper gets the best of him, releasing in the heightened tone of his voice. "And I'm saying I'm in charge of my own life."

I finally see my own fury reflected in the steel blue of his eyes as he steps toward Katherine. "So you have three options here. A: You walk your ass back out that door and pretend you couldn't find me. B: You walk your ass back out that door and tell Enzo exactly where I am, therefore putting you at the very top of my shit list. You and I both know that's not where you want to be. Or C: You stay and I release Elena on you. Considering you've tracked mud halfway through her apartment, I'm not liking your odds with that one."

I simultaneously cheer Damon in my head and sweep my gaze over the floors. It's the first time I've been too invested in something to actually notice a mess, but he's right. Dirt footprints form a winding path from the entryway to Katherine's stool and I want nothing more than to wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze. Hard.

Her eyes flicker between Damon and me. She's thinking, the wheels in her head rotating as she formulates her best response. To my shock, her face softens when she settles on it. With a level voice, she says, "Despite running out on me in the middle of the night, I still have a shred of compassion left for you. So let me be honest here, I won't tell him where you are and I'll make sure Razor keeps his mouth shut, but you can't hide from Enzo forever. He has too many eyes. My best advice, run. Run as far away from this city as you can so he can't find you. If he does, you're not the only one who's going to deal with the repercussions."

She stands, shifting her eyes onto me. "And, honey, he's not worth it. I've seen him beat men to the edge of their lives without blinking an eye. He's shattered spines, dislocated shoulders, fired guns and splattered blood, all under the order of someone else. He doesn't have a heart; you may think he does, but not anymore. I can guarantee he'll break yours. It's almost as easy to him as breaking bones."

Her words are heavy boulders, each crashing down and leveling me a bit more as they come in fierce succession. I glance at Damon, silently begging him to refute any of her horrible accusations, but his eyes are downcast. His refusal to face me is proof enough she's speaking the truth. He's ashamed of his past and now I know why.

I hone my gaze back onto Katherine. "Are you done?"

She shrugs, as though she didn't just verbally slap us both across the face. "Yep." Wearing a malevolent grin, she leaves.

The silence following is deafening. Damon won't look at me, not even when he screams, "Fuck." I flinch, but I stay where I am. Honestly, I'm afraid to get any closer.

"You can't say I didn't warn you." His words are low, alarming. I hate the pressure that's settled and with a quick swallow, I attempt to deflate it.

"She wasn't so bad."

He glares at me. We both know he isn't referring to Katherine, just her words. And yeah, he's not an ideal citizen, but I already knew this. His past is still a vast plane littered with holes and I'm not about to fall through one into a judgmental pit until I have the whole story.

"You ready to be honest with me now?" I keep my voice soft and nonthreatening.

He heads down the hallway. "I don't have a choice now, do I?"

I follow. "Not really. So who's Enzo?"

"That's your first question?" He stops short, whipping around so I nearly smash into his chest. "You don't want to know why I beat the shit out of people?"

Of course I do, but I'm going to be tactful about it.

"I'm easing in. For now, we'll stick with Enzo."

He rolls his eyes before spinning around and walking into his room. "He's Joseph Moretti's son."

My steps falter. "As in New York mafia Moretti?" I'd seen the news. Illegal gambling, drug trafficking, and money laundering were just a few of his convicted offenses two years ago. As far as I know, he's serving a lifetime sentence.

"The one and only. Enzo's running the show now."

As he reaches under his bed and grabs his duffel, I linger in the doorway. So Damon was involved in NYC's mob world. Not entirely unexpected, but definitely not great.

When he tosses three shirts into his bag, I step into the room. "What are you doing?"

"Packing."

My heart falters. "You're leaving?"

"Did you not hear a word Kat said?" He shoves a pair of dark jeans into the bag. "Me being here puts you in danger."

I got that, and I should probably be relieved I don't have to kick Damon out myself, but I'm not. I've had a lot of information thrown my way without ample time to process it. To me, he's still the man I've been living with, not the threat his ex claims he is.

I approach him and wrap my fingers around his bicep, feeling it tense at the contact. When his face turns and his eyes land on mine, I plead, "Just stop for a second and tell me what's going on."

He pauses, glancing between my fingers and my face. "I'll explain while I pack."

It's not ideal but for the sake of getting the information I need, I release him. He continues his motions, sweeping through his room to gather the few items he owns, while I take a seat on the bed. It still dons my coral comforter.

"How did you start working for Enzo?"

"He offered me a place to stay when I was fifteen." He's focused on his task instead of me, which I assume makes it easier for him to unload his secrets. "Since I didn't have any other options, I took it, but it came with obligations. I had to be one of his dogs, do his dirty work. If he needed a car stolen or stripped, I did it. If he needed me to enforce drug loan deadlines, I did it. If he needed me to scare the hell out of someone, I did it."

"Which explains the beatings."

He nods, walking through the door and into the bathroom. "I was good at it. Too good. Hell, I even enjoyed it." That settles uncomfortably in my gut as he adds, "It's why he's looking for me. Someone's pissed him off."

I don't want to ask him my next question, but I'm incapable of resisting. "Did you enjoy it the other night?"

"I was drunk."

Threading my fingers through my waves, I massage my scalp. "Answer the question."

With his arms loaded with toiletries, Damon steps back into the room. He wavers just inside the doorway, then shakes his head. "It released certain frustrations, yes. But no, not the way I once did."

Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave.

"I was a stupid kid who didn't know what I doing back then," he says, dropping his stuff on the floor and taking a seat next to it. "I bounced between foster homes before ending up in whatever abandoned building was available until the cops kicked me out. Enzo found me. He gave me a solid roof over my head and food on the table. But he wasn't doing it for me and back then I was too stupid to realize that. He took me in so he could use me."

His eyes are downcast, the weight of his past heavy on his shoulders. "He got me young, so my loyalty to him is stronger than he could ever get from someone he hired. He knew I wouldn't betray him."

Desperation is a powerful motivator and it seems Enzo found that in Damon. He was just a kid doing his best to survive and Enzo manipulated him. After his dad's dismissal, I can only imagine how appreciative Damon was to finally have someone caring about him, only to uncover it was all a beneficial game. My heart aches.

"But I've been doing this for fourteen years. I've been paid to do what other people don't have the guts to do. I'm not a kid anymore and now that I'm aware of what I am, I'm tired of doing it for a man who couldn't give two shits about me."

It's still hard to imagine the Damon I've come to know hurting someone for the sake of following another's orders. The idea is frightening, but I understand why he did it. He'd wanted acceptance and someone had finally given it to him. He was simply paying back Enzo's compassion with blind loyalty. But I need to know if that's the only reason.

"If you weren't tired, would you still want to?"

"No. Maybe." Damon stops to rake a shaky hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don't know."

When his eyes apologetically link with mine, I find it difficult to placate him. So I move onto my next question.

"How does Katherine come into this?"

Realizing my empathy is starting to shift, he goes back to packing his things. "She was the last place I stayed. She's smart and knows what she's doing. And despite always looking out for herself, she also started looking out for me. So I repaid her the only way I knew how."

With sex. Despite what I'm learning about Damon and the negative light he's now casted under, I don't like the image of Katherine tangled up with him. I fight back my grimace and ask my next question.

"And Ally or Angie or whatever the girl's name was?"

"I got bored with Kat and was ready to move on. I thought I was discreet about my involvement with Andie, but Kat proved me wrong." His voice drops and the harsh shift in his eyes reveals his resentment. "What makes it worse is I didn't feel a damn thing for Andie, she was just something different, but Kat sent her to the hospital with three broken ribs anyway to prove a point."

My eyes widen at his confession. I'd been feet away from this brutal chick with a mean jealousy tick and I'd had the audacity to snap at her. From what Damon's insisting, I'm lucky to be moving. I'm internally reeling over that development when he says, "It's when I knew I didn't want this life anymore—for me or anyone else involved. So I bailed, left most of my belongings behind along with my cushion of money. I ran into you the next night."

I'm comforted Damon saw the light and realized the choices he was making were the wrong ones. It's the statement I've been waiting to hear—the one holding regret. Maybe he is the Damon I've come to know him as and not the one Katherine believes him to be.

Still, there's one last bit of honesty I need from him.

"So your story about sleeping with your boss' girlfriend and getting fired?"

"Still true." He nods. "It was a side-job. A sense of normalcy."

I'm certain there's nothing normal about Damon. Actually, I'm pretty certain I've known this all along.

With his personal belongings loaded in his duffel, he zips it. "I stole your purse because I needed a fresh start and I didn't know what else to do. Stealing is what I'm good at and I figured if I just did it the one time, it didn't mean anything. Then I showed up at your door and, until today, I thought you and this apartment were my fresh start."

He stands, slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder. It dawns on me this is actually happening. He's leaving.

After everything I've learned in the last few minutes, I should see Damon differently, and in a way, I do. But I don't see him negatively like the average person would. I see him as the person he is now, the one who chose to be better. Maybe it took him too long to figure that out, but I don't care.

Details hold little weight when you think with your heart instead of your head, which is what's controlling my mouth as I say, "I still can be."

"Not with Enzo looking for me. I trust Kat to keep her mouth shut, but Enzo's network of people is too extensive. She's right, he'll find me eventually."

"So what if he does and you refuse?" We live in a society where people are supposed to be free. Damon's previous employer may have created a different world than the rest of us live in, but choice has to still be an option.

Damon frowns. "He does anything in his power to get me back. That includes hurting you." He approaches the bed and bends his legs, dipping to my level. "I can't have attachments and you shouldn't want to be one now that you know the truth."

He's probably right, but I'm uncovering when it comes to Damon, I'm incapable of resisting the things I shouldn't do and feel.

"I'm not scared."

He lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his fingers ghosting the skin with practiced care. It feels like goodbye. Desperation strikes like an arrow in my chest. "You should be."

I watch as he stands and walks down the hallway before throwing myself from the bed. "Who am I going to get to pay the other half of my rent if you leave?"

"It's New York. There's a line of people waiting to live in a place like this."

"Not ones willing to take me to my mother's wedding." It's a low blow, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "I've RSVP'd now. There's no backing out." If he sees how much I need him to stay, maybe he'll stop trying to protect me and do just that.

"Dammit, stop making this harder," he bites out, reaching his hand around to scratch the back of his neck. Anger drips down his expression, but the emotion evaporates almost instantly when he looks at me. "Leaving isn't easy."

"Then stay. Toss the rest of your cell phone into a random dumpster so you can't be traced, and stay."

"I'm not pulling you into this." He scoffs. "I'm running from it for a reason."

"And thankfully you've run in a place that's home to eight million people. I don't care what man power this Enzo guy has. Your odds are pretty good."

He rolls his eyes at my reasoning. "Why the hell would you even want someone like me sticking around?"

I smile and saunter across the room. Victory is just beyond my reach and I'm seconds away from snatching it. "Because despite what you think, I don't see the same guy you're describing. You're warm and funny and you make my apartment better. Scratch that, you make my life better."

He shakes his head, biting back a skeptical laugh. "There's no way that's true."

"It is." I hold up my fingers so I can visually count for him. "I'll eventually get a better job because of you, I'm facing my mother because of you, I laugh more because of you, and I don't spend every waking minute with my nose in a boring manuscript because of you. I even eat better because of you."

"I just push your boundaries. Any roommate can do that."

"Not ones I can stand to be around afterward."

He laughs, his chest rising and falling with the motion. It's the opening I take to inch closer so he can really hear me. "You say you see the good in me? Well, I still see the good in you."

"Buried under the massive heap of bodies I've sent to the hospital."

He may not realize it but anyone is worthy of redemption, even those who don't consider themselves to be. "Stop carrying your mistakes around like weights. Set them down. You'll feel a lot better when you realize they're detachable."

"That's good. Did you read it in one of your manuscripts?"

"Maybe." The tip of my foot grinds into the hardwood. I notice his left one lingers an inch above the floor, debating whether to step backward or not.

"Look ," —his shoulders sag— "I get what you're doing, but some mistakes are easier to detach than others."

"Yeah, I get it. But like you said, you were a kid when it all started."

"And my excuse for the past couple years?"

I curl my lips upward. "You're an asshole."

He tries to fight it, the sides of his lips quivering, but eventually they lift to match my smile.

"I'm giving you the option to start your life over here," I say. "Take it."

He stares back, his bows dipping to form creases in his forehead. "You really aren't afraid of me after hearing what I've done?"

I'm afraid of him, but not for the reason he thinks. I'm terrified that after only a couple of weeks I can't stand the idea of him leaving my apartment.

"No."

"I've hurt people. Lots of them."

I reach for his hand, interlocking his fingers with mine. "We all have pasts. It doesn't define who you are now. The choices you make now do." I shrug as though my next statement is simple to follow through on. "Just make the right ones."

"And what are the right ones?" His voice is a whisper.

"Not hitting people is one." My fingers slip up his arm, latching around the strap of his duffel so I can tug it down. It drops to the floor. "Staying is also one."

"You're an idiot if you think that's a right one." Despite his opposition, he doesn't reach for his belongings.

"Maybe," I agree, tilting my head so I'm gazing into the endless depths of his eyes. They're vast enough to pull the vulnerable truth right from my throat. "But if it's a wrong one, I want you to choose it anyway." My hand lifts to his face, the warmth flowing through my fingers and making me bold. "Because I want you here. I want you with me."

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't say a word. His chest rises and falls in silence as he searches my face for doubt. He won't find it. My hand remains on his cheek, unwilling to break the contact. It's when I see it—the wonder drifting over his face. When he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, my eyes drift down to the action. It's the only distraction he needs to take his opportunity.

Damon lowers his chin, sinking his lips onto mine. They're soft, and so delectable. His hands land on my waist and the fire of his fingertips skim the sliver of exposed skin above my shorts, making me burn with desire. The action catches me by surprise, but I've waited weeks to touch him like this and now that I am, I don't pull back. I kiss him like he's my last drop of water and I'm stranded in the desert.

Fueled by my intensity, his fingers grip my hips, pulling me into him. We're seamless where it matters and, damn, he feels remarkable. He parts my lips with his tongue and as he slips it into my mouth, my other hand extends to his face, holding him tight. Heat settles low in my belly. Goosebumps pebble my flesh. He tastes like chocolate and trouble, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know I shouldn't be doing this. He might be leaving immediately afterward and I'll never recover from the loss of him. Not after this.

But then his palms push into my back. They're splayed low, his fingertips grazing the top of my butt, inching further south with each second. I wonder how many more it will take for him to cup me like he clearly wants and lift me so I adhere around his waist. His tongue flicks against mine, once, twice, and suddenly, all thoughts cease. I'm gone. My head is under water; I'm submerged.

He pulls his lips from mine, taking all the air from my lungs with him. His eyes are dark, his smirk in position, as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. The action seems effortless compared to the struggle I'm enduring just to stay upright on my feet. Seriously, I might be wobbling.

"What was that?" I ask, still tasting him on my lips. I want to lick them dry.

"A thank you. For thinking I'm better than I am and for wanting me to stay." He bends to pick up his belongings and winks. "Plus, I couldn't resist."

I acknowledge Damon probably hasn't heard someone insist he's good. It's kind of hard when you're constantly being discarded from a family or exploited for your nasty talent of harming others. But that was one memorable thank you. In my clouded mind, thoughts like you're welcome and you should thank me again swirl like a crazed twister, but I keep my poise and raise a brow. "Was that a goodbye thank-you or a general one?"

He takes a breath and rubs the line of his jaw. "I shouldn't, but you make me want to do stupid shit." The feeling is mutual. "So I'll stay for as long as I'm wanted."

"You'll be here for a while."

An amused smile lifts his mouth. "We'll see." He extends the bag's strap over his shoulder and steps past me to the hallway, making a point to bump my arm as he goes. "But if I'm staying, we need to get you a gun."

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