Page 123 of Crossfire

“You know your lack of experience with relationships is pretty damn glaring.”

“Meaning?”

“You actually think there’s something that you can say to apologize for what you did?”

He studied me, for two seconds longer than someone who was driving should.

“Your feelings are hurt,” he said.

“Fuck off.”

“Very hurt.” Grayson raised his eyebrows.

We drove in silence for a minute. Best minute of my life.

“How about this?” Grayson shifted in his seat. “What if I promise to never try to kill you again?”

I brought my hands under my chin and batted my eyelashes. “Oh, do you pinkie promise?”

Grayson rolled his eyes. “I warned you I’m not good at relationships.”

“We are not in a relationship.”

“I disagree.”

Wow. Maybe I had been too quick to rule him out as being a psycho.

“Have you ever watched a romantic movie?” I asked.

He said nothing.

“Of course you haven’t. But I can assure you, a man accusing a woman of being some sort of violent arms dealer and attempting to kill her? Not the plot of any romantic movie.”

Grayson side-eyed me. “Seeing as how I’m lacking experience in this department, can you give me a ballpark as to how long it might be before you forgive me?”

“You think I’ll forgive you?”

I almost laughed.

He pursed his lips.

“I’m going out on a limb here,” he reminded me. “I’m trying to save your life.”

Well, damn. Didn’t I instantly feel like a bitch? But it wasn’t every day that a girl finds out the guy she’s into stops heartbeats for a living. Not to mention…

“After you tried to end it! Twice!”

You know saying that out loud, maybe I was the crazy one here. I mean, so what if he claimed he was 100% certain of my innocence?

“I didn’t try…” He trailed off, opting to sigh in absolute exhaustion rather than deny it again. And even if he did deny it,he could be lying.

Wouldn’t be hard for someone with no soul. But I had once again come to the conclusion that if there was some person or entity out there so determined to end my life that they were willing to go to the extreme measures of manufacturing evidence against me, my shot at survival was extremely slim.

My best chance was to have, well, a bodyguard of sorts. A man capable of ending lives as easily as breathing.

How infuriating—that my best chance of surviving was accepting help from him.

Again. Fmy life.

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