Page 79 of Can You Take It?

I burst into laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Death threats are like a daily subscription in my world, but Martin getting caught in the crossfire is a new twist.

“You’re laughing, and I’m going to jail,” he says, sounding more amused than concerned.

I wave off his worry. “Chill Martin. I got Liam out. I’ll get you out too. Besides, you always did have a knack for getting into trouble.”

He smirks, leaning back with a swagger that’s both annoying and endearing. “You’re not wrong there. But seriously, Izel, what’s the plan?”

I take a sip of my coffee, mulling over the situation. “First, I need to take care of Luna. Once that’s sorted, we can break into Liam’s house. He’s got information that can’t see the light of day.”

“Breaking and entering. Now we’re talking.”

I can’t shake the feeling that Richard’s watching, assessing, judging. I revel in the fact that I’m driving him mad with curiosity.

As the conversation continues, Martin’s laughter and carefree attitude help to lighten the heavy air in the coffee shop. Butwhen I glance back at Richard’s booth, they’re gone. Did I push too far? Did Richard leave because of our conversation?

For a moment, a pang of guilt tugs at me. I was so engrossed in Martin’s banter that I didn’t even notice when Richard left. But I quickly push that feeling aside. He might be a complication, but he’s not the center of my universe. Luna is. Liam is. And I won’t let anything or anyone stand in my way.

I shove the thoughts of Richard to the back of my mind, where they can simmer in their own uncertainty. I glance around the coffee shop, growing more restless by the second.

“Time to wrap this up,” I declare, cutting through his incessant chatter. “We’ve got a date with Luna.”

Martin raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’vegot a date with Luna. Handle that shit on your own, Izzie. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, you don’t have to be a part of it. I can handle this on my own scardy cat.”

“Fuck you very much,” he retorts, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it.

Without answering him, I push back my chair, and slam some bills on the table, standing up. I saunter towards the exit, leaving Martin behind with his unfinished coffee and his bitter attitude. The cool air hits me as I step outside, providing a much-needed breath of fresh air.

The parking lot stretches out before me, a sea of cars with no clear destination. I dig into my pocket for my phone, but as I reach for it, I feel eyes on me. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I’ve spent enough time running to recognize the prickle of a stare. Someone’s watching me, and it’s not some random bystander. It’s the kind of watchful gaze that comes from experience. I call out, my voice cutting through the quiet of the parking lot, but no one responds.

I keep walking, my steps quickening. There’s an unease settling in like a discomfort that wraps around me like a cloak. I call out again, more insistent this time, but the only response is the echo of my own voice.

I turn around and I’m suddenly pulled against the cold concrete wall. A hand clamps over my mouth, and I’m about to unleash a string of profanities when I catch a glimpse of the assailant’s eyes.

Familiar blues.

I know those hands, that strength. A part of me wants to resist, to push back, but another part yearns for the connection, no matter how fucked up it is.

His grip loosens just enough for me to speak, and I shoot him a glare that could freeze hell over.

“What the fuck, Richard?”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes searching mine for God-knows-what. I push against his chest, creating some space between us.

Richard doesn’t budge; if anything, he inches closer, and I find myself involuntarily backing into the wall. It’s as if I have the superpower to disappear into concrete.

His eyes are locked onto mine, but I can’t escape the gravitational pull of his gaze, which seems fixated on my lips. And then, his hand comes up, and a shiver runs down my spine as his fingers gently brush my swollen lip.

Instinctively, my eyes flutter closed, relishing the touch I've been denying myself. It’s been too long—okay, I’m being dramatic, it’s only been a few hours—but it feels like forever, and I can’t deny how much I’ve missed him.

With my eyes still closed, I hear him ask, “Who did this to you?”

I snap my eyes open. I can’t let him in, can’t let him see the cracks in my armor. So, I try to push against him, a feebleattempt to regain control. But Richard, as always, is stronger. Maybe I’m just weaker when it comes to him.

A sarcastic smile plays on my lips, a defense mechanism that’s become second nature. “Well, SSA Reynolds, you of all people should know I like it rough.”

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