Page 133 of Desperate Actions

Sammy

Pixie, you know me. You know I’d want to say goodbye first.

My fingers hover over the screen, my chest tightening.

Me

Do you? Because you didn’t tell me that when you debriefed me this morning.

Sammy

Aella, it’s not like that.

I don’t answer this time.

And it’s petty.

I knowit’s petty.

I know I’m being a brat.

Sammy’s been nothing but perfect to me.

Patient. Protective. Attentive in ways I never even dreamed of.

Maybe—probably—he can’t tell me what’s going on. Maybe whatever this is, it really is for my own good.

But it doesn’t stop the creeping sense of doubt.

Of worry.

Because no matter how I twist it, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

That something is being kept from me.

And maybe it’s selfish, but what stings the most is that I wanted tonight to be special.

I wanted it to be the night.

The night I finally told him I love him, too.

And now?

Now I don’t even know where he’s going or why.

And that feels dangerous.

Not just because of what Sammy is capable of.

But because of who he is.

And who he might be doing this for.

For me. He is doing it for me.

But I don’t understand what’s happening.

Because he didn’t tell me.

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